The Widow's Mate Read Online Free PDF Page A

by other matters. Cy had noticed Greg Packer at the funeral and had decided against talking to him. So once more, the waters of forgetfulness had closed over the mystery. Now, half a dozen years later, Melissa was living in the Flanagan house in St. Hilary’s parish, a frequent presence at the senior center, and Greg Packer, a graduate of Joliet, had reappeared, and the two seemed to have formed a pair.

5
    If Tuttle had been in the habit of remembering his mistakes, hiring Hazel would be at the top of the list. She had come to his office as a part-time temp because he couldn’t afford a full-time secretary, and she had stayed on. Her motive could not have been security, at least employment security. She had learned Tuttle wasn’t married, and apparently the prospect of running his life twenty-four hours a day appealed. The thought of marriage terrified Tuttle, and the prospect of being tied to Hazel only increased the terror. That pitfall had been avoided. Tuttle was sure that his sainted parents had interceded for him and kept him single. The worst of it was that Hazel had vetoed Peanuts Pianone’s hanging around the office.
    â€œHe’s a professional asset,” Tuttle had complained.
    â€œWhat profession?” Hazel always sat erect at the computer, with her shoulders thrown back. She was a lot of woman.
    He explained to her that Peanuts was a cop and kept him informed on what was going on at headquarters. No need to mention that his friendship with Peanuts cut his expenses since they usually drove around in the unmarked car Peanuts had been given to keep him on the move and out from under Captain Keegan’s feet.
    â€œWhat’s he done for you lately?”
    If Hazel thought Peanuts destroyed what little class Tuttle’s office had, Peanuts hated her guts. Once the two friends had whiled away hours in Tuttle’s office—Chinese or Italian food sent in, a couple of beers, a little nap afterward. In retrospect, those times could seem like heaven to Tuttle. Peanuts never had much to say, but he listened while Tuttle constructed a narrative of his life that made him seem less of a loser. Hazel had destroyed all that.
    â€œGet rid of her,” Peanuts muttered.
    â€œI owe her too much back salary.”
    â€œLet her sue.”
    â€œI could act as her lawyer.”
    â€œYou want me to take care of it?”
    Peanuts had droopy lids, but his little agate eyes gleamed. It took a minute before Tuttle understood what Peanuts was suggesting. They never talked of the Pianone family, of course; it was too dangerous to know much about what Peanuts’s relatives were up to. Once early on, Peanuts offered to direct a little family business Tuttle’s way, and a great inner moral drama went on in the lawyer’s soul. He was saved only by the benign expression on his father’s face in the photograph on his desk. Tuttle senior had encouraged his son during the long march through law school, during which Tuttle took every class at least twice. Measured by the clock, he might be the best-educated lawyer in town, not that he remembered much from law school. On graduation, his father had ponied up the money for this office, and on the door was painted TUTTLE & TUTTLE , a tribute to his father. He told Peanuts his strengths might not match the Pianone needs. Peanuts let it go. He probably couldn’t have delivered anyway. Now there was a thought. What if Tuttle had decided to sell his soul and there was no taker?
    â€œForget about Hazel, Peanuts. She’s a pain in the neck, but so what?”
    â€œWhy have a pain in the neck?”
    He found himself singing Hazel’s praises. She ran the office like a boot camp, but she had her good points. He tried to think of one.
    This conversation took place when Peanuts was driving him back to the office after a long lunch at the Great Wall of China.
    â€œShe wouldn’t know what hit her.”
    â€œPeanuts, please. Forget