Act of God

jaw came out a little more, but she nodded back.
    To Proft, I said, “You have reason to think the two are related?”
    “Frankly, no. But Mrs. Rivkind came to my pharmacy yesterday to have a prescription filled—”
    “Sedative. My doctor, he said, ‘Pearl, no matter what, you’ve got to sleep.’ ”
    Proft took the interruption in stride. “She and I began talking about the, well, odd coincidence at best, and we thought it might make sense to consult someone like you.”
    “There a reason you didn’t call first?”
    They exchanged glances. Rivkind came back to me. “It seemed kind of hard to talk about over the phone.” Her eyes drifted toward the window. “Kind of hard to talk about, period.”
    She said the last in a neutral way, like she’d had a lot of practice with the phrase over the last few weeks.
    I said, “What exactly is it that you’d like me to do?”
    Proft said, “Well, since Darbra’s disappearance may be tied in with Mr. Rivkind’s death, we thought you could investigate them together.”
    Rivkind said, “Kind of a package deal, right?”
    I turned my chair to look out the window that shows the top of the State House over some shorter trees on the Common. The capitol dome was dedicated two hundred years ago, Paul Revere sheathing it in copper when the original wooden shingles fell off. Just after the Civil War, some gold leaf was applied. They regilded the thing every twenty years or so until 1942, when it was painted gray to protect us from German bombers or U-boats, nobody seems to be sure which. Now the most recent gold leaf from the late sixties is peeling so badly it should be replaced, but the new fiscally responsible governor who succeeded the old fiscally responsible governor doesn’t think the quarter of a million needed would go over too well with state employees who haven’t seen a pay raise in five years.
    Proft said, “Mr. Cuddy?”
    I shook my head and turned back to them. “Representing joint clients isn’t a great idea.”
    “How come?” said Rivkind.
    “First, it’s tough to give equal time to each side of the problem.”
    She said, “You can’t kind of... use your own judgment on that?”
    “Yes, but then there’s the problem of conflicts.”
    Proft said, “What conflicts?”
    “If the death and the disappearance have nothing to do with each other, then I’m wasting somebody’s money looking into the other side of this. If the death and the disappearance are related, then it’s possible, even likely, that I might find out something that helps one of you but hurts the other.”
    In the neutral voice, Rivkind said, “I don’t think I can hurt worse than this. I hope not, anyway.”
    I didn’t say anything.
    Proft arched his shoulders forward in the chair. “Couldn’t you work on our problems together until a conflict—what do they do, ‘arise’?”
    He said the last with the Lips curling a little more than they had been.
    Before I could answer him, Rivkind wrung her hands together, the four rings on her fingers clicking against one another. “I don’t like saying this to a man I never met before, but I... I don’t know if I can go through this with another investigator.”
    I looked at her. The makeup was cracking over the muscles in her jaw and cheeks as she tensed them to keep from crying. The woman was doing what she thought was right, despite other people bumping her the other way.
    I said, “How’s this. Let me interview each of you separately. Then I’ll maybe have a better take on whether it makes sense for me to go forward for both of you.” William Proft got up a good deal faster than he’d sat down. “Why don’t you begin with Mrs. Rivkind, then? She’s had her problem longer, and I can slip out for some coffee.” At the door, he said, “Can I get either of you anything?”
    I told him no, while the widow just waved a hand and bit on her lower lip.

2

    As soon as the door closed behind Proft, pearl Rivkind fumbled in her handbag for a tissue. She used it to dab at her eyes, once to the right one, once to the left, then again to the right before swiping it twice under her nose. Gripping the tissue in her left hand, she said, “I’m sorry.”
    “Don’t be. There’s nothing you have to apologize for.” She tried to nod. “What do you need to know from me?” I brought a notepad to the center of my desk. “I can get the details from the police, but it would help if you could tell me a little more about what