cold. “Evil, did you say?
Evelyn clearly pictured Thomas Pallack lying on the floor by her dining room table, his eyes rolled back in his head, with Dix standing over him. Because she was a skilled hostess, she quickly went pre-medieval, to the Queen Hatshepsut Egyptian exhibit currently at the de Young Museum. Thankfully, both Pallacks had visited the exhibit.
Over excellent apple pie and ice cream, fudge Sherlock let Thomas Pallack wax eloquent about his candidate. He did an almost credible job of seeming interested.
Charlotte Pallack flirted with Dix in a lovely discreet way, going so far as to touch her fingers to his sleeve while her husband helped her into her cashmere coat at precisely ten o’clock. Judge Sherlock assured Pallack that he would study the hard-line law-and-order candidate and knew that Pallack probably didn’t buy it. Well, he’d shown as much enthusiasm as he could without starting an argument that would have had Evelyn throwing wineglasses at them.
When the front door closed, Evelyn patted Dix’s cheek. “She didn’t know you and you didn’t know her. It’s over, Dix, all questions answered. Go to bed now and get some sleep.”
CHAPTER 13
At eight o’clock Saturday morning, the Sherlocks sat down with Dix at the breakfast table. They’d already worked out in their downstairs gym and still wore their workout clothes. They looked fit, their faces still shiny with exertion and good health. There was no makeup at all on Evelyn’s face. She looked beautiful. Dix took a bite of his sliced grapefruit. “I called Savich and Sherlock last night, told them what happened. And Christie’s father, of course.”
“A difficult call to make,” said Judge Sherlock.
“It was very hard.” Chappy had been stone silent, and Dix pictured the stark grief in his eyes again, grief that had lessened over the past three years, now brought back to full strength, though he had known, had accepted, that Christie was dead. ‘Tm sorry, Chappy,” he’d said, “sorry for all of us. This woman looked very much like Christie, but she wasn’t.” So inadequate, but there was simply nothing else to say. Chappy hadn’t broken down, and Dix was immensely grateful for that.
He’d called Ruth on her cell so she could have some privacy from the boys. He knew she was trying to keep the immense relief out of her voice. As for himself, he’d tried to keep his voice as flat and steady as he could. As God was his witness, he didn’t know what he really felt, at the core of him, where murky questions and even murkier feelings tangled and snarled, and years of memories heaved to the surface to draw him back. He knew only that he’d wanted Christie to be alive—beyond that, he simply didn’t know.
Dix watched Judge Sherlock carefully place four slices of crispy turkey bacon on a slice of toast, fold it over, and take a big bite. A BLT without the LT. Corman said, “Savich and Lacey surely knew what happened; they didn’t want to bother you until you were ready. Neither was surprised that Charlotte Pallack wasn’t your wife.”
“They didn’t tell me they’d already spoken to you, sir. Actually I can’t imagine either of them being surprised it wasn’t Christie, being they’re cops and have seen too much to believe in happy endings. As have judges.”
“We got it all resolved quickly,” Evelyn said matter-of-factly, “and that’s what’s important now. You didn’t have to wait any longer than necessary to know the truth.”
He shot her a quick smile. She was exactly right. He’d been able to find out before he’d sunk into the abyss.
“Thank you both for taking me in on such short notice, for getting the Pallacks over here, and, well, for being here for me. I’m in your debt.”
Rather than politely declining the offer, Judge Sherlock nodded. “I like a sheriff owing me. Can’t hurt, who knows?”
Evelyn laughed. “He never misses a trick, Dix. You’ve always got to watch him.” Something passed between the two of them, something Dix had seen pass between his own parents, something he knew had passed between him and Christie—genuine affection. But there was another face there now—Ruth’s face— and he thought again of how very lucky he was. He knew when he got home he would do what he had to do to make it all legal so he and Ruth could get on with their lives. And the boys could settle once again into the normalcy of a family with both a father and a mother. He said to his hosts, “I was expecting the grapefruit to lemon my lips, but it’s sweet.”
Isabel came into the dining room. “Dix, there’s someone for you on the phone. You can take it out here, if you like, in the hallway.”
Dix raised an eyebrow. Who knew he was here other than Chappy, Savich, Sherlock, and Ruth, who would have called his cell? He followed Isabel out of the dining room and picked up the phone. “Yes?”
“Mr. Noble? Dix? This is Charlotte Pallack.”
He nearly dropped the phone. He would have been less surprised if it had been the IRS. “Good morning, Mrs. Pallack.”
“Come now, Dix, do call me Charlotte.”
He said nothing, waited. What was all this about?
She said in a rush, “Will you have lunch with me today?”
After he absorbed that, he said carefully, “You and your husband?”
“No, no, only me. We didn’t get a chance to talk last evening— my husband always dives right into politics and I, well, I’m from the South, you’re now from the South, I wanted you to tell me how everything moves down there now since I’ve been gone for such a long time. Both my husband and I are very interested in politics back home.”
That was one of the thinnest excuses he’d ever heard in his life and he didn’t know what to say. Virginia
