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pulled out into traffic.
    My head throbbed. I’d driven as much as I could stand when
    I realized I was back at the law office. The curb near the front of the building was empty, so I cruised in and turned off the engine.
    McBride was the key to this whole thing. He’d acted so removed,
    but I could tell he was protecting something or someone. A mas-
    sive wall of granite behind that big desk. Impervious to begging or pleading or even tears. Warning me to go away.
    I dug the business card from my purse and dialed the num-
    ber for the law office. If I had to make out a wil , I would use the appointment as an excuse to get the information I wanted. The
    Whitfield address, the phone number, something. I wasn’t going to leave this city until I did. And then Nick’s mother and I were going to have a little conversation.

CHAPTER 6
    “I’ve changed my mind, Mr. McBride. I’ll come to your office with a basic outline for my will whenever it is convenient for you,” I said.“Good. Good,” he responded. I could hear the rustle of endless papers in the background.
    “When would that be?” I continued when he didn’t respond
    further.
    “Tomorrow?” It sounded like a question. “Oh, no, I’ll be out
    of town. Would you mind if an associate handled this? It’s a fairly routine matter,” he added.
    I paused. This wasn’t going to help me at al . “I would real y
    prefer that you handle it. I’d feel more comfortable.”
    “Ah,” he started. “Let’s see. I may not be able to sit down with
    you for several weeks. You could go back to Maine and have your
    own lawyer take care of this, if you want. But it’s imperative that it be done within the week.”
    “No,” I insisted, “I’d rather settle this while I’m here.”
    THE BOOK of JAMES
    27
    “I’m sorry; I’m swamped over the next few days. But let me
    transfer you to the office manager. Maybe an associate can fit you in now. And Mackenzie?”
    “Yes,” I said, hiding my disappointment.
    “You’re doing the right thing, I promise you.” The line
    clicked off.
    “I know I am,” I murmured.
    Only moments later I was told to “come on down.” As is.
    Someone would see me and take care of composing my last will
    and testament. I hadn’t planned on this. I didn’t have anything
    ready. But it didn’t matter what they put on paper. I could always change it later.
    I had hardly lowered myself onto a lacquered chair in the wait-
    ing room when I heard, “Mrs. Weichmann, Mr. McBride will see
    you now.”
    “Mr. McBride? I thought he was busy.”
    She smiled. “He’s here. Down the hall . . .”
    I’d nearly reached his office door when I heard, “Ms.
    Weichmann.”
    A man was standing behind me. “My office is right here.” He
    pointed across the hal way.
    He was at least six two and had that blue-black hair that is rare.
    His skin was so fair, in contrast, that he looked like one of those porcelain dol s you put on a shelf. His face bore the hint of a five-o’clock shadow and probably always did. He looked familiar in
    some way. Maybe it was his eyes, a striking pale blue surrounded
    by long, spidery eyelashes. I suddenly regretted that I hadn’t at least gone back to the hotel room to change and wash up a bit. I
    could feel the layer of sweaty grime on my skin.
    “No, I’m here to see Mr. McBride,” I stated firmly. I had come
    too far to be passed off to someone else.
    “Yes, you are. I’m Dylan McBride.” He smiled at me, showing
    straight white teeth and dimples.
    28
    ELLEN J. GREEN
    “William McBride’s son?”
    He nodded, then gestured for me to step in. “I’ll be back in one
    minute. Make yourself comfortable.”
    The office was cramped and windowless. The desk, the four
    bookshelves, and the chairs all looked as if they’d been purchased in one shopping trip to IKEA—functional, reasonably nice, but not expensive. The office was devoid of personal effects. There were no law diplomas or photographs on the wal . I stared