Dead Lift Read Free Page A

condoms. They only use them if they have to.”
    Too distracted to smile, I only shook my head.
    “I’d have a real problem working for those guys,” she added.
    “I guess Mick Young will defend anyone. Still…”
    I pushed away the thought and raised the coffee to my lips, blowing on it and watching tiny ripples.
    Jeannie used her long fingernails on one hand to push back cuticles on the other. “Keep going.”
    “Hard to say. Something about her is definitely off but I think she might be innocent.”
    “Sweetie, you’re a wonderful friend and you’re freaky smart. But you’re also the most gullible person I’ve ever met.”
    I let my head fall back and watched dusty ceiling fan blades go around in slow motion. “Yep.”
    She stood and patted me on the head on her way out. “This is why you’re not having sex.”
    “Because I’m gullible?”
    She didn’t answer.
    I lumbered to my feet, bringing my coffee along, and found Jeannie in the living room, digging through her purse. She produced a lighter and a pack of Salem Lights and went outside. I followed, appalled that anyone would endure triple digit heat and 88% humidity for a smoke.
    When I closed the door behind me, it shut louder than I’d intended. “Tell me more, Dr. Ruth.”
    Jeannie settled into the wooden rocker my neighbor Florence kept on the landing between our two apartments. She took a long drag. When she exhaled, she twisted her lips so the smoke would go off to the side. “Does it bother you more that you’re working for the scum who defended that ring, or that you’re falling for a man who was embroiled in the whole mess?”
    “This has nothing to do with Vince.”
    “Of course it does. I’m not saying it’s the bulk of what’s bothering you. Just pointing out that your professional life and personal life are mixed now.”
    “I just told you that. Because this new case is Mick Young’s.”
    She examined the cigarette between her ivory fingers, then suddenly her gaze jumped to me. “How long after you met Jack did you go to bed with him?”
    I looked at her, aghast. Vince and I had been on the cusp of something since March, and Jeannie was beside herself with worry because four months had passed and we hadn’t slept together. I didn’t see what it had to do with my late husband or how it related to Claire Gaston’s case. She mistakenly interpreted my silence as agreement.
    “You see my point then. If it weren’t for Vince’s family tree, you guys would be a done deal by now.”
    “That has nothing to do with work. And you oversimplify. I’m in a new city…I’ve made a career switch. There’s Annette now. Vince knows I’m working through a lot.”
    I left out the worst, that the fourth anniversary of Annette’s kidnapping and Jack’s murder had passed only days ago. This was the first year I hadn’t visited his grave, back home in Cleveland, on July seventh.
    “He respects your situation, yes. But trust me. Even a saint runs out of patience at some point. It’s time.”
    “Easy advice coming from a woman who’s slept with more men than I’ve ever talked to.”
    She leaned so far back in Florence’s rocker that its runners pointed up. A broad smile played over her shimmering lips and I wondered which of her past lovers she’d flashed back to. “That wasn’t meant as a compliment.”
    She ignored me. “Thinking about Mick Young has already ripped open the March wounds again, fresh and bloody. Poor Vince is going to pay for it. If you were too confused to sleep with him before, there’s no way he’s getting action now.”
    “He had nothing to do with all that. Those are two separate things.”
    “Says your rational mind. It’s your subconscious that worries me.”
    “You’re a fruitcake.” I opened the door to my apartment. Jeannie explaining psychology was like a child dabbling in taxes.

Chapter Three
    That morning I spent an inordinate amount of time on our drive to Tone Zone mentally rehearsing