Free The Saint Louisans by Steven Clark Page A

last thing she needs is some middle-aged whatsit bursting in and crying ‘Mommy.’”
    â€œAnd demanding a cut of the estate.”
    I shook my head. This was getting complicated, and my first priority had to be the welfare of my patient. “I know the mansion means a lot to you, but you’re really projecting yourself into this. My concern must be Margot’s peace of mind.”
    â€œPierre and Terri will be ruthless.”
    â€œTerri I could see. She had a rep for nasty, but Pierre? I hardly think we’ll have trouble with the Buddhist Mafia.”
    â€œIt’s a lot of money, and if you think it complicated now, just think what it will be like as the end draws near. Lee, it seems like she’s really growing fond of you. Do you think you could ask her about the child? If she has any idea …”
    Saul’s majesty impressed me, as it always did. He wears decency and social concern like Lady Gaga wears the outrageous. A cloud of doubt was ready to rain on my acceptance. “I can’t intrude upon that. If she talks about the child, and she might, then I’ll ask, but only to help her cope. Margot needs to die in peace and at one with her children. I’m not doing this to save the mansion.”
    His brow furrowed, but I continued.
    â€œIt is a beautiful place. Divine, a real jewel. Yes, we want to save it, but my job is to help her find peace.”
    â€œI’m not using you to get to her to save the mansion.”
    I took his hand. “Sure, love. You almost sound like the mansion is a character, not a prop.” I smiled. “Needs and wants. Two different things.”
    â€œI know,” he said and squeezed my hand. We paid the bill and walked down Euclid before we parted. I to my apartment and Saul to Metrolink. Passing another pole with JUNETEENETH TOWNE! plastered on it made him grunt, then he thrust his hands in his coat, chin raised.
    â€œYou know,” he said, “we should talk about us.”
    â€œWe do. All the time.”
    â€œNot us. ‘Us.’ Don’t be afraid of that word. It’s only two little letters.”
    â€œI know I’m hedging, but after two divorces, marriage is still an eight-letter, four-letter word.”
    â€œSure. Abby was no piece of cake, especially during the separation. What do they say? ‘A wise man marries his second wife first.’ I know I’m a jerk.”
    â€œThe hell you are. You’re a king.”
    Saul stopped. “I get angry. About life not being right. Not being listened to by the pols. But I need you, Lee. When I saw your portrait—”
    â€œYeah. A blonde surrounded by a room full of warped people. It’s kind of true to life.”
    Saul took my arm. “Is it because I’m four years younger than you?”
    â€œNo. No, of course not.”
    His eyes probed. “I mean, we’re both in our fifties.” We approached the corner and our parting. Saul looked ahead. “Is it Doc? You still have a thing for him?”
    â€œAbsolutely not. Really. No. I’ve only got one thing.” I took him by his coat lapels and kissed him. “Promise.”
    â€œOkay.” He smiled down at me. “Let’s think about it. Please. One of these days I’m going to get tired of asking.”
    â€œOne of these days, I’m going to get tired of saying no.” I kissed him again.
    â€œRemember tomorrow night at the museum. We’re seeing all the muckeymucks.”
    â€œI’ll wear blue. Blue goes well with muckey-mucks. You going to wear the necklace?”
    â€œHell, no. I’d be terrified if I lost it. The insurance is probably astronomical.”
    Saul gave me that leading man smile of his that I get all soft about, then we broke apart.
    I entered my apartment as Kenyatta Holmes, my bumptious across-the-hall neighbor, tootled away on his sax. As always when I opened the door, Yul, my Siamese, yowled and charged out,