Free Double Take by Catherine Coulter Page B

your candidate believe evil should be eliminated from the world, sir?”
    “Evil?” Thomas Pallack started to laugh, had the manners to hold it back, but he had his look of contempt down cold. “Evil, did you say? Evil? Who in this day and age believes in such medieval nonsense as evil?”
    Evelyn clearly pictured Thomas Pallack lying on the floor by her dining room table, his eyes rolled back in his head, with Dix standing over him. Because she was a skilled hostess, she quickly went pre-medieval, to the Queen Hatshepsut Egyptian exhibit currently at the de Young Museum. Thankfully, both Pallacks had visited the exhibit.
    Over excellent apple pie and ice cream, fudge Sherlock let Thomas Pallack wax eloquent about his candidate. He did an almost credible job of seeming interested.
    Charlotte Pallack flirted with Dix in a lovely discreet way, going so far as to touch her fingers to his sleeve while her husband helped her into her cashmere coat at precisely ten o’clock. Judge Sherlock assured Pallack that he would study the hard-line law-and-order candidate and knew that Pallack probably didn’t buy it. Well, he’d shown as much enthusiasm as he could without starting an argument that would have had Evelyn throwing wineglasses at them.
    When the front door closed, Evelyn patted Dix’s cheek. “She didn’t know you and you didn’t know her. It’s over, Dix, all questions answered. Go to bed now and get some sleep.”

CHAPTER 13
    At eight o’clock Saturday morning, the Sherlocks sat down with Dix at the breakfast table. They’d already worked out in their downstairs gym and still wore their workout clothes. They looked fit, their faces still shiny with exertion and good health. There was no makeup at all on Evelyn’s face. She looked beautiful. Dix took a bite of his sliced grapefruit. “I called Savich and Sherlock last night, told them what happened. And Christie’s father, of course.” And Ruth.
    “A difficult call to make,” said Judge Sherlock.
    “It was very hard.” Chappy had been stone silent, and Dix pictured the stark grief in his eyes again, grief that had lessened over the past three years, now brought back to full strength, though he had known, had accepted, that Christie was dead. ‘Tm sorry, Chappy,” he’d said, “sorry for all of us. This woman looked very much like Christie, but she wasn’t.” So inadequate, but there was simply nothing else to say. Chappy hadn’t broken down, and Dix was immensely grateful for that.
    He’d called Ruth on her cell so she could have some privacy from the boys. He knew she was trying to keep the immense relief out of her voice. As for himself, he’d tried to keep his voice as flat and steady as he could. As God was his witness, he didn’t know what he really felt, at the core of him, where murky questions and even murkier feelings tangled and snarled, and years of memories heaved to the surface to draw him back. He knew only that he’d wanted Christie to be alive—beyond that, he simply didn’t know.
    Dix watched Judge Sherlock carefully place four slices of crispy turkey bacon on a slice of toast, fold it over, and take a big bite. A BLT without the LT. Corman said, “Savich and Lacey surely knew what happened; they didn’t want to bother you until you were ready. Neither was surprised that Charlotte Pallack wasn’t your wife.”
    “They didn’t tell me they’d already spoken to you, sir. Actually I can’t imagine either of them being surprised it wasn’t Christie, being they’re cops and have seen too much to believe in happy endings. As have judges.”
    It wasn’t Christie, he thought again, and kept his head down, not wanting them to see the shadow of grief he knew showed on his face. You don’t want to burden folks with your own pain. It isn’t fair, his mother had once told him, and he hadn’t ever forgotten it.
    “We got it all resolved quickly,” Evelyn said matter-of-factly, “and that’s what’s important now. You