The Throwbacks by Stephanie Queen Page A

years older. Then as he took a generous gulp of his drink, he wished even more fervently that he were twenty-five years younger.
    He didn’t have a chance to lapse any further into his pit of self-pity when his phone rang again. Grace raised her drink to his as he slid his hand along the well-worn path toward his breast pocket to retrieve his phone. This time he answered with a modicum of trepidation. There were very few people who had his number—and most of them had already called.
    It was his barrister from the UK.
    “Could I ask you to call me back at a more convenient time?” He winked at Grace, who was grinning. But Roland’s response of “ no ” sobered him up. He excused himself to Grace and went into his would-be den, which presently was just another empty room with a few boxes of paper shoved in the closet.
    “I could call you back with details, but I have to tell you to book a plane as soon as possible. You’re scheduled for the day after tomorrow for an interrogation by the commission on internal affairs,” his barrister said in an urgent voice.
    “I see.” David let the stunning news settle. He realized that in the middle of current events, there was nowhere to fit in a trip to London. “What’s this about? I thought the matter was settled last year before they sent me stateside to set up this exchange program.”
    “Your late wife’s relations raised an issue or two. They want their pound of flesh. Now the commission needs you to answer the new spate of accusations and innuendos raised at the estate hearing that have been generously referred to as evidence.” Roland paused. “Sorry. I’m livid.”
    “Oh? I took no notice. I’ll be there. They can have as many pounds of my flesh as they require to put an end to the matter. The estate matter, that is.”
    “You’re being too good about this,” Roland said, still angry on his behalf.
    “It’s nothing. My wife was murdered. I chased down her killer against orders and killed him. That was something.”
    “And you were shot. You forgot to include that. And it’s a good thing you were. At least there was no fear that you’d be held accountable for murder—it was ironclad that you acted in self-defense.”
    David smiled at the downtrodden voice of his friend and attorney. “Don’t worry, Roland. You’ve done your best. You’ve shielded me from dealing with the purgatory of the last year of wrangling with the estate matters. I’ll be there for the final interrogation.”
    Once he concluded his surprise conversation with Roland, he went back out to face Grace. She was taking some measurements and concentrating over her pencil and paper as she jotted the numbers down. He watched her for a second and then heaved a sigh.
    “News from ‘across the pond’ as you would term it.” He wasn’t going to tell her the whole story. No need to worry her, he thought, and then realized how ridiculous that was. Why should she worry about him? But all the same, he knew she would if he told her.
    “Looks like I’ll be taking a trip back to the UK to take care of some loose ends.”
    “Oh, how fun. When will that be? You’ll probably be happy to visit with old friends and relatives after a year,” she bubbled.
    “In two days.”
    “Don’t worry about me. I can decorate around your schedule,” she said. “But the chief may be disappointed not to have your help on the case.”
    “I’m sure they’ll get along without me for a day.” He didn’t elaborate that he had no intention of visiting with friends—and especially not his relations.
    “Going all that way for just a day?” Grace put down her measuring tape and gave him her full attention. She looked worried already. He gave her a reassuring smile, and one for himself too.
    “As you said, I don’t want to be away from the case too long. We only have seven days to solve it before the jig is up. Then the mayor will disclose the fact that there was no murder—hopefully we’ll have