The Rebel

For years now, the two of them had been allies. Unlike his siblings, when David needed shelter, he went to his mother. He adored her, had mad respect for her. No matter what. Through that hellish few months when he’d destroyed his father’s dream of his oldest son joining the firm because David had decided civil law—horrors!—might be the way to go, his mother had pled David’s case, tirelessly arguing that he needed to be his own man and make his own decisions.

And Dad had given in.

It might have been butt-ugly, but the man had let David go.

That was the power of Pamela Hennings.

David slugged the last of his coffee because, well, at this point, the extra caffeine couldn’t hurt.

“Okay,” he said. “You do realize I’m not a criminal attorney, right? And, considering I don’t even work at Hennings & Solomon, I’m guessing I’m not the guy for this assignment.”

“Your father said Jenna and the other investigator, Mike what’s-his-name, are too busy. And you said you were bored. Since your new office won’t be ready for a couple of weeks, you can do this. We can do this.”

Cornered. Should have known she had a counterattack prepped. So like his mother to use his own words against him after he’d complained the night before that the contractor doing the renovation on his new office was running behind. Had he known that, he’d have stayed in Boston another two weeks before packing up and moving home to open his own firm.

“But I’m meeting with my contractor this morning.”

“By the way, as soon as you’re done with him, you need to call Lexi.”

“The decorator? Why?”

Mom huffed and gave him the dramatic eye roll that had won lesser actresses an Academy Award. “Interior designer, dear. And what do you mean, why? I told you I arranged for her to work with you. Because, so help me, David, you will not be living the way you did in Boston with all that oddball furniture and no drapes. You, my love, are a grown man living like a teenager. Besides, Lexi’s significant other knows the detective from last night. When you talk to Lexi, get the detective’s name. He’ll help you. We’ll get Irene Dyce in on this, as well.” Mom waggled her hand. “She was at the fund-raiser last night and overheard the conversation. I’m about to call her to set up lunch and you can bet I’ll mention it. Between her and her husband, they know half this city. It’s doable, David.”

He sat forward and pinched the bridge of his nose. By now he should be used to this. The bobbing and weaving his mother did to confuse people and get them to relent. “What is it exactly you want me to do?”

She slapped a business card in front of him. “Talk to the artist. I got her card last night. I told her you were about to move into a new home and might need artwork.”

“Seriously? You’re tricking her? And how much is that going to cost me?”

“David Jeremy Hennings, just shush. I needed a reason to contact her again. And it’s not a trick if you hire her. Just have her do a painting or something. That’s only fair.”

If he wound up buying something, his mother was paying for it. That was all he knew. Sighing, he picked up the card. Amanda LeBlanc. Nice name. Good, solid name. “Why do I need to talk to her?”

“She told the detective she couldn’t do the sculpture. I think she’s intrigued, though. She might just need a push. And you, my darling, excel at the art of the push.”

He held up both hands. “Mom, please don’t strain yourself with all these compliments. First I’m charming, and now it’s persuasive. This might all go to my head.”

“You need to zip it with the sass. For God’s sake, you’re the intellectual around here. You love research and history and combing through information to reach a conclusion. This case would be perfect for you.”

“I’m no investigator.”

“But you don’t have to be. All you need to do is get the ball rolling. Think of the people we have at our disposal. Russ is an FBI agent. I’m sure he’d help.”

Now she wanted to drag his sister’s boyfriend into this. Great. Given David’s strained—as in they drove each other nuts—relationship with Penny, he and Russ hadn’t gotten off to the greatest of starts.

Inspired, Mom boosted herself away from the counter and sat in the chair beside his. It’s over now. When she got charged up like this, there’d be no denying her.

“David, I want you to think about this. You moved back to Chicago to be part of this family again.”

“Mom—”

“Shush. I love you, but you’ve always had an issue with feeling like the odd man out.”

Damn, she’s good.

“If you’d really like to be included in all those nasty dinner conversations about criminal cases, this is the way to start. So far, the firm’s quasi cold-case squad has solved two murders. Two, David. Do you know how many nights I’ve had to listen to your father, Zac and Penny rehash those cases?” She held up her hand. “A lot. This is your chance to finally be part of the conversation. And, frankly, I want this. For the first time, I get to be part of the conversation, too, and I like it. I’m not your father’s socialite wife anymore. I’m more than an appendage.”

Academy Award winner Pamela Hennings. “Cut that out. You’ve never been an appendage. He’s terrified of you. Everyone knows that.”

“Everyone knows I’m his wife and that, yes, we have a strong relationship, but I’ve never had a job, David. All the charity work and clubs, it’s all an offshoot of your father’s work. Not that I haven’t enjoyed it, but if given the chance at a redo, I’d have a career of my own. Doing what, I don’t know. All I know is that I’m suddenly someone who can help bring justice and it’s not because it’s expected of me. So buck up and do this for your mother.”

Game over. She’d turned the entire thing around on him, playing up the guilt because she knew, when it came to her, he rarely said no. Damn. How the hell did she always do this? He ticked through the conversation, then burst out laughing.

“What’s funny?”

He grabbed his cup, rose from his chair and kissed her on the cheek. “Nothing. You’re brilliant. You’ve totally manipulated me into doing this. And I let you. Being around lawyers has rubbed off on you.”

“You’ll do it?”

“I’ll talk to the artist. Then I’m done. I’m not an investigator and have no interest in being one. I have a law practice to open.”

Mom pushed up from the table and held her index fingers up. “That’s fine. Talk her into at least doing the reconstruction. You’re better at that sort of thing than I am. Once you convince her, I’ll handle it from there.”

“I’m sure you will, Mom. I’m sure you will.”

“And, by the way, dinner is at seven-thirty tonight. Zac and Emma will be here and Russ and Penny.”

She ran her gaze over his clothes, starting at his long-sleeved henley. He knew she hated the Levi’s jeans and boots, but he wasn’t five anymore and didn’t need his mother dressing him. “Don’t start, Mom.”

“Between the clothes and that facial hair, I have to ask that you not come to the table dressed like you escaped from prison.”

Facial hair. She acted as if he had a hobo beard rather than the close-cropped one he favored. He snatched his favorite leather jacket, the one with the intricate stitching on the shoulders, off the back of his chair, and Mom’s lips peeled back. “Mom, this is a two-thousand-dollar jacket. Besides, my tux is at the dry cleaner’s.”

“Don’t be fresh.”

More than done with this conversation, he shrugged into his coat. “I’ve gotta go. You’ve convinced me to talk to this artist. I love you, but quit while you’re ahead.”

Chapter Three (#ulink_1db04459-fd89-5a47-b1a4-f802fad23aba)

Morning sun shifted, the light angling sideways instead of straight into Amanda’s studio, and she stepped back from the sculpture. She’d been messing with the lips of a cell-phone manufacturer’s CEO, bending the clay, tweaking and retweaking for two hours, and she still couldn’t get the mouth right. And worse, she couldn’t figure out why. As much as it irritated her, drove her to near madness, it didn’t matter. She’d keep at it. No matter how long it took. After the botched nose on the fireman, resulting in a shake-up of her confidence, she’d get these lips perfect.

The changing sunlight through the loft’s oversize windows didn’t help, so she adjusted the six-foot lamp behind her, directing the light in a more favorable position. Light, light and more light helped keep her focused for the sometimes tedious hours spent in front of a sculpture. Changing shadows meant time slipping from her greedy hands. She glanced at the clock. Eleven thirty. She’d been at it six hours, two of them lost on bum lips.

“Okay, girlfriend. You need to get it together here. Forget the nose. It’s one nose. It shouldn’t be a career-ending mistake.”

Intellectually, she knew it. Emotionally, that faulty nose might do her in.

The studio phone rang, filling the quiet space with its annoying blinging sound. Typically, she’d ignore the phone until her exhausted and sore fingers gave out for the day. But now, with the rotten lips, it was probably a good time to take a break. Grab a quick lunch and refocus. She scooted to her desk in the corner and snatched up the handset.