Free All or Nothing by Elizabeth Adler

he was home he was usually at the bar with his buddies. He ate dinner with them, hung out at the pool hall. He wasn’t what you might call a family man.”
    “Maybe that’s why you chose that role––the suburban guy, the family guy.”
    “Maybe.” Steve’s look was guarded. He sipped the coffee, staring back into the empty fire grate again. “My mom worked too. In the garment district in lower Manhattan. She left the house early, got back late. I was an only child, a kid with a latchkey around my neck since I was seven. To compensate, I guess, I worked hard at school, got straight A’s. I needn’t have bothered, neither of them seemed to care.”
    Al was leaning against the window, arms folded across his chest. His eyes were fixed on Steve.
    “For financial reasons, by rights I should have gone to a local New Jersey college,” Steve said, “but I wanted to get away. I wanted to be my own person.” He shrugged again. “My parents certainly didn’t care where I went, as long as they didn’t have to pay. The West Coast was as far away as I could get. I applied to several colleges. USC’s was the first acceptance letter I received––
and
they offered a scholarship, full tuition, partial board. I was too scared they would take it away from me to wait for other offers. I took it. It was hard, but working summers and nights, I managed to get through. I did well in class, graduated with a degree in electronics.
    “By then I knew I could never go back east. Besides, there was nothing to go back for. I never heard from my mom, not once.” He thought for a minute then added softly, “And boy did I love California. The way the sun shone for more than two hundred days at a time and the way a sprinkle of rain had folks looking for Mount Ararat and Noah. And for the first time in my life I had friends, guys I hung with and sweet, understanding girls who knew I was too broke to take them out anywhere much except the beach or a movie.” He heaved a sigh.
    “And then you met Vickie Saltzman.”
    “I met Vickie.” He paced back to the tiny galley kitchen, poured more coffee, taking his time.
    Al wondered what he was avoiding telling him.
    “And the rest is history,” Steve said with a note of finality. But for Al the interview was only just starting.
    “So tell me about Laurie Martin.”
    Steve turned his back, paced into the kitchen, fiddled with the coffeepot, paced back again. “I’ve already told the police everything I know.”
    Giraud nodded. “And now you’ll tell me.”
    Temper flared in Steve’s eyes and Al made a mental note that the man was on a real short fuse. Was this usual? Or were the circumstances just getting to him?
    “Why the hell should I?”
    “Because your wife hired me to help you. No other reason.” He unfolded his arms, shrugged. “You don’t want help, that’s okay too.” He walked to the door, wondering if Steve Mallard would let him just walk out of here, knowing he might be his last hope. . . . If Steve were a betting man, then this would be an all–or–nothing gamble. And Giraud was the All in this game. There was nothing else.
    “Okay, okay, I’ll tell you. You already know from Vickie I’d been relocated. I was looking for a house. We wanted a place with a sea view but I was having a tough time finding it. At the right price, that is. There were plenty of more expensive houses that would have done just fine––but not on my salary. I saw Laurie Martin’s picture and ad in the local newspaper, called her up, asked if she had anything I could see. We arranged to meet that evening.”
    “At the Ritz in Laguna Niguel.”
    Steve glanced sharply at him. “You knew that?”
    “I happened to be there that evening. Saw you waiting in the bar. Saw Laurie arrive, noticed she had good legs. You said you saw her photo in the ad. I wonder, did you call Laurie because she was just another real estate agent? Or because she was a looker?”
    “God damn it!” Steve