Part 32 (1/2)

Oops.

Beer in hand, I went out back and turned on the sprinkler, not a minute too soon. Judy's garden was in dire shape. Droopy petunias and begonias everywhere.

After waiting a minute to make sure the sprinkler was reaching them all, I took a seat on a nearby chaise. Stretching my legs out, it occurred to me that this was the first time in days that I actually had a moment to relax. I drew a deep breath, closing my eyes. Maybe it wasn't such a horrible thing, having a little time to kill.

Suddenly I opened my eyes.

”John O'Hara?” came a voice behind me.

Chapter 49

THE BAD FEELING engulfed me well before I turned my head. When I saw who it was, the feeling only got worse.

”What the h.e.l.l are you doing here?” I asked.

It was far from a Christian welcome, but I couldn't help it. Hit your thumb with a hammer and you're going to scream. Step barefoot on a piece of gla.s.s and you're going to bleed. See the lawyer for the guy who killed your wife standing uninvited in your backyard?

You're going to be p.i.s.sed off.

”I tried ringing the doorbell,” said Harold Cornish. ”I think it might be broken.”

”I'll put it on my to-do list,” I said.

Harold Cornish, perpetually tan and perfectly coiffed, stood before me wearing a three-piece suit and a tie with a Windsor knot. It was late June, hovering in the mideighties, and there wasn't even a suggestion of sweat anywhere on him. Amazing. He was as cool out of the courtroom as he was in it.

I hated the guy.

And that's what really p.i.s.sed me off. Because deep down I knew that I was being completely irrational.

I didn't hate Cornish for representing McMillan. Due process; I get it. Even the biggest p.r.i.c.ks in the world deserve a lawyer.

No, I hated Cornish because he was a good lawyer. Facing a maximum sentence of ten years or even more, McMillan basically got the minimum. Three years. All because of Cornish.

”You certainly don't owe me any favors, but I want to ask you something,” he said. ”You're aware that my client will be released from prison in a couple of days, right?”

I nodded. Nothing more. I wasn't about to let on that McMillan's release had preoccupied me to the point of near self-destruction.

”So this is what I'd like to ask you,” continued Cornish. ”McMillan very much wants to apologize to you.” He immediately raised his palms. ”Now, before you react, please let me finish.”

”Did I react?” I asked calmly.

”No, you didn't, and I appreciate that,” he said. ”I know my client apologized to you and your family in court, but after doing his time he wants to apologize again, in person. Privately. Would you consider that?”