Last to die

“Did they wear helmets back when you played?” asked Nate. He was eight years old and sometimes had a way of making Jack feel like eighty.

“Not always,” said Jack. “Which explains an awful lot.”

“Like what?”

“Nothing,” he said, pulling Nate along as they walked toward the stands.

“Why do you always say that?”

“Say what?”

“Whenever I ask what you mean, you always say ‘nothing.’”

“I don’t always do that.”

“Uh-huh. My mom says you do it, too.”

“Oh, she does, does she?”

“She says you’re afraid to let people know what’s really inside your head.”

“She really said that?”

“Does that sound like something I would make up?”

Jack smiled, though it troubled him to think that Nate’s mother saw him as someone who erected emotional barriers. Fu

“Nothing,” Nate said smugly.

“Wise guy.”

It was the sixth game of the season, no losses so far, and Jack could feel the excitement around the stadium. They’d arrived too late to get prime seats, but Jack wasn’t in a hurry to sit anyway. He waited behind the bleachers at the fifty-yard-line entrance, watching the fans pass by. This section was where players’ parents usually sat, and the Cavaliers’ quarterback was Justin Grasso. His mother, Vivien Grasso, never missed a game.

Jack had intended to call Vivien before the weekend but was caught up in an arbitration proceeding in Orlando. Her letter to Tatum Knight had scheduled the mystery meeting for Monday afternoon. Jack figured he’d accidentally-on-purpose bump into Vivien at the game, find out what it was all about, and then decide whether it sounded interesting enough to offset the hassle of dealing with a loose ca

“Let’s go,” said Nate.

“Just a minute,” said Jack. Vivien was headed toward them, and Jack had a bead on her in the crowd. He hadn’t seen her since his father’s farewell party as governor, but she looked the same-lean and athletic, little to no makeup, as if she’d gone for a twenty-mile run, jumped in the shower, and rushed over to see her son rip the visiting team to pieces. No one wondered where the star player for Gables High got his abilities.

“Jack Swyteck,” she said with a smile. “How’s your old man?”

“Doing great. I think he’s fishing in North Carolina this month.”

“Slacker. We need to get him out of retirement and run for Senate. Unless maybe his son is interested in politics.”

“My interest is limited to voting. Even then, it’s pretty much limited to voting for immediate family members.”

She laughed. Jack was about to introduce her to Nate, but the boy was already engrossed in deep conversation about Harry Potter with Vivien’s ten-year-old son. It was the diversion Jack needed.

“Fu

“What about?”

“Friend of a friend situation. A guy named Clarence Knight.”

She seemed to be searching her mind, then it registered. “Oh, yeah. One of the Sally Fe

“Heirs?” said Jack.

“I sent him a letter inviting him to the reading of the will. You’re coming with him?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“A will contest isn’t your cup of tea, huh?”

“There’s a contest?”

“I shouldn’t have said that. Could be, I suppose. But no one’s said anything. Yet.”

“Are you telling me I should or shouldn’t get involved in this?”

“Forget what I said,” she said, smiling. “Just a lawyer’s cynicism. Anytime there’s this much money at stake, you expect the heirs to fight.”

“You’re sure Tatum Knight is an heir?”

Nate spoke up, as close as he ever came to whining. “Come on, Jack, let’s go. We’re going to miss the kickoff.”

“Just a minute, buddy.”

Vivien said, “The boy’s right. We are going to miss kickoff. Call me in my office Monday morning. We’ll talk. And say hi to your daddy for me,” she said as she walked away.

“I will. Good luck tonight.”

“Go Cavaliers!”

Jack watched Vivien and her young son disappear into the crowd. The steady stream of spectators continued past him to their seats. Nate tugged at his arm.

“Hello up there!” said Nate. “Can we go watch the game now?”

Tatum Knight, an heir? Jack couldn’t get the thought out of his head.

Nate asked, “What’s that goofy look on your face for?”

“What goofy look?”

“You look like you just stepped in bat vomit.”

“I think maybe I just did.”

“Gross! Really?”

“No, I didn’t mean really.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing, nothing, nothing. You did it again!” said Nate.

Jack smiled. “So I did. Come on, let’s go watch football.” He put his arm around Nate and led him toward the bleachers.

Six

Kelsey was getting to know Sally Fe

Kelsey Craven worked for Jack Swyteck. Her latest assignment was to pull together information on the two tragedies that punctuated Sally’s life, her own senseless shooting at an intersection and the murder of her daughter five years earlier. She wasn’t an investigator, so she’d gathered things that were publicly available, mostly from the Internet, such as newspaper articles and even an old Web site relating to Sally’s search for her daughter’s killer.

It wasn’t a full-time job, but a few hours a week was all she could give Jack. In addition to being Nate’s mother, Kelsey was a third-year law student at the University of Miami. Law was her second career, something she’d decided to do after divorcing the man who’d convinced her that a ballet dancer was too stupid to get into law school. She’d danced professionally for two years before a knee injury ended her career, then she’d gotten married and had Nate. From the day he’d walked it was clear that Nate would never be a dancer, but she followed her dream anyway and opened her own studio, sharing her passion with children, mostly little girls. She still taught dance but no longer owned the studio, having sold the business to pay for law school. She made a little extra money as a law clerk, doing legal research and writing for Jack Swyteck, P.A. Sometimes he sent her on fact-finding missions, like the one on Sally Fe

Without a doubt, it was the only one that had ever made her cry. The doorbell rang. Kelsey put her notes and newspaper clippings aside, then rose from the table and went to the front door. Through the peephole she saw Jack with Nate’s head on his shoulder, the boy sound asleep. She opened the door and let him inside.

“Straight back to the bedroom,” she whispered.

Jack carried Nate down the hall, Kelsey right behind them. She hurried ahead to the bedroom, adjusted the dimmer switch so that there was just enough light to see, and pulled back the covers. Jack laid the boy on the bed, then spoke in a whisper.

“Sorry I kept him out so late.”

“No problem. It’s not a school night. I’m sure he had a great time.”

“A total blast.”

“Thanks for taking him.”

“You’re welcome.”

Their eyes met and held. It was suddenly awkward, as if neither one knew exactly how to say good night when it was just the two of them in the bedroom, no crazy Nate buzzing all around them. Jack said, “Guess I better get going.”

“Can you stay a minute?”

“I-uh, yeah. I guess.”

“I found some interesting stuff on Sally Fe

“Sounds good.”