Dead Write: A Forensic Handwriting Mystery by Lowe Sheila

Author:Lowe, Sheila
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: NAL

Chapter 17

Dr. McAllister arrived at seven on the dot. Looking distinguished in a Prussian blue cashmere suit, crisp white shirt, and solid burgundy satin tie, he took Claudia’s arm and showed her to a gleaming black Aston Martin double-parked in front of the hotel. She had to admit it was a beauty with its ground-hugging profile and smooth-flowing lines. It had probably cost more than her house.

Ian saw her into the passenger side. “A performance automobile like this deserves to get out of the city and let loose from time to time,” he said. “I thought we would drive up the Hudson to a favorite restaurant of mine. You’ll enjoy it.”

Claudia murmured her assent and sank into a suede and leather seat that might have been molded to fit her body. Relaxing into the voluptuous cockpit made her feel like a pampered movie star.

Ian closed her door and whipped a piece of chamois leather from his pocket, giving the recessed handle a quick polish before going around to the driver ’s side. Then, using the chamois to open the driver’s door, he slid inside.

Watching him, Claudia thought it seemed a little creepy. Then she reminded herself that he was obsessive-compulsive and needed his rituals to feel at ease.

She didn’t sense any danger from Ian, but she had to wonder whether the memory of the dead clients had anything to do with his high level of anxiety. The ghosts of his daughter Jessica and Shellee, Heather, and Ryan crowded her mind. Their presence was pervasive and she knew she would never completely forget them.

The twin exhausts roared as the engine came to life, rising above the sounds of post-rush hour Manhattan. Ian held the gearshift as gently as a lover’s hand. “It’s a DBS,” he said with pride, and proceeded to give Claudia a rundown of the car ’s features.

She turned to him with a smile. “The only thing I know about Aston Martins is that James Bond drives one.”

“Call me Bond, James Bond,” Ian quipped, his close-lipped smile raising one corner of his mouth.

“You don’t have an ejection seat, do you?”

He gave an oblique glance her way. “Only for those who offend me. So far, you’re doing fine.”

His tone was sardonic, but when he said that, it made Claudia feel creepy all over again. They talked for a while about the differences between life on the East Coast and the West Coast. Then she told him about Annabelle, creating an opening for him to pick up the thread of how to handle a teenage girl, and perhaps bring up the topic of his daughter.

“I have almost zero experience with kids,” Claudia said. “I used to babysit my niece when she was a tot, but that’s completely different from dealing with a teenager. I’m finding it really tough, having a fourteen-year-old girl to deal with at this stage in my life.”

Something in Ian’s profile changed, hardened. His voice hardened, too. “All you have to know is teenagers need a firm hand. Especially girls.

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