Free Denial: A Lew Fonesca Mystery (Lew Fonesca Novels) by Stuart M. Kaminsky Page A

are you thinking, Mr. F? Someone ran down her kid brother to get back at Yolanda or something?”
    “I don’t know.”
    And I didn’t
    Flo had sat on the sofa, diet drink in hand, watching the baby.
    “Yolanda’s two years older than me,” Adele said. “She just graduated. No, I take that back. She wasn’t graduated. She was ushered out after an extra year to make up the courses she had flunked. Haven’t really been in touch with her much since they handed her
the diploma and probably asked her not to come back for reunions.”
    Bob Nolan and the Sons of the Pioneers sang about someone who was a devil and not a man.
    “Yolanda was trouble?” I said.
    “Name it,” said Adele, gently rubbing her forehead against the top of the baby’s head. “Drugs, maybe even a little low-level dealing, men, boys, maybe even girls. She tried to come on to me back when I was with … you know. But she wasn’t good at it. She was just playing bad girl. You know? Diamond in her tongue, triple rings in one ear and makeup that said put up or shut up. This Goth is watching you. Tolstoy said you play a role long enough, you start becoming the character.”
    “That’s what happened to Yolanda?”
    Adele nodded.
    “Possibility,” I said. “You think maybe someone might try to get back at her by going after her brother? Or maybe she got Kyle into something?”
    “No,” she said. “She liked the kid, wanted to protect him, be big sister, which didn’t play well being who she was. Haven’t talked to Yola in, I don’t know, maybe a year.”
    “Andrew Goines?”
    “Who?”
    “Friend of Kyle,” I said.
    She shook her head. The name meant nothing to her.
    At the door, Flo handed me what looked like a candy bar.
    “PowerBar,” she said. “Super-high protein.”
    I put it in my pocket.
    “Thanks.”
    “You don’t need an excuse, Lewis,” she said.
    “Excuse?”
    “For dropping in just to see Adele and the baby and, if I can flatter my old ass, to see me. You didn’t really need what you got from Adele. Lots of better ways you could have got it.”
    “Yes,” I said. “I do need an excuse.”
    She put a firm hand on my right arm and said, “Fooling God?” she said. “If he sees you getting too close to someone, he may play another one of his tricks on you?”
    That wasn’t quite it, but it was close enough.
    “Here,” she said, handing me something in a small white tube. “Rub it on your knee and shoulder. Hell, rub it on your ass if you’ve a mind to.”
    “Thanks,” I said, putting the tube in my pocket.
    “Happy trails,” she said and closed the door after me.
    I made some turns, a right onto Webber, a left at Beneva, a U-turn and up to Bee Ridge to be sure no one was following me.
    Maybe the guy who had tried to run me down had a life outside the one related to trying to kill me. Maybe he had a job, a family, places he was expected. Maybe he just went after me on his lunch hour. Then again, maybe not.
    I drove back down Beneva, stopped at Shaner’s and picked up a pair of large pizzas, one with double onions and one with mushrooms and double sausage.
    It was past seven. I drove to Sally’s apartment in the Alhambra. I took off my Cubs cap, tucked it into my back pocket and pushed the button. Susan opened the door.
    Sally’s daughter was eleven, wore glasses, was dark like her mother, and spoke her mind, which at this moment told her to call over her shoulder, “Mr. Smiley Face is here.”
    Michael appeared, tall, gangly, a head of curly hair
and blue eyes, which he definitely got from his father.
    “I thought we were going out,” Susan said.
    “Something came up.”
    “At least he comes bearing gifts,” Michael said.
    “Mushroom and double sausage,” I said, holding out the pizzas.
    Michael took both pizza boxes and with a hand on his sister’s shoulder, stepped back to let me in.
    Sally came out of the tiny kitchen just off the dining room area. She had changed into a loose-fitting green