tail?”
“That critter’s a Tinfoil Barb. It’s still got a bit to grow. Many in there are rainbow fish and a variety of Gouramies. There’s also a Blue Dempsey and a Bala shark, and an eel lurking near the pirate ship.”
“Interesting.” Cady turned and looked across the room. Open doors on the back wall led out to a second-story terrace.
“Can I get you something to drink?”
“No thanks.”
“Mind if I finish my Glenfiddich?” Farris picked up his glass and raised it to Cady.
Cady shook his head.
“Never thought I’d become a Glenfiddich man like my father.” Farris finished his drink in one swallow. “Hell, Scotch might even work as a biofuel.”
“I found out today that the friend of Marly Kelch—the girl who drowned at Schaeffer’s party—a guy named Ingram, died in a fire last year.”
Farris walked over to a cart in the corner stacked with bottles, picked up the open bottle of Glenfiddich 15 and refilled his glass. “I guess they’re all dead now.”
“You don’t seem surprised.”
“I’m sorry to hear about Bret, Agent Cady.”
“You said you didn’t know him.”
“What?”
“In your father’s office, you said you didn’t know Marly’s boyfriend, but you just said you were sorry to hear about Bret. I never mentioned Ingram’s first name.”
Farris looked out the open doors of his terrace. “I became curious and Googled old articles after we spoke.”
“Bret Ingram was never charged with any crime, Congressman. I read through all the news accounts as well. The articles, brief as they were, focused on Marly Kelch’s
accidental drowning
on Snow Goose Lake. It was treated as a tragedy. They didn’t itemize the minutiae of who was partying with whom, perhaps out of respect for the Kelch family. Or fear of the Schaeffers.”
Farris walked out to the edge of his terrace, drink in one hand.
Cady followed.
“What happened that night at the lake, Congressman?”
Farris took another long sip from his glass and stared across the alleyway. “The Robillards are home early.”
Cady glanced across the way, a dim light from a back hallway clicked off in the neighboring condo.
“They’ve got a timeshare in Venice.” Farris turned to look at Cady. “When they’re not in Italy, Gretchen and Phil often have me over for one of Gretch’s home-cooked meals. They’ve been married nearly sixty years, Agent Cady. You’ve heard of love at first sight? With the Robillards, it’s love at every sight. I’ve seen it up close. Whenever Gretchen enters the room, Phil’s eyes light up and the two are like kids again. Makes me feel like I should excuse myself and grant them some privacy.” Farris turned back toward his neighbors’ home. “That’s the way it should be, right?”
Cady said nothing.
“It’s going to break their hearts when they hear about me and Emma.”
“Emma?”
“My wife and I are separated. Long time coming. Emma’s a real trooper, though; she’ll be there for the next election…then a quiet divorce decree, and separate ways.” Farris took another mouthful of Scotch. “I see you’re wearing a ring, Agent Cady. Did you hit the lottery? Have you got what Phil and Gretchen possess?”
Cady said nothing. Laura had been in her fifth month of pregnancy when she’d miscarried last December. Cady had been in Detroit tracking down rumors of Al-Qaeda connections at one of the Islamic centers—comments by a cleric had raised eyebrows but ultimately were editorial in nature. Cady flew home, took weeks off, but something had broken—had been years in the breaking, according to Laura—and all the king’s horses and all the king’s men were having a devil of a time putting it together again. Cady planned on taking an extended leave of absence once the Chessman case was resolved.
“Your silence is most telling,” Farris said, toasting the agent with his drink glass. “I welcome you to the club.”
“What happened at the lake,
“That critter’s a Tinfoil Barb. It’s still got a bit to grow. Many in there are rainbow fish and a variety of Gouramies. There’s also a Blue Dempsey and a Bala shark, and an eel lurking near the pirate ship.”
“Interesting.” Cady turned and looked across the room. Open doors on the back wall led out to a second-story terrace.
“Can I get you something to drink?”
“No thanks.”
“Mind if I finish my Glenfiddich?” Farris picked up his glass and raised it to Cady.
Cady shook his head.
“Never thought I’d become a Glenfiddich man like my father.” Farris finished his drink in one swallow. “Hell, Scotch might even work as a biofuel.”
“I found out today that the friend of Marly Kelch—the girl who drowned at Schaeffer’s party—a guy named Ingram, died in a fire last year.”
Farris walked over to a cart in the corner stacked with bottles, picked up the open bottle of Glenfiddich 15 and refilled his glass. “I guess they’re all dead now.”
“You don’t seem surprised.”
“I’m sorry to hear about Bret, Agent Cady.”
“You said you didn’t know him.”
“What?”
“In your father’s office, you said you didn’t know Marly’s boyfriend, but you just said you were sorry to hear about Bret. I never mentioned Ingram’s first name.”
Farris looked out the open doors of his terrace. “I became curious and Googled old articles after we spoke.”
“Bret Ingram was never charged with any crime, Congressman. I read through all the news accounts as well. The articles, brief as they were, focused on Marly Kelch’s
accidental drowning
on Snow Goose Lake. It was treated as a tragedy. They didn’t itemize the minutiae of who was partying with whom, perhaps out of respect for the Kelch family. Or fear of the Schaeffers.”
Farris walked out to the edge of his terrace, drink in one hand.
Cady followed.
“What happened that night at the lake, Congressman?”
Farris took another long sip from his glass and stared across the alleyway. “The Robillards are home early.”
Cady glanced across the way, a dim light from a back hallway clicked off in the neighboring condo.
“They’ve got a timeshare in Venice.” Farris turned to look at Cady. “When they’re not in Italy, Gretchen and Phil often have me over for one of Gretch’s home-cooked meals. They’ve been married nearly sixty years, Agent Cady. You’ve heard of love at first sight? With the Robillards, it’s love at every sight. I’ve seen it up close. Whenever Gretchen enters the room, Phil’s eyes light up and the two are like kids again. Makes me feel like I should excuse myself and grant them some privacy.” Farris turned back toward his neighbors’ home. “That’s the way it should be, right?”
Cady said nothing.
“It’s going to break their hearts when they hear about me and Emma.”
“Emma?”
“My wife and I are separated. Long time coming. Emma’s a real trooper, though; she’ll be there for the next election…then a quiet divorce decree, and separate ways.” Farris took another mouthful of Scotch. “I see you’re wearing a ring, Agent Cady. Did you hit the lottery? Have you got what Phil and Gretchen possess?”
Cady said nothing. Laura had been in her fifth month of pregnancy when she’d miscarried last December. Cady had been in Detroit tracking down rumors of Al-Qaeda connections at one of the Islamic centers—comments by a cleric had raised eyebrows but ultimately were editorial in nature. Cady flew home, took weeks off, but something had broken—had been years in the breaking, according to Laura—and all the king’s horses and all the king’s men were having a devil of a time putting it together again. Cady planned on taking an extended leave of absence once the Chessman case was resolved.
“Your silence is most telling,” Farris said, toasting the agent with his drink glass. “I welcome you to the club.”
“What happened at the lake,
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