The Edge of Ruin by Melinda Snodgrass

you.”
    Dagmar next took Pamela’s hand. Pamela noticed the woman’s short-clipped nails, very out of character with the expensive clothing, and the width across the back of Dagmar’s hands. It was the mark of a horsewoman, and Pamela had it, too.
    “I would have been here two days ago, but I had the journey from hell,” Reitlingen was saying. “We were late leaving Gatwick, and instead of three hours in Dallas it became eight.” Her mouth worked as if she were chewing on something. “And
mein Gott
, how absurdly dry it is in this place. Normally, Mr. Kenntnis and I would meet in London. I’ve only been here once before, just after the building was completed. The heat was shimmering on the pavement, if you can believe it. The sky is still that impossible blue, but at least this time the temperature is bearable.”
    Pamela felt like she was being pelted by the nonstop words, but her father was faintly smiling. “Is this a long way of asking for a drink?” he asked.
    “Why, yes, exactly,” Dagmar said and smiled.
    “Water or something a little stronger?” the judge asked.
    “Oh, don’t tempt me. But at this hour of the morning, and as tired as I am, I’d best be cautious. Water, please.”
    At a look from her father, Pamela moved to the hidden bar and filled a glass with water and ice cubes from the small refrigerator. The polished red metal of the professional espresso machine gave her a distorted view of the COO. She realized the woman was assessing her with sharply calculating eyes, and Pamela realized that just as she had evaluated Dagmar’s wardrobe the favor was now being returned. Pamela brought her the water.
    The judge settled back into his chair, and indicated the chair on the other side of the desk from him. An offended look, quickly masked, flashed across the older woman’s face.
What is she worried about?
Pamela thought.
    “Are you here to brief my son, or evaluate if the company is in trouble because of this queer turn of events?” the judge asked, and Pamela felt both stupid and enlightened for not realizing the source of Reitlingen’s discomfort sooner.
    Once she found out a gaggle of relatives had arrived, she probably thought we were a gang of rapacious hillbillies. Well, she’s been set straight now.
    “You are very direct,” Dagmar answered. “But I think these discussions should best be held with my employer, and not with you … no matter how close your relationship. Which brings me back to the convalescing. What does convalescing mean? Exactly. If you please.”
    “My son was shot yesterday.”
    “
Mein Gott
. How did this happen?”
    “He was responding to a … er … domestic disturbance call,” the judge said.
    Pamela watched the color flee from Dagmar’s face. “He is
still
working as a policeman.”
    “No,” said Pamela. “He finally listened to Papa. He quit today.”
    Pamela caught the flicker in Dagmar’s brown eyes, and wished she could have trained herself out of pronouncing “Papa” in the French manner. It was such an affectation, and it was so like her mother to have stuck her children with it.
    “In my experience that career is either very easy or very hard to leave,” Dagmar said.
    It was so rude, but Pamela couldn’t control herself, “Oh, God, please, not another one! I am so sick of cops.”
    “Well, let me make you feel better. I was never a policeman. My father, however, he was a policeman, and after watching his life I had no interest in pursuing that career.” The older woman paused, and gave a wry smile. “But damn, I wish I could have had the uniform.”
    “Why?” her father asked.
    “My country has always loved a uniform.” Dagmar paused, and the smile she gave them was a study in irony. “Often to Germany’s detriment. But because I didn’t have a uniform it made it harder for me to achieve my goals.”
    Suddenly it all clicked into place for Pamela. “My God, you’re
that
Reitlingen. I thought I recognized the name. You won