Family Honor - Robert B Parker Read Free

triangular pattern in them. There was a fireplace
that I could have stood upright in on the wall opposite. There was a fire
in it. The ceiling was far above my head. There was a massive reddish wooden
desk along the left wall of the room with Palladian windows opening behind
it. The deep colorful rugs had been woven somewhere in the far east. A
huge globe of the world was on its own dark wooden stand near the fireplace.
It was lit from within. Above the fireplace was a formal portrait of a
good-looking woman with smooth blond hair and the contemptuous smile of
a well-fed house cat.
    The maid marched across the rug and put my card on the
desk and announced, "Ms. Randall."
    The man behind the desk said, "Thank you, Billie," and
the maid turned and marched out past me and closed the door. The man looked
at my card for a little while without picking it up, and then he looked
up at me and smiled. It was an effective smile and I could tell that he
knew it. The little crinkles at his eyes made him look kind though wise,
and the parentheses around his mouth gave him a look of firm resolve.
    "Sunny Randall," he said, almost as if he were speaking
to himself. Then he rose and came around the desk. He was athleticlooking,
taller than my ex-husband, with blue eyes and a healthy outdoor look about
him. He put his hand out as he walked across the carpet.
    "Brock Patton," he said.
    "How very nice to meet you," I said.
    He stood quite close to me as we shook hands, which allowed
him to tower over me. I didn't step back.
    "Where did you get a name like Sunny Randall?" he said.
    "From my father," I said. "He was a great football fan
and I guess there was some football person with that name."
    "You guess? You don't know?"
    "I hate football."
    He laughed as if I had said something precocious for a
little girl. "Well, by God, Sunny Randall, you may just do."
 
"That's often the case, Mr. Patton."
    "I'll bet it is."
    Patton went around his desk and sat. I took a seat in
front of the desk and crossed my legs and admired my shoes for a moment.
Of course they were uncomfortable; they looked great. Patton appeared to
admire them, too.
    "Well," he said after a time.
    I smiled.
    "Well," he said again. "I guess there's nothing to do
but plunge right in."
    I nodded.
    "My daughter has run off," he said. I nodded again.
    "She's fifteen," he said. Nod.
    "My wife and I thought somehow a woman might be the best
choice to look for her."
    "You're sure she's run away?" I said.
    "Yes."
    "She ever do this before?"
    "Yes."
    "Where did she run to before?"
    "She didn't get far. Police picked her up hitchhiking
with three other kids ... boys. We were able to keep it out of the papers."
    "Why does she run away?" I said.
    Patton shook his head slowly, and bit his lower lip for
a moment.
    Both movements seemed practiced. "Teenaged girls," he
said.
    "I was a teenaged girl," I said.
 
"And I'll bet a cute one, Sunny."
    "Indescribably," I said, "but I didn't run away."
    "Well, of course, not all teenagers ..."
    "Things all right here?" I said.
    "Here?"
    "Yes. This is what she ran away from."
    "Oh, well, I suppose ... everything is fine here."
    I nodded. To my right the fireplace crackled and danced.
No heat radiated from it. The air-conditioned room remained cold. The windows
fogged with condensation in which the rain streaked little patterns.
    "So why did she run away?"
    "Really, Sunny," Patton said. "I am trying to decide whether
to hire you to find her."
    "And I'm trying to decide, Brock, if you do offer me the
job, whether I wish to take it."
    "Awfully feisty," Patton said, "for someone so attractive."
    I decided not to blush prettily. He stood suddenly. "Do
you have a gun, Sunny?"
    "Yes."
    "With you?"
    "Yes.
    "Can you shoot it?"
    "Yes."
    "I'm something of a shooter myself," Patton said. "I'd
like to see you shoot. Do you mind walking outside in the rain with me?"
    Other than the fact that my hair would get wet and turn
into limp corn silk? But there was something