Robert B. Parker’s Someone to Watch Over Me

60

On my third day back in Boston, Matthew Greebel, attorney at law, rapped on my office door.

I was less than delighted to see him. But I let him in anyway.

He wore a pinstripe suit, his black hair slicked back, and smelled of men’s room cologne.

The knock had awoken Pearl from a slumber on the couch, and she jumped off in time to bark at his pant leg.

“Didn’t realize this office allowed animals,” Greebel said.

“They don’t,” I said. “Get to the point fast and maybe no one will notice.”

Greebel smiled so big, I was pretty sure I could play “The Entertainer” across his upper teeth. I leaned back in my chair as Pearl jumped back onto the couch, ever vigilant to our less-than-distinguished visitor.

He took a seat without being asked.

“I guess you’ve heard the news.”

“Poppy Palmer has disappeared.”

“Bahamian authorities had nothing to hold her on,” he said. “Did you expect her to fly back to Boston and answer these ridiculous charges about Peter Steiner? The man was brutally murdered, for God’s sake.”

“What a complete and total loss for humanity,” I said.

“These girls knew what they were getting into.”

“Would you prefer leaving by door or window?”

Greebel smiled and held up his hands. “Spense,” he said. “Spense. I came with a fair and just offer for your clients. For any type of hardships they think they endured.”

“Talk to Rita Fiore.”

“I can’t talk to that nasty woman,” he said. “The language she used is highly unprofessional.”

I nodded behind him. “Door?” I said. “Or window?”

Greebel smiled. He quoted a figure for each of the girls named in the civil suit, which now included Carly Ly and a few others. It was a great deal of money.

“Not my decision to make.”

“Or you can play tough guy and keep everything tied up in court until these girls are grandmas,” Greebel said.

“I’ll pass it on to Rita.”

“Um,” he said. “This is a limited-time offer. Better act now.”

I took a breath, stood, and walked to the bay window. I looked down to the sidewalk along Berkeley Street and then back to Greebel. “Only three stories,” I said. “You might even make it.”

“Can you imagine the trauma and horror Poppy has gone through,” he said. “She’s been abused for years by Steiner and then has to witness his murder and decapitation. It will take a lot of money and therapy to deal with everything.”

“Those girls suffered much more,” I said. “No kid should go through that.”

Greebel shrugged and was about to climb out of the client chair when Mattie Sullivan entered the room. Mattie had been running errands for Rita that morning and was dressed in a green skirt with a long-sleeved black top. I believe this was the first time I’d seen Mattie in a skirt.

She looked over at Greebel and then over at me.

“What the hell’s this?”

“Apparently your clients have been offered a settlement from the great beyond by Poppy Palmer, via this dirtbag.”

“Hey,” Greebel said.

I shushed him and waited for Mattie.

“How much?” Mattie said.

I told her.

“That’s less than a quarter of what’s in the suit.”

“I know.”

“You tell this guy to go fuck himself?”

I smiled and leaned against the sill of the bay window. “You know,” I said. “I was just getting to that.”

“You’ll never find her,” Greebel said. “Poppy can go anywhere. And has the money to live as she’s grown accustomed.”

Greebel’s good-natured grin had melted. He stood up, buttoned his coat, and turned to Mattie Sullivan. “Hope the goddamn backpack was worth the mess.”

I looked to Mattie and winked.

“Front door it is,” I said.

I walked up to Matthew Greebel as he winced and covered his face. I reached under his suit jacket and grabbed hold of his belt, lifting him up off the floor and marching him through my office and anteroom, where I unceremoniously dumped him into the hallway. Pearl was behind me, barking through my legs.

I pretended to dust off my hands.

I closed the door and walked back inside.

“I’ve already found more girls,” Mattie said.

“I heard.”

“And Rita knows people who can find Steiner’s stash,” she said. “She said they’ll find Poppy Palmer and stick a microscope up her ass.”

“That sounds like Rita.”

Mattie smoothed down the wrinkles in her long green skirt and smiled. She looked self-conscious and a bit awkward in her new clothes.

“I think you look very nice.”

“But where will I carry the gun?” she said.

“In a nice and fancy handbag?”

“Screw that.”

“Talk to Captain Glass,” I said. “Maybe she can give you some fashion tips.”

“Already have,” Mattie said. “Can I buy you lunch and tell you about it?”

“How about we walk over to Davio’s, sit at the bar, and I buy you lunch?”

“That works.”

I slipped into a lightweight khaki blazer. “You put in an application for the police academy,” I said.

Mattie smiled. “Ah.”

“Quirk told me.”

“Hope you’re not disappointed,” Mattie said.

“On you not following in the footsteps of your sleuthing mentor?”

“Yep.”

“Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail.”

“Pretty good advice,” Mattie said. “You make that up just now?”

“Absolutely,” I said.

Mattie sat down by Pearl and rubbed her ears and neck. Pearl found a nice bone to keep her occupied while we had lunch.

“Susan loves her,” Mattie said. “But she made me promise not to tell you.”

“I know.”

“She wasn’t even mad about the fancy shoes Pearl ate.”

“Did she say anything at all about me?” I said.

Mattie shrugged. “She thinks you’re pretty okay for a Boston thug.”

“I knew it.”

“But Susan ain’t easy to live with.”

“I’m no cakewalk myself,” I said. “Glad we both celebrate being individuals who often like being alone.”

We walked down the office steps and out onto Berkeley Street, turning left toward Davio’s. People rushed past us, without notice, as we took our own sweet time. I enjoyed not being in a hurry.

“Susan says my mom would be proud of me,” Mattie said. “That I don’t have to push so hard all the time. I can just be.”

“You know Susan did go to Harvard?”

“Which makes her smart?” Mattie said, pronouncing smart in the proper Boston fashion.

“As a whip.”