Shallow Graves - Jeremiah Healy Read Online Free Page A

are more nerve endings
there." The nail went to the pad of my middle finger. "It
should feel even better now. Know why?"
    "Still more nerve endings."
    A nod before moving to the thumb pad. "And there
are just bundles of the little devils here."
    I cleared my throat. "Any more . . . bundles?"
    "Yes, but unfortunately they're not yet
accessible."
    At which point, our wine arrived.
    Halfway through the meal, a terrific rack of lamb for
two, a pianist started playing, the kind of theme and variations that
you recognize but have trouble placing.
    Nancy stopped the wineglass halfway to her lips. "
'Phantom of the Opera'?"
    "I think so."
    She took a sip. "Growing up in Southie, did you
ever think you'd eat here?"
    "Same as you, Nance. I thought I'd work hard and
do well and yeah, eventually eat somewhere outside of South Boston."
    Nancy said, "Do you enjoy it?"
    As the pianist segued into "Out of Africa' I
looked around the room. Lofty ceiling, delicate molding, crystal
chandeliers. Wall-tall windows with drapes that had to be gathered
like the robes of an emperor. Enough tuxedos and evening gowns to
prove that fifty-year-olds still held proms.
    I came back to Nancy. "Yes, I enjoy it."
    "As much as eating at a fish joint in Southie?"
    "The same, I think. In Southie, the guy who
brings the wine bottles twists off the tops. I'm not sure the
enjoyment goes up just because the guy here pours a little into a
silver spoon around his neck."
    "I was impressed with how you handled that, by
the way."
    "The man knows his job. I should let him do it
if it helps me."
    "Speaking of jobs, what did you do today?"
    That was the tough part of being with an assistant
D.A. There were some things I couldn't talk about because of client
confidentiality and other things I couldn't talk about because I
might put Nancy in a conflict of interest. She wore the mark of one
of those conflicts on her right shoulder, a little pleat of scar
tissue over the hole a thirty-eight slug made when we first got
involved.
    The good part was that I could be vague without
seeming rude. "I'm doing a death case for Empire."
    "Empire? I thought they hated you."
    "They do. It's a long, boring story/'
    "The death case. Here in Suffolk County?"
    "Right."
    Nancy nodded. She had her professional obligations, I
had mine, and we both knew it was best not to mix them.
    Going back to the lamb, I said, "You still on
for the conference in Dallas?"
    She smiled without showing teeth. "Convention. I
confirmed it this morning"
    "They still want you to talk?"
    "Uh-huh. One of the panels at plenary session."
    "What does 'plenary' mean?"
    "Before the whole convention in the big
auditorium?
    "Quite a feather in the young prosecutor's cap."
    "It'll hold me till you do."
    By the time we were ready for dessert, the pianist
had taken a break. Over the hushed talk and clinking of cutlery, I
said, "You know, I thought about embarrassing you with a cake
and singing."
    Nancy looked up, horrified. "You didn't?"
    "Picture it. The Great Nancy Meagher, the center
of attention at her convention, unbearably self-conscious in the best
hotel restaurant in Boston."
    "That would be cruel, John."
    "Cruelty has its place. Instead, though, how
about a chocolate mousse torte?"
    "You memorized the menu?"
    "That one kind of jumped out at me."
    Our waiter wheeled over the dessert cart anyway.
Nancy picked a seven-layer walnut cake and a tea I couldn't
pronounce. I went with the torte and the last of the wine. Pointing
my fork at her cake, I said, "There's still time to stick a
candle in that."
    She looked up. "Want a taste?"
    We exchanged forkfuls, making appropriate "ummm"
sounds.
    The pianist came back on just as we were finishing. I
said, "We could order some brandy, hear one more set?"
    Nancy seemed to consider it as he began playing
again. Then she frowned. "What is that?"
    I looked at the piano, thinking it would help me.
"Something with words, but . .
    "A theme song, like from television."
    "Yeah. Sure. 'The first