Killer Summer

“The results will have to be verified,” Finch reminded. “No offense, but they’re not going to take the word of a grad student and a school principal.”

“Alternative-school principal,” Levy corrected. “And I taught science for twelve years. And graduated from MIT, don’t forget.”

Finch didn’t comment.

“Do you know someone?” Walt asked.

“I can ask one of my professors to examine the data we collect,” Finch said. “There will definitely be someone on campus who can do this.”

“But not before the auction?”

“Doubtful,” Finch said, “it being a weekend and all. But, who knows? These bottles are famous. I can think of a couple people who would jump at a chance to examine them.”

“I can try Lowry, at MIT,” Levy said, “there’s always a chance…”

“Dr. Lowry would do it,” Finch told Walt. “If he signed off on this, no one would dispute it.” She flattered Walt with a look. “Thank you for doing this.”

“Don’t mistake this as benevolence,” Walt said. “Those bottles are evidence in a homicide. If they’re fakes, that impacts the investigation. It’s something I need to know.”

“I would so love to see you bust Arthur Remy,” Finch said.

“That’s not how it works,” Walt said. “But if Remy is pawning off fakes…” He didn’t finish the thought.

“We’re ready,” Levy said.

He ran nearly the exact same test five times. The glass near the engraving was exposed to ultrahigh sound frequencies that were then measured from different places on the bottles. A laptop computer crunched the data, displaying it as a color-coded graph that Levy studied and then saved before repeating the test.

At the conclusion of the tests, Levy looked up from the laptop, wearing a grave expression. “The microfractures are random,” he said.

“I knew it!” Janet Finch looked as if she’d won the lottery.

“That’s good?” Walt asked Levy.

“They’re fakes,” said Finch, smiling widely.

31

As Summer heard the television switch off, she braced herself for the confrontation. Like a heavyweight fighter before the bout, she lowered her head, closed her eyes, and visualized her opponent’s weaknesses, his soft spots, knowing all along that he had the weight advantage.

First, she wanted to see if he would remember that he’d invited her. Supposedly, she was to be his date at the wine-auction di

If he did remember, then she intended to incite his anger, exploit his sense of social punctuality with her wet hair and the towel wrapped around her. Seeing her like this he would make impossible demands she couldn’t meet and would then desert her, telling her to catch up-and that was all she needed.

“Summer, are you ready?” he eventually bellowed from the other side of her door. “We don’t want to be late.”

She drew a deep breath and strode into the living room just in the towel, knowing how uncomfortable it would make him. He could barely look at her at the pool. Perhaps he saw her mother in her, or maybe he couldn’t face his daughter as a grown woman, but whatever it was it momentarily gave her the upper hand.

“I’m ru

His face registered horror.

“Sorry. Is twenty minutes okay?”

“Twenty minutes? NO! That’s not okay. I told you ten of seven. It’s already five ’til.”

“Hey, I don’t get all dressed up that often,” she said, changing to a tone of voice she knew he didn’t care for. “Besides, I thought it starts out as a cocktail party, right? So, what’s the big deal? We can be late.”

“We ca

“Please, go ahead,” she said. “I’ll hurry.”

“I’ll wait.”

“NO!” she barked out too loudly and too quickly.

His parental radar switched on, and she chastised herself for the outburst. He could read her far better than she was willing to admit, and he cared more about her than she let herself believe. His look conveyed all of this, and the guilt it caused her ran up her spine in an icy shiver.

“You’re trying to put together a deal,” she said, “right?”

“I’m always trying to put a deal together, sweetheart.”

He sounded defeated. She resisted feeling any sympathy for him. He had denied her the opportunity of watching Enrico in the semi-finals. He had made her come to Sun Valley with him instead. He’d made her play te

“You go on,” she said. “I’m not real big on cocktail parties, anyway. I mean, what’s the point?”

“I’m sorry if this trip hasn’t lived up to its billing,” he said. “I really thought you’d have a better time than you’ve had.”

“I’m okay.”

“No. I should have had you bring a friend or something. I wasn’t thinking right.”

“I’m fine, Dad.” The guilt now traveled to her throat, where it balled up in an unforgiving knot. She was not going to change her mind about this. She was not going to cry.

“Fact is, things are not going real well moneywise. I think you know that. I think you know I’m going through a rough patch. Times like this, I know we both miss her. Miss her a lot more than we talk about-”

“Don’t.”

“We should talk more, you know? Figure this stuff out together.”

“Dad…”

“We’ve only got each other, you know? None of the rest of it matters to me, Sum. I know you probably don’t believe that, but it’s true. You’re it. You’re all I’ve got. The meetings, the deals… they’re just a means to an end, a way to keep us going, keep you going, give you the best shot I can give you. Your pal, the te

“Enrico!”

“He was not the way to go. He… you know what that’s all about. You know what he wants from you. And it’s not happiness. It’s not safety and security. It has nothing to do with any of that. My job, whether you like it or not, is to help you make the right decisions. Not run your life. That’s not what I’m talking about. Just to make decisions with a clear head and your eyes wide open. That’s all. That was not the case here. You can be mad at me, that’s okay. Pissed-off? Absolutely. But please know that, in my heart of hearts, I have your best interests first. Not mine, yours.”

“Violins, Dad.”

“Yeah, okay. So get dressed.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

“If you aren’t there in ten minutes, I’m sending the Texas Rangers after you. I don’t want to do this di

“O-kay.” Her voice cracked, and she looked to the carpet. “I’ll hurry,” she choked out.

She pushed the door shut behind her, then held her back to it, as if blocking out all that she’d just heard.

Why tonight? Of all nights, why tonight?

Teddy Sumner’s ante

He left the suite and headed directly to the concierge in the lobby, a blond-haired woman in her late forties, with an agreeable face. He kept his voice low.

“Your house detective, as quickly as possible.”

“Of course, sir. If you’d like to have a seat.” She indicated a wing chair with Queen A

“I don’t need a seat, I need your house detective. Right now!” He could be a real bastard when he needed to. This was one of those times.

She pulled a walkie-talkie from a drawer. “Chuck,” she called into it.