Robert B. Parker’s Someone to Watch Over Me

30

Back in Boston, I dropped Mattie at her apartment and headed straight across the river to Cambridge and Susan’s. Pearl welcomed me home with much yapping and yipping, and Susan welcomed me home with something even more substantial. I awoke before daybreak to Pearl rattling her training crate and took her for a brief walk on Linnaean Street.

I’d slipped into Susan’s silk kimono adorned with tsunamis and koi to hasten the process. Since this was Cambridge, the few who passed by paid me little or no mind.

I let Susan sleep and fed Pearl and filled her water bowl. Checking Susan’s fridge, I was delighted to find she’d visited the farmer’s market and stocked up on vegetables, eggs, and freshly made sourdough bread. I diced up an onion, a green pepper, and tomato to sauté in a good amount of butter. Once they softened, I added four farm-fresh eggs. The coffee perked and the toast browned in the oven.

Once I finished, Pearl trailed me to the small breakfast nook, where I tore off a small bit of toast and tossed it to her. I read The Globe, an actual physical newspaper, until Susan walked into the room.

“You stole my robe,” Susan said.

“I think it makes me look like Toshiro Mifune.”

“A little tight in the chest and arms.”

“I take it you want it back?”

Susan nodded. I shrugged, stood, and dropped the robe.

Susan giggled. I was completely naked.

“I’m being harassed in my own home,” she said.

“Would you like me to put on a T-shirt?”

“Pants would be nice,” Susan said, shielding her eyes and going straight for the coffee. “Pants would be greatly appreciated.”

I walked upstairs and dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt. When I returned, I handed her a snow globe I’d brought her from the airport. It featured both a flamingo and an alligator.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“It screamed of you,” I said.

“I’ll find a wonderful spot on the back of the guest toilet.”

“Perfect,” I said.

Susan looked at my empty plate and to the kitchen and then back to my plate. I stood up, sautéed the rest of the onion, pepper, and tomato, and mixed in more scrambled eggs for her.

“And what’s this?”

“Huevos pericos,” I said. “Another gift from South Florida.”

Susan took a seat, snatching the front page from me. I took the funny papers and had gotten nearly through Arlo & Janis when she tapped at the paper with her fork. I let down the edge of the paper shielding my face. I’d seen William Powell do it once in a movie.

“How was it?”

“Didn’t I tell you last night?”

“We didn’t talk much last night.”

Susan ate more huevos pericos and offered a small bite to Pearl. I raised my eyebrows but said nothing. “And?” she said.

I told her about Boca and what we’d learned among the salty air and palm trees.

“That woman confronted you at the hotel?”

“She did.”

“That’s insane.”

“It is,” I said.

“What do you think she hoped to accomplish?” she said.

“I think she wanted me to say ‘eek’ and jet on back to Boston.”

“Which you did.”

“But I did not say ‘eek.’”

“So you found out Peter Steiner abuses young girls wherever he goes, and even has a private island to entertain special guests and those he and Poppy Palmer would like to blackmail.”

“Correct.”

“And you got word from your Fed pal that he’ll reopen the investigation his predecessor bungled.”

“That’s about the tall, short, and sideways of the situation,” I said.

Susan appeared to be finished with breakfast. I stole the other half of her toast before she could stab my hand with her fork. “And just what do you think Poppy Palmer gets out of all this?” she said. “Besides the money.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I get the money. But the rest is more a question to you.”

“She either has serious daddy issues,” Susan said, “or she is a predator as well.”

“Working as a team.”

“She’s taken a serious interest in stopping you,” Susan said. “Very personal.”

“Maybe she was just interested in seeing me in the flesh,” I said, deciding not to worry her with Poppy’s threats. “Given my national reputation.”

“I saw your reputation earlier,” Susan said.

“And?” I said.

Susan waffled her hand in a so-so gesture.

I folded the paper and set down the funny papers. I raised my eyebrows at Susan, and it made her smile.

“Changing the subject,” Susan said. “It sounds like Peter and Poppy have been cultivating their lifestyle for years.”

“Typical sociopath, Dr. Silverman?”

“Evil is a relay sport when the one you burn turns to pass the torch.”

“Freud?”

“Fiona Apple.”

“Is it fair to say Peter Steiner experienced some serious trauma as a kid?”

“That’s one theory,” she said. “Wherever and however a person felt most vulnerable or afraid as a child, they often want to master these feelings. So sexually abused children may grow up into hypersexual adults or conversely sexually avoidant adults. Not with every case, but with many.”

“If what we’ve heard is even halfway true, finding new victims is a compulsion.”

“We all have sexual feelings, but life experiences and personality disorders affect what we do with them.”

I nodded and drank the rest of my coffee. “Are you going to bill me your hourly rate?”

I stood to refill both our cups of coffee. I added some milk and sugar to Susan’s cup. It was the absolute least I could do.

“I would,” Susan said. “But this is Mattie’s case. Pro bono.”

“And me?”

“Meet me upstairs and we’ll work something out.”

I left the coffee on the table and did as I was told.