That was why I trusted him. Lesser friends rush to comfort. Good ones let grief finish its sentence.
“I don’t mean perfect,” I continued. “He was always impulsive. Always wanted applause before effort. But he was warm. He loved his mother. He loved this place.”
“He may still,” Frank said.
“Then how did he sell it?”
“Fear makes cowards of people who might otherwise be decent.”
I looked back. “That sounds like something I would say to a client before destroying them in deposition.”
“You probably did.”
I allowed myself a small smile.
Frank sat down. “What do you want Thursday to look like?”
“I want you there. I want Sheriff Anderson there as a witness, not to arrest anyone unless someone gets stupid. I want certified copies of the recording. I want formal notice ready for Lakefront. I want everything calm.”
Frank nodded. “And you?”
“I’ll be in my charcoal suit.”
He smiled despite himself. “The appellate one?”
“The appellate one.”
“That suit has a reputation.”
“So did I.”
Frank’s expression softened. “You still do, Walt. Some people just forgot.”
On my way back, I stopped at the cemetery where Eleanor’s parents were buried. Eleanor was not there, not really. Her name was etched on the family stone, but her ashes were at the cabin because that was where she wanted to be. Still, I stood before the marker for a while with my hands in my coat pockets.
“I’m trying to do this without becoming cruel,” I said aloud.
The wind moved through dry leaves at the edge of the cemetery.
“I don’t know if I’m succeeding.”
