Blood Ties by Lori G. Armstrong Page A

don’t know him so let me fi ll you in. Dick Friel considers himself a ‘man’s man.’
    Little League games, music recitals, and family dinners are for pussies. Real men work hard and play hard. He spends nights and weekends at Fat Bob’s. Figures he’s entitled to spend his free time and money however, wherever, the hell he wants.”

    Another lost candidate for Father of the Year. “Doesn’t it bug your kids that he’s not around?”

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    “Th
    ey don’t know no diff erent.” Curiously, she glanced at Kevin then back to me. “You two have kids yet?” A mean smile kicked up the corner of her thin lips. “Or are you working on your careers fi rst?”

    I matched her attitude with a nonchalant shrug.
    “Kevin and I aren’t married.”

    “We’re not involved,” Kevin added, a bit too quickly to suit me. “Julie and I are just colleagues.”

    Shelley’s gaze moved back and forth between us before she shrugged. “My mistake.”

    She wasn’t the fi rst to make that mistake. Kevin and I almost made the same mistake a long time ago. A lifetime ago, but I wasn’t falling for Shelley’s stall tactics. I shook out a smoke from her pack. Naturally Kevin lit it before I opened the matchbook, but I didn’t proff er a smile, or my usual thanks. Wouldn’t want Shelley to read anything intimate into it. “When was the last time you saw Samantha?”

    For the longest time she fi xed her stare on a spot on the bulletin board behind my head. “Th
    ree weeks ago, maybe
    four, hell, I don’t know. Time runs together here. I’m only allowed visitors twice a week. She showed up on an off day and caused a scene.”

    “What did she want?”

    “To yell at me, I guess. Pissed off that Dick kicked her out and wanted to know what I was gonna do about it.”

    “What did you do?”

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    “Nothing.” She gestured around the drab room. “I’m stuck in this awful place for the full three months. I told her to apologize to Dick and maybe he’d let her back home.”
    “Did
    she?”

    “No, according to him. He claims he never saw her again.”

    Claims? I wondered if Shelley had suspicions about her husband. “Did you see her after that?”

    She gazed out the window. “No.”

    I didn’t know Shelley well, but I was adept enough at reading body language to recognize she was hiding something. I shifted back and my nylons stuck to the fabric chair. Kevin’s hand squeezed my thigh. I dropped my hand over his as I struggled with my next words. “We know that Dick wasn’t Samantha’s father.”
    “I
    fi gured as much.” She faced us again. “If you’re not cops then you’re not doing this for free. Who hired you?”
    Kevin
    fi elded that question: “My client prefers to stay anonymous.”

    “Doesn’t matter. I know it’s David. His father is a blood-sucking leech, but he’s a nice kid.”

    I peeked at Kevin from the corner of my eye. His face remained blank. But I knew from his increasing grip on my thigh that he wasn’t unaff ected by this conversation.

    We waited for Shelley to comment further.

    She expelled a world-weary sigh; fi ngers yellowed from nicotine rubbed her temple. “Hindsight’s twenty-twenty, 64
    isn’t it? None of this should’ve happened. If I could do it over again . . .”

    Faced with her vagueness, I tried a softer approach.
    “What would you do diff erently?”

    “I wouldn’t have listened to that goddamn counselor, for one thing.” Shelley’s anger ricocheted off the walls. “I wouldn’t have told her. Sam should’ve never found out.
    Especially that way.”

    She pinned me with a haunted look I’d never forget.

    “Now, she’s dead.”

    Th
    e enormity of the simple sentence echoed, bringing nothing but continued stillness on our part.

    Finally, I managed, “Why did the counselor insist you tell your family?”

    “Seemed logical. Maybe this go-around I could quit drinking if I owned up to the past. Part of me felt relieved, part of me wanted to