Free The Servants of Twilight by Dean Koontz Page B

don’t have a husband.”
    “Oh. I’m sorry if—”
    “No need for sympathy. I’m not a widow, and I wasn’t divorced, either.” Here was the forthrightness he had seen in her; this refusal to be evasive was refreshing. “I’ve never been married.”
    “Ah,” he said.
    Although Charlie was sure his voice contained not the slightest note of disapproval, Christine stiffened as if he had insulted her. With a sudden, irrational, quiet yet steel-hard anger that startled him, she said, “What’re you trying to tell me? That you’ve got to approve of your client’s morality before you accept a case?”
    He gaped at her, astonished and confused by her abrupt change of attitude. “Well of course not! I only—”
    “Because I’m not about to sit here like a criminal on trial—”
    “Wait, wait, wait. What’s wrong? Huh? What’d I say? Good heavens, why should I care if you’ve been married or not?”
    “Fine. Glad you feel that way. Now, how are you going to track down that old woman?”
    Anger, like a smouldering fire, remained in her eyes and voice.
    Charlie couldn’t understand why she was so sensitive and defensive about her son’s lack of a legal father. It was unfortunate, yes, and she probably wished the situation were otherwise. But it really wasn’t a terrible social stigma these days. She acted as if she were living in the 1940s instead of the ’80s.
    “I really mean it,” he said. “I don’t care.”
    “Terrific. Congratulations on your open-mindedness. If it was up to me, you’d get a Nobel Prize for humanitarianism. Now can we drop the subject?”
    What the hell is wrong with her? he wondered. He was glad there was no husband. Couldn’t she sense his interest in her? Couldn’t she see through his tissue-thin professional demeanor? Couldn’t she see how she got to him? Most women had a sixth sense for that sort of thing.
    He said, “If I rub you the wrong way or something, I can turn this case over to one of my junior men—”
    “No, I—”
    “They’re all quite reliable, capable. But I assure you I didn’t mean to disparage or ridicule you—or whatever the heck you think I did. I’m not like that cop this morning, the one who chewed you out about using four-letter words.”
    “Officer Wilford.”
    “I’m not like Wilford. I’m easy. Okay? Truce?”
    She hesitated, then nodded. The stiffness left her. The anger faded and was replaced by embarrassment.
    She said, “Sorry I snapped at you, Mr. Harrison—”
    “Call me Charlie. And you can snap at me anytime.” He smiled. “But we have to talk about Joey’s father because maybe he’s connected with this.”
    “With the old woman?”
    “Maybe.”
    “Oh, I doubt it.”
    “Maybe he wants custody of his son.”
    “Then why not just come and ask?”
    Charlie shrugged. “People don’t always approach a problem from a logical point of view.”
    She shook her head. “No. It’s not Joey’s . . . father. As far as I know, he isn’t even aware that Joey exists. Besides, that old woman was saying Joey had to die .”
    “I still think we have to consider the possibility and talk about his father, even if that’s painful for you. We can’t leave any possibility unexplored.”
    She nodded. “It’s just that . . . when I got pregnant with Joey, it nearly destroyed Evelyn . . . my mother. She had expected so much of me . . . She made me feel terribly guilty, made me wallow in guilt.” She sighed. “I guess, because of the way my mother treated me, I’m still overly sensitive about Joey’s . . . illegitimacy.”
    “I understand.”
    “No. You don’t. You can’t.”
    He waited and listened. He was a good and patient listener. It was part of his job.
    She said, “Evelyn . . . Mother . . . doesn’t like Joey much. Won’t have much to do with him. She blames him for his illegitimacy. She sometimes even treats him as if . . . as if he’s wicked or evil or something. It’s wrong, it’s sick, it doesn’t make