Diamonds for the Dead by Alan Orloff

Author:Alan Orloff
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: soft-boiled, mystery, murder mystery, fiction, amateur sleuth, mystery novels, murder, amateur sleuth novel
Publisher: Llewellyn Worldwide, LTD.
Published: 2008-11-01T00:00:00+00:00

I let Rachel pick the movie, and she chose some chick flick with a name that sounded like every other chick flick: Hearts in Love, or Forever Together, or All Guys Are Gaseous Goofs. It starred the latest sensations, whom I didn’t recall seeing before. She liked it. I didn’t, but I liked the fact she liked it.

We stopped at Wisconsin’s Best Frozen Custard on the way home despite the arctic temperatures. According to Rachel, it was never too cold for frozen confections.

“Thanks for the movie,” she said. “I wasn’t sure you’d like it.” She licked her chocolate cone around the side, creating a spiral trail in the custard.

“Had a great time.” I nodded, adding a sincere, “Really.” We were the only two people in the store, except for the girl behind the counter. I took a big bite of my cone, also chocolate.

“Well, even if you didn’t really like it, thanks for going with me. I needed a relaxing evening.”

“Kids get you down today?”

“No. I love my kids. It was the parents. They’re the ones you have to watch out for.” She took another lick, and some custard smeared on her chin. I reached over and wiped it off with a napkin.

“Thanks,” she said, and her face brightened. “I really love kids. I’d like to have a whole brood of them.” Her eyes caught mine.

“Yeah, kids,” I said. Dani and I had talked about having them, but neither of us was one hundred percent behind the idea. Luckily, we didn’t pursue it. I took a couple bites of frozen custard. Tasted like ice cream to me.

“What? You don’t like kids?”

“I didn’t say that. I like kids just fine.”

Rachel worked on her cone. After a minute of diligent effort, she came up for air. “So, tell me about your childhood. What warped you so much you don’t like kids?” She smiled when she said it, but it had a different quality than her other unadulterated smiles.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like kids.” My decibel level rose.

Rachel stared at me. “So, about your childhood?”

“Just the usual, I guess. My father was pretty hard on me. Wanted me to make something of myself. Wanted me to live up to my potential.”

“Don’t all parents want that?”

“I think my father went over the top. He was always so forgiving, so considerate to others. My friends, other relatives, complete strangers even. With me, though …” I’d finished the custard off the top, so I bit into the cone. Like cardboard, stale cardboard. “Even in his death, he managed to …” The words just stopped. I cleared my throat. “Bottom line: In my father’s eyes, I was never good enough.”

Rachel took my hand, squeezed it. “I think you’re good enough.” She smiled, and it was back to the old version. The thousand-watt smile. “Just barely good enough. So there’s plenty of room for improvement.”

“Thanks.” I squeezed her hand back.

“I’m a good talker, Josh,” she said. “But I’m a very good listener. I’d like to hear more about your father.

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