Page 10 of A Matter of Pedigree
“But he didn’t do it. He’s innocent.”
“Vince Houlihan’s a good lawyer; he’ll put up a good defense.”
“So Frank will get off?”
“I’d say probably; I’d put the odds at something like sixty-forty,” said Connie.
Carole was right on it. “Sixty he’ll get off, right?”
Connie laughed. “Yeah, Mom.”
“Not great odds,” said Carole, studying her daughter and noticing the dark circles under her eyes and the way she was holding the dog, almost as if Poopsie were a stuffed toy. Poopsie loved that sort of attention, but Carole wondered if Connie was making so much of the dog because she wasn’t getting enough human affection. “Your birthday’s coming,” she said, thinking of a couple of eligible men she could invite. “Let’s have a party.”
“Mom, you know I hate parties, and besides. …”
Carole was quick to change course. “Just family.”
“I was gonna say, I won’t be here. I’ll be in Buffalo then, for work.”
“Like in Canada?”
“No, Mom.” Connie was laughing and shaking her head. “It’s in New York state, near Niagara Falls.”
“Never been,” admitted Carole, who had no plans of remedying the situation. “What are you going to do there?”
“It’s for a case. The firm is representing the Oneida nation, who claim they were cheated out of their hunting grounds about two hundred years ago and want it back.”
Carole shrugged. “Fat chance. I don’t like the odds on that one.”
“You’re probably right,” agreed Connie. “There’s an entire subdivision built on it, but maybe we can get them some compensation. I’m going to be researching the old treaties and agreements, and I might have to go to Ottawa, too, which is in Canada. It’s pretty exciting,” she continued, growing animated. “It’s my first company trip, and it’s actually a pretty big case, if we win. A lot of money. Millions.”
Poopsie had fallen asleep in Connie’s lap and was twitching a bit, dreaming of chasing rabbits. “You know, Mom, I’ve been talking to this archivist; she’s fabulous,” said Connie, who was growing more animated. “You’d think something like government archives would be dusty and boring, but she makes it all sound so interesting. Like a trip into the past. I’m really looking forward to digging into this stuff.”
“You better wear a mask,” advised Carole. “Those old treaties are probably dusty, and you have allergies.”
“Thanks for the advice, Mom, but I think you’re missing the point. This is an exciting time for me. Like doors are opening, and my job is getting more fascinating every day, and I kind of feel like I’m getting more attention and opportunities than the other associates.” She paused. “I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but I’m beginning to think they’re eyeing me for the partnership track. Like maybe this trip is a sort of test.”
“You’ll do fine,” said Carole, automatically patting her daughter’s hand. “But what are we going to do about your birthday?”
Chapter Four
At breakfast the next morning, Frank got right down to business.
“The way I see it,” he said, stabbing a bright yellow egg yolk with his fork and smearing it over the white, “is that the only way I’m going to get out of this mess is if we figure out who killed that old bastard.”
Carole stared at him. “Isn’t that what the cops are supposed to do?”
“You said it, kiddo,” replied Frank, waving his fork at her, “but they think they got their man, who just happens to be me. They’re not gonna keep looking, are they? But we’ve got an advantage because we know they got the wrong guy. We know I didn’t do it, right?”
“Right,” agreed Carole, stirring her yogurt. “But how are we going to find the real killer? Maybe we should hire a detective? Somebody who knows what they’re doing?”
“Nah,” said Frank, shoving a toast triangle into his mouth, “nobody’s gonna care like we care, right? And,” he continued, taking a big slurp of coffee, “we can hit the ground running. We know the background.”
Carole raised her expensively waxed and shaped eyebrows. “We do?”
“Sure.” Frank was busy mopping up the last bit of egg with a piece of toast. “Don’t you remember what he said at that meeting? About how he would tolerate no hanky-panky at the old manse there?”
“Yeah,” she said slowly, “he did mention something along those lines.”
