Fools Rush In (The Sam McCain Mysteries Book 7) Read Online Free PDF

what I try to teach my students. Anger, especially righteous anger, can get people up on their feet. But to get things done, you have to hold a tight rein on your feelings.”
    “I’m afraid you’re right,” I said.
    “That’s why I admire Dr. King,” Marie said. “He’s exactly the sort of person I’m talking about.”
    The waitress came, took our order, and fled back to the counter to call it in. She was frantic. By this time the lunch area was jammed. Some customers had to stand behind the stools to eat their lunch.
    I’d just picked up my cup of coffee when the frantic waitress returned and said, “Are you Sam McCain?”
    I nodded.
    “There’s a call for you. There’s a phone at the far west end of the counter.”
    I knew who was calling and I knew why she was calling and I knew why I was mad she was calling.
    “Just do me a favor and tell her I’m not here.”
    “Really?” the waitress said.
    “Yeah, really. And I appreciate you doing it for me.”
    She hurried away.
    “The judge?” Stan said.
    “Who else?”
    “You have a very strange relationship with her. Really passive-aggressive.”
    I glanced at Marie and laughed. “In case you couldn’t guess, Stan’s minor at Northwestern was psychology.”
    Marie blessed me with one of her sweet smiles again.

FOUR
    T HE COLONIAL-STYLE HOUSE gleamed pure white in the early afternoon sun. Ellen Williams, the senator’s wife, was tending to her garden of roses as I pulled up the drive.
    Karen Porter, not only her friend but her partner in their downtown flower shop, was watering plants further downhill. She gave me a big wave and a big smile. I’d always felt much more comfortable with her than with Ellen.
    Ellen turned when she heard my engine. She just stared at me. I’d never had the feeling she cared much for me, but because I worked with her good friend the judge, she was always polite.
    While the house wasn’t a mansion, it had a mansion’s sprawl, grass so green it looked slightly unreal stretching east to a forest and west to a plateau, where an enormous white gazebo sat twenty yards from a tennis court and covered swimming pool.
    Lucy Williams sat in the gazebo with her friend Nancy Adams. Even though Lucy was talking, there was an Andrew Wyeth loneliness in the juxtaposition of the frail blonde girl in the tennis outfit and the forlorn air she radiated even from here.
    I parked and walked over to Ellen.
    “Hello, Sam,” Ellen said, striving to put some warmth in her voice for me. “Esme called and asked you to call her if you stopped by.”
    Ah, yes. Esme. Wasn’t that French for relentless?
    “I’ll give her a call when I finish here. I’m sure she explained that she’s asked me to look into this whole thing with David Leeds.”
    She was one of those erotically overweight women, the type favored by the Brits at various times in their bloody history. The face was what did it, that sensual mouth more than anything. Even in a pair of slightly baggy yellow walking shorts and a yellow sleeveless blouse, there was a sexual dynamic. I wondered if she was even aware of it. I wondered that especially now when the blue eyes held a quality of fear.
    “I wish Lucy had listened to us.” The trowel in her hand pointed upward like a dagger. The gloved hand seemed to tighten on the handle. “We begged her and begged her.” The face tightened, while the dyed red hair blew in the breeze. “She owed it to her father not to get involved. His career is everything to him. He’s the third senator in the family.”
    Five generations of Williamses, three senators. By now we were talking divine right. The bitterness in her voice let me know that her husband’s career was everything to her as well. Her daughter didn’t seem to be much more than an encumbrance.
    “All right if I talk to her?”
    “Personally, I wish you wouldn’t. But Esme says it’s important, so I suppose you should.”
    “I won’t keep her long.”
    “You can keep her