Naked Justice Read Online Free PDF Page B

his lips and explored the roof of his mouth.
    “Right. Well. Anyway.” He stood up again and took Joey’s hand. “Let’s go, pardner.” They pushed through the front doors. “What sounds good for dinner tonight? I was thinking we might make spaghetti.”

Chapter 4
    L ATER THAT EVENING, HARVEY Sanders peered through the curtains of his upstairs window at the house next door and shook his head sadly. They were at it again.
    Seemed like it was almost every day now. Rain or shine, come what may, he could count on his famous neighbors having some terrific row before the day was over. Harvey hated to think of those lovely little girls being subjected to this barrage of hatred. Must be hard trying to tell yourself that Mommy and Daddy love each other after you’ve witnessed something like this day after day. Those poor kids.
    Harvey closed the curtains, turned off Little House on the Prairie , and walked downstairs to the kitchen. He took a beer out of the fridge and popped the lid into the sink. As he did, he passed an open window that overlooked an equally open window in the Barretts’ house. Man alive, they were really going at it now.
    “Shut up, you stupid cow!”
    Harvey couldn’t hear them any better if they were in the next room. Wally had one of those deep booming voices; it carried. There was some more shouting, some general clamor. Then he heard some crying. Damn. One of the girls. “Daddy! Daddy!”
    The crying swelled till it was almost piercing, then it seemed to fade. The girl was moving away from the window.
    The fight continued. “I know you care about them, or pretend to. What about me?”
    There was some reply Harvey didn’t catch.
    “You’re damn right! Me!”
    The next sound startled Harvey so that he dropped his beer bottle on the linoleum. It was a sharp, quick sound, like the popping of a paper bag.
    Or a slap across the face. Flesh against flesh.
    There were several more exchanges he couldn’t understand. Then: “Don’t drag the children into this!”
    “I don’t have any choice!”
    There was another noise, loud enough to make Harvey flinch. A great, crashing noise—Harvey couldn’t even think of anything that would make a noise like that. Dishes? Furniture? Or worse?
    Harvey strolled into his living room. Well, what would his excuse be this time? Perhaps a shard of Anasazi pottery? Or perhaps a toilet that needed attention? Either would do.
    He’d give them a little cool-down time before he went over and interjected himself into the situation. He really wasn’t the nosy neighbor type, not some sitcom cliché, sneaking up to windows and holding a glass against the wall. He didn’t like to butt into other people’s business. But back where he came from (Dill City, Oklahoma, to be exact—population 632), people cared about each other, and tried to be there for each other, and didn’t get nervous about walking in and offering help when folks were needing it.
    Here in the big city (Tulsa, Oklahoma, to be exact—population 503,000) he had learned to be more circumspect. He’d moved out here twelve years before, after his grandmother passed on and left him this great house in a ritzy neighborhood. In that time, he’d found that folks got a little nervous when you started asking personal questions. Back in Dill City, doors were never locked and people expected to be visited. No one thought twice about dropping in unannounced on a neighbor. Here, seemed like neighbors never called on each other unless they had made an appointment days in advance and had some super-special reason. So he had learned to have reasons.
    Harvey had moved to Tulsa after he got out of college (University of Oklahoma, to be exact—Class of ’85). Harvey wanted to be an actor, but to tide himself over until fame and fortune called, he took a job at the world-famous Gilcrease Museum of Western Art. Twelve years later, he was an assistant curator, which was as high as he cared to rise on the totem pole. Why