Free 07 Uncorked - Chrissy McMullen Mystery by Lois Greiman Page B

pressed not to smack him in the eye with the just-arrived bottle of whatever the hell it was. “Not in a romantic way,” I hurried to add. “But more like a…” I was going to say brother, but I detest my own brothers.
    Besides, the idea of doing the things with a brother that I had done with Rivera made me want to heave up my ovaries. “Senator…,” I said, changing tack. Leaning back slightly, I carefully withdrew my hand from his grasp. “Do you know where your son is being held?”
    He stared at me with doleful earnestness. “I am afraid I do not.” Like most politicians, Senator Rivera was an exemplary liar. I mean, I’m good, but I may never have the opportunity to hone my skills to the razor-sharp edge he has achieved. Practice, you know, is everything.
    “As you said, your roots go deep,” I reminded him. “Therefore, I find it somewhat difficult to believe—” He held up a perfectly manicured hand.
    “Perhaps I should have said that I do not wish to know where he is."
    “Senator, please,” I began, ready to plead in earnest, but in that instant I realized what he had just said and canted my head in his direction. “You don’t want to know?” He shrugged, a ridiculously graceful lift of his ridiculously expensive shoulder pads.
    “I am certain that seems harsh, Christina, but the truth is this…” Another deep sigh of paternal patience. “I believe now that I was wrong to fight my son’s battles for so long. I did him no favors, I think, by disallowing him to pay his debt to society.” It was said that Rivera Junior had spent some time in juvie…but only until Rivera Senior could pull the necessary strings to get him out. How he had, later, been accepted into cop class with no questions asked was not much of a mystery. “I fear it is time for Gerald to pay his own debts.”
    “His own debts?” Something bubbled in my innards, but I calmed the digestive juices. “You’re not saying you think he’s guilty.”
    “Ahh, Christina…” He stared at me with tender understanding. “How it warms the cockles of my heart to realize your loyalty even after all he has done.” I scowled at him. I didn’t really care what it did to his cockles. The man’s son was in trouble. And a father was supposed to care about that sort of thing. Wasn’t he?
    “This isn’t about what he’s done to me,” I said. “This has to do with the fact that he’s innocent.”
    He leaned toward me, and though he didn’t glance right or left, I got the impression that he was sensing those around him, making sure none were listening…or perhaps making sure they were. “And are you so certain he is innocent, Christina? Are you really?”
    I stared at him, dumbfounded. “He’s not a murderer.” The senator watched me in silence for a moment, then shook his head. “I do not wish to degrade your faith in him, Christina, but perhaps you do not know him as well as you think. My son, though I care a great deal for him, can be a very difficult man.” I stared at him, keeping my expression bland and managing to refrain from reminding him that his son had been the bane of my existence for more than five years.
    He’d accused me of murdering my would-be rapist, for God’s sake. “All right,” I said carefully. “I’ll grant that he can be difficult. But being a police officer is extremely important to him. He would never sabotage his career.”
    “Christina, my dear…” He sighed heavily and shook his head once.
    I gritted my teeth. Patience is not my first virtue. I can name a couple dozen other qualities that aren’t right up there at the top of the list as well. I considered telling the good senator, before things got out of hand, that self control was amongst them. But he blissfully continued in his increasingly irritating patient tone.
    “I know it may seem, at times, that Gerald does not care for you as you deserve, but I believe, in my heart”—he curled his long fingers against the left side of