Honest Doubt Read Free Page B

by now that I’ll help. Ordinarily I don’t react kindly to this kind of request, but I can’t resist the persuasions of fat people. Are we even now?”
    â€œEven,” I said.
    â€œHere’s the arrangement from my point of view,” Kate said. “I’m not a subcontractor, or professional consultant, or any kind of authority with special knowledge. But if you would like to come and visit with Banny, since you’ve been so dog-deprived, she and I will welcome you, given advance notice of your arrival. Is that acceptable?”
    â€œYes,” I said. “It is.”
    â€œMeanwhile,” Kate went on, “if you would send me two lists, one of the Haycock family, and one of the English department at the college concerned, I’ll try to get my facts straight. In fact, it would help if you could get me a catalog from the college, or a list of the classes to be taught next semester. I don’t know the college and I ought to learn at least a little about it.”
    I walked over to say goodbye to Banny, who looked up and thumped her large tail against the floor. I thought to myself, She’s big like a fat person; it’s work to get up and easier to be agreeable from a reclining position. Besides, when you’re big you have a sense of being in charge, no matter what is likely to occur. That was clearly how Banny felt, and I decided to feel that way too.
    â€œMaybe you and I can take a walk with Banny when all this investigation is over,” I said by way of farewell.
    â€œWe’ll both look forward to it,” Kate said. She got up and escorted me to the door. Banny stayed where she was. I would have liked to stay too, but one can’t spend all day talking to professors and admiring large dogs, I firmly reminded myself.
    When I got back to my office in Chelsea, once I had dealt with my messages and greeted Octavia, who worked for me as secretary part-time and, as far as I could see, studied law full-time, I allowed myself to sink into a kind of reverie about my visit to Kate Fansler. I am not, by nature, given to “processing” my experiences, to use what one of my clients told me was the term for playing over encounters in search of their meaning. Kate Fansler was an unusual person for me to meet in the line of duty, or outside of it, for that matter. I don’t face quite as many physical dangers as women private eyes do in books, and I don’t meet up with cases because some long-lost relative asks for my help, but I don’t sneer at detective fiction the way some police people do. If books were as dull as most of my cases, no one would read them. I’m willing to do divorce, but it’s not my favorite. It’s a damn good cure, all the same, for dreams about happy marriage. It’s amazing the hate people can develop for those they started out loving. And hate, as any detective or lawyer involved with divorce can tell you, is a lot more powerful than love, and much likelier to become an obsession.
    Kate was married—I’d already learned that— and I supposed that the male figure marching past the living room was the man in question, but maybe they’d worked it out better than most. Ever since President Clinton’s sexual escapades, I’ve been convinced, if I hadn’t been before, that no one knows anything about a marriage except the people in it, and they only talk when hate takes over.
    The odd thing about my meeting with Kate was that she didn’t ask me how I became a private investigator. She’s the only woman I ever met who didn’t ask that question. They all seem to think there’s some romantic story to be told, even by a fat woman, and they think the likelihood of being shot or beaten up is very high. My experience with guys who try to wrestle or slug me to the ground is that they underestimate my fighting skills and are often not in great shape themselves—shape here referring to