Free Suspicion of Madness by Barbara Parker Page A

it, fly to Hawaii, no forwarding address.
    Soon. Oh, Christ, let it be soon.
    Doug went down the hall to Thomas Holtz's office.
    The old man didn't usually get to work so early. He spent too many hours with his pals in one bar or another to get here before ten, most days. Doug's father, who had died a drunk, had been one of those pals. Graduating with mediocre grades from a third-tier law school, Doug had leaned on Tom to take him in.
    Tom Holtz was sixty-eight, a barrel-shaped man with white hair and glasses. Broken veins reddened his cheeks, and gold glinted on his molars. His wood-paneled walls were decorated with ancient civic-award plaques, fading color snapshots of himself in fishing tournaments, and amateurish seascapes done by his late wife. If Doug had thought he would end up this way, he would do what Billy Fadden had done, but get it right.
    "Hey, Tom. Here's a news flash for you."
    Doug told him about Billy Fadden's confession, how he'd tried to hang himself. It looked bad, but the kid had an alibi. He claimed he'd been watching movies at Aunt Joan's house. Doug, as a favor for the Greenwalds, would hold off on filing the guardianship papers until this was cleared up. Otherwise, the sheriff might not believe Billy's alibi, if they thought Joan was incompetent.
    Tom asked a couple of questions, making Doug go over it again. The old guy was slowing down. He couldn't hold a thought anymore. Finally Tom nodded. "I'm mighty relieved, to tell you the truth."
    Doug said, "It's not off. We're just going to wait a while."
    "Are you sure this is the right thing?" Tom leaned back in his chair. His hard, round stomach strained the buttons on his shirt. "I agreed to act as attorney of record because I wanted to see Joan get some help, but there's got to be some other way. If we say she's incompetent, it'll wound her pride."
    "She can't live alone anymore, Tom. You know that."
    Tom shook his head. "Have you asked what Joan wants? Have you even considered it? You get to a certain age, you need to feel you still have some control. She doesn't want to leave Lindeman Key. Maybe she needs to have her house fixed up. Some paint. New kitchen, new windows. Make it pretty for her."
    Doug paced across the office, hands in his pockets. "That's a waste of money. She doesn't own it, Tom. She has a life estate. My dad set it up that way. When she dies, her interest goes to Martin Greenwald."
    "Yes, yes, but that isn't going to happen for a long time. Here's what you do. Fix the place up and send somebody out a couple of times a week to clean house and look after her. Wouldn't that work?"
    "Tom—"
    "The woman who took care of Mary when she was so sick. A good woman, very reliable. I've still got her number."
    "Aunt Joan would never go for it."
    Tom held up a hand. "We'll personally introduce them. She'd like this woman. What if I go talk to her and explain things?"
    "You haven't seen Aunt Joan in two years. I'm telling you, she's different. She's gone downhill, Tom."
    "How do you know? When's the last time you were out there?"
    "Not lately. She won't let me in because she's under the delusion that I'm going to steal something. There's nothing to steal. Her house is a junk heap."
    Tom swivelled to keep focused on Doug's progress across the room and back in the other direction. "How do you know so much? Sandra McCoy? Is that who you mean?" He was satisfied to see Doug's head snap around.
    Doug said, "She liked Aunt Joan. I asked her to see if she was all right."
    How in hell had he opened his office to a man like this? Tom said, "Let me tell you something. It's not right to keep Joanie in the dark. She ought to be told. I should do it myself."
    "Stay away from my aunt."
    The tone was so sharp that Tom jerked. "What?"
    "Stay away from her. She's not to find out until the court orders an investigation and they send somebody out there." Doug stopped directly across from where Tom sat, still stunned. Doug spoke slowly, as if to a child. "If you