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“You’re the cop. Who doyoulike for it?”

“Jack,” he said without hesitation. “The big bad Wolf. All day long.”

Their entrées had arrived when Jenny asked Cantor how his investigations were going. He told her he’d made some progress. She asked on which case, her father’s or her brother’s, before sighing and shaking her head.

“It’s like living in crazy town, asking my date if he’s got anything new on the two deaths in my family.”

He grinned. “Imagine how I feel.”

They were getting to it now—he knew it. There was nothing he could do to stop it, no point in waiting, even if it blew the evening sky-high, as he fully expected it might.

“But you said youhavemade progress?” she said.

“It has to do with your father.”

He took one more healthy swallow of red wine, as if he were fortifying himself. Then he put his glass down, took in some air, slowly let it out.

“How come you didn’t tell me your father came to see you at your house the night before he died?” Cantor said.

Eighty-Nine

I HAD MY GLASShalfway to my lips, but then placed it carefully next to my plate, trying to keep myself calm.

“Excuse me?”

“Pretty simple question,” Cantor said. “Your father came to see you. You didn’t tell me. I’m just trying to understand why.”

“Why what?”

“Why he came to see you,” Cantor said. “And why you kept it to yourself.”

“So you’re still treating me like a suspect,” I said. I forced a smile. “Even when I dress up.”

“That’s not true. And also not an answer.”

“Who told you he came to my house?”

“Now you get to ask the questions?” he said.

“Just the one.”

“Okay,” Cantor said, putting out his hands as if pumping the brakes on the conversation. “Let me explain.”

“I can’t wait.”

Cantor ran a distracted hand through his dark curly hair. Took another deep breath. Leaned slightly forward, lowering his voice.

Cantor said, “I was so fixed on his whereabouts the day and night he died that I didn’t think about where he’d been the night before. So I circled back and talked to his driver. That guy Leo. And Leo said that he’d taken Mr. Wolf to your house. Said he was pretty drunk by the time he got there, too. Your dad. Not Leo.”

“He was,” I said. “From everything I know about the last few months of his life, he was drinking more and more.”

“So hewasthere.”

“You know he was.”

“But you told me you hadn’t talked to him during the last few months of his life,” Cantor said.

“I barely said anything to himthatnight,” she said. “He just wanted to tell me that he was sorry for being a bad father to me. He asked me to forgive him and told me he wanted me back in his life. I told him okay, I was back, just to get rid of him.” I paused. “I never liked my father very much. But Ihatedhim when he was drunk.”