Page 25 of Dirty Liars

Dickie smiled, but there was no real humor in it. “

“I guess it wasn’t serious enough,” Dickie said. “It’s not going to work out after all. Now I’m thinking of moving instead. Maybe to the beach. Or Europe.”

“Whoa,” I said.

“I’m trying to get personal things in order, so I spent most of the day at the bank locked in my office with my phone turned off. I didn’t want anyone to bother me.”

“That couch in your office is really comfortable for a good nap,” Jack said.

Dickie smiled and said, “Yeah, well, I might have taken a nap or two between work.”

Jack and I shared a look. Knowing Dickie as well as we did, there were so many red flags being thrown in our current conversation I didn’t even know where to start.

The first red flag was that Dickie had mentioned marriage without having a stroke. He’d gone through a divorce about a year ago that had made headlines in the tri-state area. It had been a supremely messy and expensive divorce, mostly because Dickie had been having an affair with his secretary, and though his wife had put up with it for years in exchange for her luxurious lifestyle, she’d felt like a line had been crossed when Dickie had been photographed after the White House Christmas party checking into the Willard Hotel with three interns.

She’d taken him to the cleaners in the divorce and been awarded the beach house, a huge settlement, and she’d run off with Dickie’s personal attorney just for good measure. Plus, Dickie’s car had been set on fire, though nobody had been able to pin it on his ex-wife.

The second red flag was Dickie claiming he was catching up on work. Dickie owned the bank, which meant Dickie mostly spent his week playing golf and going to luncheons and dinner parties. I’d never actually known Dickie to work a legitimate day in his life.

“So what’s the big emergency?” he asked, dropping down into one of the conference chairs. “I could use some whiskey.”

Jack went to a hidden panel in one of the bookshelves and slid it open to reveal a small bar. He poured two fingers of whiskey in a glass and passed it to Dickie, and Dickie knocked it back in one swallow.

“As long as you’re passing out drinks,” Doug said.

“Not in a million years, kid,” Jack said. “Oscar will turn you in if you even try it.”

Oscar barked softly and padded over to sit in front of the bar while Jack closed the door so it was hidden again.

“Traitor,” Doug said to Oscar, and Oscar barked back at him, but didn’t budge.

“So,” Jack said. “How was the wedding last night?”

Dickie’s eyes narrowed as he studied Jack. “How do you know about the wedding?”

“I’m a cop,” Jack said. “I know everything.”

Dickie ran his fingers through his expensive haircut, and every hair fell back into place exactly where it had been.

“My life is a mess,” he said. “I don’t know where things went wrong, and I don’t know how to begin to fix it.”

I knew where Dickie’s life had gone wrong, but he probably wasn’t asking a question he wanted real answers to. Maybe if Dickie hadn’t slept his way across the state of Virginia, breaking up his marriage, and then drunk himself into an oblivion every night he’d have a little better handle on his life. But what do I know?

Jack took the seat across from him.

“Well, that’s my cue to go playElden Ring,” Doug said. “Margot is working through your lists. I’ll let you know when she’s finished. Come on, Oscar.”

Oscar trotted after Doug as they left the office and headed to the second floor where Doug’s room was located.

“Who’s Margot?” Dickie asked.

“Doug’s lady robot,” Jack said. “And no, she’s not available.”

Dickie shrugged. “I’m at the point where I’m starting to think a robot might be easier to manage than a human.”

“Dickie, you know I love you like a brother and would do almost anything for you,” Jack said. “But maybe the problem is you need to learn to manage yourself first.”

“I just don’t get it,” Dickie said, seemingly ignoring Jack’s comment. “I’ve got everything. Money, house, cars, job. I’m good looking and I stay in shape.”

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