Murder in Foggy Bottom Read Online Free Page B

said.
    “Dad’s instrument rated,” Rob said. “He’s as good a pilot as any airline captain.”
    “I wouldn’t say that,” Max said.
    “I don’t care how many licenses he has, he flies that silly little plane that a stiff breeze could blow over. You’re not going up with him.”
    Years earlier, Max had taken offense at her stance, silently considering it an assault on his ability and, yes, his manhood. But he no longer argued.
    “You live with Mom and you do what she says,” he told them, glancing at Doris for approval. “When you’re older and making your own decisions, there’ll be plenty of time to fly together, maybe even get you started on flying lessons of your own.”
    Another glance at his wife brought a stern look in return. He smiled, and she resumed basting that night’s dinner, as if the ham were him.
    He’d never blamed Doris for filing the divorce papers while he was in Moscow. Once he’d joined what they once called the Company—the CIA—he was barely home, certainly long enough to father two kids, but that hadn’t taken long. The marriage had quickly become one in name only, he off on secret ventures to exotic places, she running a house, paying the bills, and bringing up two energetic sons without him around to help. In a sense, it was a relief when he learned she was divorcing him. He didn’t contest it, nor did he attempt to make a case for custody. He wouldn’t have been any better a father than he’d been a husband. The boys needed a full-time father and a mother; whatever Doris’s feelings for him, her love of their sons was profound.
    Later that night, he and Doris sat alone on the screened porch at the rear of her house. Max knew she enjoyed being with him, and he liked sitting with her. Romantic love was a thing in their distant past; there had never been any talk of giving it another try. But there was a comfort in spending time with someone you knew intimately, and with whom you’d shared a good hunk of your life. No need for posturing, no putting silly spins on things when the other person knew the truth.
    “How’s Washington?” she asked.
    “All right.”
    “Must be blah after romantic Moscow.”
    “
Romantic
Moscow? You’ve never seen the leftover Soviet Union.”
    “I understand Russian women are very beautiful— and seductive.”
    Where was this going? he silently wondered.
    “They are beautiful, almost as beautiful as American women.”
    “Does that include me?”
    “I
meant
you.”
    “Thank you.”
    She looked away from him and placed the knuckle of her right index finger against her lips. Max knew what that meant; there was something she wanted to tell him but was debating whether to do it.
    She looked at him again. “Max, I’ve met someone.”
    “You have? Who?”
    “Someone at work. A nice man.”
    “An accountant?” She worked in a large accounting firm.
    “Yes.”
    “A solid citizen. Accountants are solid.”
    “Dull, you mean?”
    “I didn’t say it. I mean dependable.”
    He saw her smile in moonlight filtering through the screen. “Look, Doris, if you’ve fallen in love with a nice guy, I’m happy for you. I really am. All I care is that he’s good to the kids if you end up marrying him. He’s what, divorced, widowed, never married?”
    “Divorced. He has two daughters. They’re about the same age as Rob and Joe.”
    “Sounds like it has all the makings of a fifties sitcom.”
    “Which you never enjoyed.”
    “On TV or in real life?”
    “Both. The role of husband and father was beneath you.”
    “I wouldn’t put it that way, Doris. I had other things on my mind.”
    Her laugh was not sarcastic. “Other things. God, Max, you really do love what you do, don’t you?”
    “Shouldn’t I? You’re supposed to love what you do.”
    “Which is supposed to include being a husband and father.”
    “I wasn’t bad—when I was around.”
    “Max, even when you were around, as you put it, your mind was in some dark alley in