Sand Dollars Read Online Free Page A

were a little unkind in your description of yourself, however.”
    â€œI said I’m a big old ugly man with a beard.”
    â€œYou should have said rugged. Ugly is a little harsh.”
    â€œMaybe a little.”
    â€œHe’s self-effacing. He doesn’t mean it.” Claire Peters looked at me without interest. She was pleasant, but distant. I was hired help. The meeting was some kind of requirement. She didn’t want to be here and she didn’t want to meet me.
    Claire Peters looked to be in her mid-thirties, but these days who can tell? The air near her held a light, sensuous scent. Her body, finely toned, had all the right curves in all the right places. Her hair, cut short at the nape of her neck, would have looked mannish on some women; on her it was totally feminine, complementing high cheekbones and the flawless complexion of a professional model. She wore a simple black dress with a modest black shirt jacket that had probably set her back a thousand dollars. The triple-choker
strands of pearls at her throat looked real, as did the gold Cartier casually entwined with the diamond tennis bracelet. The skirt was just short enough to display trim, athletic legs. I could picture her running up and down a tennis court, smashing the overhead shot into the distant corner, just out of her opponent’s reach.
    â€œI’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Peters,” I said. “I don’t know if I can help, but I’m here to listen.”
    â€œWhat do you know?”
    â€œOnly what Ms. Klein told me. Your husband died in a boating accident several months ago and there are some questions about the circumstances of his death. The accident happened in Mexico, which complicates everything.”
    â€œYou’ve never heard of my husband?”
    â€œI’m afraid not. Ms. Klein—”
    â€œBarbara.”
    â€œBarbara told me that Paul Peters was successful in business. Beyond that, I’m ignorant.”
    She considered my statement. “He’s ignorant. That’s like he’s ugly. Where did you get him?” She spoke to Barbara Klein as if I were somewhere else. I took another sip of wine.
    â€œHe saved my son’s life.” Barbara gave a fairly accurate description of the events on the Mahi, and of my other capabilities. She really had checked me out and knew my record. Someone must have tapped her into Kimo’s line, because she knew about my military background, too.
    â€œIs that about it, Mr. Caine?”
    â€œI think you left out the part where I leap tall buildings with a single bound.”
    Claire Peters examined me, this time with interest. “Perhaps you’re just about perfect. Do you carry a gun, Mr. Caine? Don’t people like you carry guns?”
    I shook my head. “People like me need guns if they make a lot of mistakes. I try not to get into situations where a gun is necessary.”
    â€œBarbara said you were smart. I need someone with brains. I don’t need a thug.” She appraised me briefly, a clinical appraisal, intense and specific. “You’re big enough. Imposing.
Rugged, actually. If things were to get rough, you look as if you wouldn’t run away.”
    â€œI won’t run away,” I said, “as long as there’s a reason to be here.”
    The corners of her mouth turned up in amusement. It was almost a smile. She turned to her banker. “He’ll do, if you still think I need a detective.”
    Barbara nodded. “I’m being promoted to the San Francisco office,” she said to me, then turned to Claire. “I won’t be around to watch out for you. You need adequate representation, dear, and you’ve not been getting it.”
    â€œJoe’s a good lawyer.”
    â€œJoe’s a tax consultant. He’s over his head. You know that.”
    Claire nodded.
    â€œWell, I’ll leave you two alone. I’ve got to get home.” Barbara Klein rose