Dead Irish by John Lescroart

and sticking out at the bottom like a baby’s thumb.
    She was obviously Erin’s kid, but as with Steven and Ed, and even Mick for that matter, there wasn’t much sign of Big Ed’s genes.
    “You wanted to see me?”
    Frannie, confused momentarily, stared back at the wall of pictures, then again at Hardy. “I think . . .” She turned to Jodie and smiled. “My mind . . .”
    “It’s okay,” Hardy said. “It can wait.”
    “No, I know I asked Moses if I could see you, but I . . . this other stuff . . .”
    “Sure.”
    Jodie spoke up, her voice the echo of her mother’s, cultured, not so deep as to be husky, but adult. “I thought you were wonderful catching Frannie. Thank you.”
    She turned to her sister-in-law. “You really went out. I don’t know how Mr. Hardy did it, but he was over to you—”
    “That’s it,” Frannie said. “That reminds me.”
    “What?”
    “Why I wanted to see you. I just remembered.”
    She let go of Jodie’s hand and sat on an ottoman. “I’ve never fainted before, so I didn’t know it was even coming. It’s just the last thing I remember was I saw Mr. Polk there. He’s . . . he was Ed’s boss, I mean the owner. He wasn’t really a boss, I don’t think. Ed was the real manager, but he made policy, you know.”
    Hardy put up with the rambling. She had obviously thought of something, and would be getting to it.
    “So when I saw him, I remembered again that you said I should tell you anything that might matter.”
    “And Mr. Polk’s being there might matter?”
    She shook out her red hair, then closed her eyes as though the thought had eluded her again. Jodie sat on the edge of the ottoman and put an arm over her shoulder. “It’s okay, Frannie.”
    “It’s just so hard to think.” She pouted, biting her lip.
    “Mr. Polk,” Hardy said quietly.
    “Oh, Mr. Polk, that’s right.”
    “Why would it matter, him being at the funeral, Frannie? It seems perfectly natural to me. Had they been fighting or something?”
    “Oh no, nothing like that. It wasn’t him being at the funeral.” She still couldn’t seem to find it. Hardy put his hands in his pockets and wandered over to the wall of pictures. Surrounding what looked like a college graduation picture of Eddie were plaques, diplomas, honors. He turned back to the young women. “Phi Beta Kappa?” he asked.
    “Eddie was really smart,” Jodie said. “He just didn’t like showing off, but he was the smartest of us, except for maybe Steven, if he’d work at it.”
    “I just met Steven again. We had a nice talk.”
    “He’s okay,” Jodie said. “He just plays tough.”
    Hardy shrugged. “We got along . . .”
    “I remember.”
    Hardy sat down on the end of the couch.
    “It was Mr. Polk. I was just surprised to see him. Eddie said he hadn’t been at work all last week until Friday, and then he’d been all distracted.”
    Hardy waited for her to continue.
    “That’s all,” she said at last. “I’m sorry. I guess it’s nothing, but you said . . .”
    “No, Frannie,” he said, “anything might be important.” He didn’t push her. He could find out more about that when he interviewed at Army.
    “It’s probably nothing,” Frannie repeated.
    “You thought it was worth telling me about. It’s like when you took tests in school and your teacher always told you to go with your first answer. It can’t hurt to say it.”
    Frannie looked over again at the photo wall. Jodie, next to her, stood up and spoke with a strained brightness. “Maybe we should go outside for a while, you think?”
    “In a minute, okay.”
    The girl was gone, closing the door behind her. Hardy slid over on the couch, closer to Frannie. “You know,” he said, “the fainting might have had something to do with being pregnant.”
    A nod. “I thought of that just before Jodie came in. You haven’t told anybody, have you?”
    “I said I wouldn’t.”
    “I know, but . . .”
    “No buts. No is no.”
    She smiled. “All