centered on the midline, but it was off slightly so that the third
C
was at the centerpoint.
But he didn’t dare take it out and reposition it. There wasn’t time—with every second the chances that someone would catch him in here increased—and taking it out and mashing it down one more time might mangle the red velvet noticeably.
Then he realized that he hadn’t paid any attention to how the medal had been placed in there originally. Maybe it was turned one way or another. He had no recollection.
But would Galvin notice a tiny detail like that? It seemed unlikely.
He let out a long, silent breath. Backed away from the desk.
And heard the familiar raspy voice.
“Can you believe Grill 23 was closed tonight?” said Tom Galvin.
21
D anny felt his entire body jolt. He let out an involuntary cry, a sort of strangled yip.
Galvin laughed. “Didn’t mean to startle you like that.”
“Hey. You had—I thought you had a dinner with a client.”
“The guy had his heart set on Grill 23—some friend of his said they serve the best steak in Boston—and I kept telling him, you know, Abe & Louie’s, you can’t go wrong there, I like their steaks even better, and you can’t go wrong with Capital Grille, either. But no, he says his wife won’t let him do red meat more than once a month, and he’s not wasting his monthly allotment on any steak except Grill 23’s. So we had a drink and rescheduled.”
“Well, since you’ve caught me skulking around your office, I might as well come out and ask.”
“Ask . . . ?” In the gloom, Galvin’s eyes were inscrutable.
“I wanted to surprise you. Those amazing cigars—what are they called again? I wanted to get you a box of them. Least I could do to thank you.”
Galvin switched the overhead lights on and took a few steps into the room. He gave a small, crooked smile. “They haven’t moved.” He gave a casual wave toward the overstuffed leather chairs in front of his desk. Danny glanced. On the end table next to one of them was the black lacquer box, COHIBA BEHIKE in gold letters on its lid. The gold glittered in the overhead spotlight. “I appreciate the thought, but you don’t really want to spend half the money I lent you on
cigars
, now do you? That box cost close to twenty thousand bucks, Danny boy. It was a gift—I wouldn’t spend that kind of money on
cigars
. Come on.”
“O-o-oh, I see. No, I don’t think so.” He chuckled.
“Appreciate the thought, though. I hope you’re staying for dinner.”
Danny couldn’t decide if he was pleased or dismayed at how smoothly he’d just lied. Maybe both.
But that strange feeling was quickly overwhelmed by a low hum of anxiety. He was certain Galvin knew he was lying.
22
“Y ou left the lights on,” Abby said.
As he put the key in the lock, he noticed the spill of light under his apartment door.
Then he remembered. Yesterday, Lucy had offered to pick up sushi for the three of them—California roll and such for Abby, no raw fish—for dinner tonight.
“Oh, shit.”
Lucy was on her laptop at the dining table. Arrayed around her were clear plastic trays with decorative green plastic blades of grass and rows of sliced sushi rolls. The remains of a glass of white wine.
“I’m guessing you guys already ate.”
“I screwed up. My bad, Lucy. I’m sorry.”
She didn’t look angry or even particularly annoyed. She smiled as if secretly amused, shook her head. Maybe a little annoyed. “There’s plenty left. But it won’t be any good tomorrow. Unagi, Abby? It’s cooked.”
“I’m good,” she said. “Daddy, you didn’t tell her you were at Wellesley College?”
“Why Wellesley?” Lucy asked.
“Yeah, there’s an archive there . . .” His voice trailed off. Another lie.
“The Jay Gould archive,” Abby announced.
Thanks, kid
, he thought.
You basically have no idea what I do for a living and suddenly you’re doing the play-by-play color commentary?
“There’s a Jay
C
was at the centerpoint.
But he didn’t dare take it out and reposition it. There wasn’t time—with every second the chances that someone would catch him in here increased—and taking it out and mashing it down one more time might mangle the red velvet noticeably.
Then he realized that he hadn’t paid any attention to how the medal had been placed in there originally. Maybe it was turned one way or another. He had no recollection.
But would Galvin notice a tiny detail like that? It seemed unlikely.
He let out a long, silent breath. Backed away from the desk.
And heard the familiar raspy voice.
“Can you believe Grill 23 was closed tonight?” said Tom Galvin.
21
D anny felt his entire body jolt. He let out an involuntary cry, a sort of strangled yip.
Galvin laughed. “Didn’t mean to startle you like that.”
“Hey. You had—I thought you had a dinner with a client.”
“The guy had his heart set on Grill 23—some friend of his said they serve the best steak in Boston—and I kept telling him, you know, Abe & Louie’s, you can’t go wrong there, I like their steaks even better, and you can’t go wrong with Capital Grille, either. But no, he says his wife won’t let him do red meat more than once a month, and he’s not wasting his monthly allotment on any steak except Grill 23’s. So we had a drink and rescheduled.”
“Well, since you’ve caught me skulking around your office, I might as well come out and ask.”
“Ask . . . ?” In the gloom, Galvin’s eyes were inscrutable.
“I wanted to surprise you. Those amazing cigars—what are they called again? I wanted to get you a box of them. Least I could do to thank you.”
Galvin switched the overhead lights on and took a few steps into the room. He gave a small, crooked smile. “They haven’t moved.” He gave a casual wave toward the overstuffed leather chairs in front of his desk. Danny glanced. On the end table next to one of them was the black lacquer box, COHIBA BEHIKE in gold letters on its lid. The gold glittered in the overhead spotlight. “I appreciate the thought, but you don’t really want to spend half the money I lent you on
cigars
, now do you? That box cost close to twenty thousand bucks, Danny boy. It was a gift—I wouldn’t spend that kind of money on
cigars
. Come on.”
“O-o-oh, I see. No, I don’t think so.” He chuckled.
“Appreciate the thought, though. I hope you’re staying for dinner.”
Danny couldn’t decide if he was pleased or dismayed at how smoothly he’d just lied. Maybe both.
But that strange feeling was quickly overwhelmed by a low hum of anxiety. He was certain Galvin knew he was lying.
22
“Y ou left the lights on,” Abby said.
As he put the key in the lock, he noticed the spill of light under his apartment door.
Then he remembered. Yesterday, Lucy had offered to pick up sushi for the three of them—California roll and such for Abby, no raw fish—for dinner tonight.
“Oh, shit.”
Lucy was on her laptop at the dining table. Arrayed around her were clear plastic trays with decorative green plastic blades of grass and rows of sliced sushi rolls. The remains of a glass of white wine.
“I’m guessing you guys already ate.”
“I screwed up. My bad, Lucy. I’m sorry.”
She didn’t look angry or even particularly annoyed. She smiled as if secretly amused, shook her head. Maybe a little annoyed. “There’s plenty left. But it won’t be any good tomorrow. Unagi, Abby? It’s cooked.”
“I’m good,” she said. “Daddy, you didn’t tell her you were at Wellesley College?”
“Why Wellesley?” Lucy asked.
“Yeah, there’s an archive there . . .” His voice trailed off. Another lie.
“The Jay Gould archive,” Abby announced.
Thanks, kid
, he thought.
You basically have no idea what I do for a living and suddenly you’re doing the play-by-play color commentary?
“There’s a Jay
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