The Only Good Lawyer - Jeremiah Healy Read Online Free PDF Page B

right hand across the table,
closing on my left one. "Then I'm glad you cared enough to have
me come with you."
    "You and no other, kid."
    "What a lovely evening." said Nancy.
    We were walking east on Newbury Street, Boston's
answer to Rodeo Drive. A little funkier on the Mass Ave end where we
were, a little ritzier—appropriately—as you got closer to the
Ritz Carlton Hotel overlooking the Public Garden. There were a few
outdoor cafés, tables set but no diners seated.
    “ John?"
    "Agreed," I said. "Lovely evening"
    Nancy took my arm, giving me a sidelong glance. "You
still down about the Eliot?"
    "Yes, but I did what I could, which was to send
the place off with as much good feeling as it gave me back when."
    "Then there's nothing else you can do."
    "Right."
    Nancy tone changed. "You know the photos of the
runners on the wall?"
    "Yes?"
    "I bet you'd look cute in one of those little
running outfits, with the silk singlets and short shorts."
    "You should catch me in the swim-suit
competition."
    Nancy drew my arm toward her more tightly. "I
was kind of hoping for the birthday-suit competition."
    "If you can curb your lust until after dinner."
    "You're on."
    Just past Dartmouth, we turned down a set of stairs
to Thai Basil.
    Nancy smiled. "My tummy's happy already."
    The owner, a smiling man with full cheeks and a
bustling manner, takes such pride in the place I've never eaten there
when he hasn't been behind the cash register. He welcomed Nancy and
me before leading us to a table separated from its neighbor by a
clear glass panel. Though the restaurant isn't huge, there's always a
sense of privacy accompanying the intimacy, and it's become my
favorite place in Back Bay.
    I ordered a Dry Creek Fume Blanc from the ponytailed
waitress, whose command of English still reflected the tinkling
accent of her homeland. The mixed appetizer plate for two (shrimp
toast, spring rolls, and five or six other delights) arrived so
quickly you almost couldn't believe it was freshly prepared, though
one taste convinced. And, as always, the entrée dishes of Tamarind
duck and garlic pork and pad Thai noodles were truly to die for.
    Nancy spooned a few more finger-sized slices of duck
onto her plate. "So, you given any thought to what we'll do for
the weekend?"
    "No. You?"
    "I was thinking of a road trip."
    I had some wine. "To . . . ?"
    "Mystic Seaport."
    "In Connecticut?"
    "It's only a hundred miles or so, John. We could
stay at a bed-and-breakfast Saturday night."
    I pictured the bills in piles back at my office.
    Nancy warmed up to her subject. "One of the
other prosecutors went last weekend, and she said it was neat. The
seaport itself has all kinds of shops set up the way they were in the
whaling days, with ships and demonstrations of sail rigging and
anchoring and so on. Be a real nice break from the city, not to
mention my judge-review homework."
    As good an opening as I was likely to get. "I
don't know, Nance. I might have a case I'm starting that would make
it tough for me to take off like that."
    She blinked. "You don't know whether you're
starting the case or not?"
    "I told the lawyer who wants to hire me that I
needed to talk with you about it first."
    "Me?" Nancy sipped some wine. "I don't
understand. If it's a case I'm working on, you really shouldn't take
it, but otherwise there's no conflict."
    "Not directly, maybe. But . . . Nance, it's Alan
Spaeth."
    Her face lost all color, and I suddenly had the
impression that if she hadn't set her glass down, she'd have dropped
it.
    "You can't be serious."
    "Steve Rothenberg asked—"
    "I know who the defense attorney is, John.
Everybody in the office is on eggshells about it."
    "But Steve said you weren't one of the trial
lawyers assigned."
    "I'm . . . I'm not." .
    "Nancy, I met with Spaeth at Nashua Street."
    She stared hard at me. "And?"
    "I don't think he killed Woodrow Gant."
    Nancy coughed out a breath. "I don't believe
this."
    "But you just said there's no conflict"
    "I don't care