Fall from Grace by Richard North Patterson Page B

shook his hand. “First floor, if you don’t mind passing through security to take a piss. Too many nuts with guns, I guess.”
    Turning, he shuffled up the steps, his shoulders slumped, unhappy to retreat inside.
    Once more Adam gave up his keys and wallet to pass through the magnetometer, then spent an obligatory minute in the men’s room parsing his troubled thoughts. As he left, he glanced into the room containing the TV monitor and committed the name and make of the security system to memory.
    On the courthouse steps, Adam saw a sturdy figure in the uniform of a police officer. His instant impression was of a body bound to thicken, already straining the blue shirt, its torso almost as broad as the man’s thick shoulders. Then he saw the man’s features—blue eyes, caramel-colored hair, a round, amiable face that hinted at perpetual puzzlement, as though something were about to surprise him. Smiling with his own surprise, Adam experienced in miniature what a high school reunion must feel like.
    “Bobby?”
    Bobby Towle stopped abruptly, gazing at Adam until an answering grin spread across the broad planes of his face. “Adam Blaine,” he said, and gave Adam an awkward hug. “My God, how long has it been?”
    “A while,” Adam replied. “I think the last time was at a beach party. But you may not remember.”
    Bobby’s grin was rueful. “I was with Barbara, right?”
    “The beautiful Barbara,” Adam amended. “What happened with that?”
    The smile diminished. “We’re still together. Married, in fact.”
    “Can’t blame you a bit. It’s Barbara I wonder about.”
    Bobby shifted his weight. “What about you?”
    “Single. I’ve become a world traveler, which gets in the way.”
    “Not a lawyer?”
    “No.”
    Bobby appraised him. “At least you look the same,” he said, patting his stomach. “No fat on you. Maybe a little older, and a little meaner.”
    Beneath his guilelessness, Adam remembered, Bobby had an instinctive gift for grasping essential truths. “Not you, Bobby. Not even in uniform. You’re a cop, looks like.”
    “Chilmark Police.” Bobby grimaced a little. “Sorry about your dad.”
    “Thanks.” Adam paused for an appropriate moment, then rested a hand on Bobby’s shoulder. “Why don’t we meet for a drink somewhere. Or don’t you do that anymore?”
    A faint look of hurt surfaced in Bobby’s eyes. “Not as much, nowadays. But, sure, I’ll tip a couple of beers to keep you company.”
    “Great. The Kelley House still open?”
    “Definitely.”
    “Check with Barbara, then, and give me a call.”
    Bobby hunched his shoulders. “Tomorrow night’s fine. Say eight o’clock?”
    Something was wrong at home, Adam felt sure. “You’re on, Bobby. We can replay the last touchdown in the Nantucket game. You really crushed that guy.”
    Driving home, Adam wondered about Bobby Towle, and felt a twinge of conscience for his intentions. Sometimes that still happened, even in Afghanistan.
    Ten
    Promptly at six, the time once mandated by his father, Adam had dinner with his mother, Jack, and Teddy. At first he did not say much, nor did anyone mention that Clarice had prepared Benjamin Blaine’s favorite dinner—lobster and Caesar salad, with a bottle of Chassagne-Montrachet.
    Facing Adam across the table, Jack said, “I sense you have something to tell us.”
    “Several things. I read the will this afternoon. It’s been a while since I studied estates and trusts law, so I’m no expert. But I think Mom can attack it.”
    Teddy glanced at Clarice, then told Adam dryly, “Then you’ll be glad to know we’re seeing a real lawyer.”
    “Good. So let me suggest what he might look at.”
    “Please,” his mother interposed with a trace of humor. “I’d like to think that year at NYU wasn’t completely wasted.”
    This touched a sore point, Adam knew—for his mother, the pain of his abrupt departure was deepened by his failure to pursue a career for which he seemed