Act of God Read Free

resources.”
    “Resources?”
    “Squads of detectives, laboratories, access to other criminals who might give the killer up to cut a better deal for themselves. I’d have to get awfully lucky.”
    “Okay then. Like I said, I don’t know from murder, except what I see on TV. This kind of thing, it never … touched me before. So you don’t find out who killed my husband, I’d understand. But it seems to me there’s one thing you can find out. You can find out did my Abe lie to me. You can find out, was he having an affair on me.”
    “Pearl—”
    “Look, I know what you told us before, about your conflict thing. And I know if I was sitting where you are, I’d be worrying, ‘Is this Darbra that one client wants me to find also the woman that my other client wants to know had an affair with her Abe?’ Well, I don’t care who the other woman is. I mean that now, and I’ll mean it all the way through. I just want to know did my Abe lie to me, and I got to tell you, John, I don’t think I can go through this with somebody else if you won’t help me.”
    Pearl Rivkind crumpled what was left of the first tissue and dipped into her bag for another. With all the practice she’d probably had recently, she still didn’t do it very well, and somehow that kind of persuaded me.
    I said, “How was your coffee?”
    The corner of his lips curled a little more. “Excellent. I found the most charming hole-in-the-wall place with a hazelnut blend that was out of this world. I really would have been happy to bring you some.”
    “Thanks anyway.”
    “Mrs. Rivkind said she’d be back in fifteen minutes. The poor woman, you can just see how badly she’s taking all this.”
    I watched William Proft. He spoke without emotion in his voice, as though he were reporting accurately rather than caring at all about her. It reminded me of how we used to talk in class during my one year of law school.
    “Mr. Proft, can you tell me what you know about your sister’s disappearance?”
    “Certainly. I got a call on Monday—yesterday—from the furniture store. I guess they had a line on their application form about ‘next of kin,’ and when Darbra didn’t show up for work after her vacation, the other owner called me.”
    “Would that have been Joel Bernstein?”
    “Yes.”
    “What did he say?”
    “Oh, not much. Just that Darbra was due back from vacation that morning but hadn’t shown up for work, and did I know where she was.”
    “Did you?”
    “No. In fact, I called a woman who lives in Darbra’s apartment building and sort of looks after things if she’s gone for a while. This woman—she’s actually a girlfriend of Darbra’s. You’ll want her name, I suppose?”
    “Please.”
    “Traci Wickmire. That’s T-R-A-C with an ‘I,’ last name W-I-C-K-M-I-R-E.”
    “And what did Wickmire tell you?”
    “Just that Darbra returned from vacation sometime Saturday, but never got in touch with her.”
    “Address?”
    He gave it to me, a building near Boston College.
    “Have you been to the police?”
    “Called them, actually. Started with headquarters, then got shunted around. The official message was that I’d have to wait awhile before I could file a missing-persons report. The unofficial message was that the matter would not be given a particularly high priority.”
    His choice of words was precise, the way you might expect a lawyer to talk. I know pharmacists have to be precise, too, but Proft’s demeanor suggested he’d rehearsed this, not for fear of being too nervous to present it accurately, but rather because he wanted to be sure I had all he thought I needed.
    “And so you decided to come to me.”
    “Well, Mrs. Rivkind and I decided together, as we said.”
    “Whose idea was it?”
    Proft looked at me and blinked, as though he were trying to figure whether I would have asked Pearl Rivkind the same question. “Well, I suppose it was my idea that we go to a private investigator, and her idea, through