“If she’s willing to sing, do you have a problem with her coming?”
“Me? Of course not. The church is open to everyone.”
PEG, DRESSED IN HER RUNNING GEAR, ENTERED THE GARAGE with Judge on a retractable leash as Mike pulled into the driveway.
“Are you going to keep running?” he asked when he stopped the car and got out.
Peg brushed a few stray strands of blond hair from her eyes. “Until the day before delivery. Judge and I both need regular exercise, and I can’t imagine taking a total break from running for nine months.”
“Did you ask the doctor about it?”
“Yes, she told me it would be fine for the first two trimesters so long as I felt okay. After that, we’ll have to discuss it, but Jodie Wheeler ran five miles less than a week before her daughter was born.”
“Jodie Wheeler ran the Boston Marathon a few years ago. Be careful.”
Peg kissed him on the cheek and patted her abdomen. “Our baby is going to be in shape from day one.”
They entered the house. The mail was jumbled on the counter in the kitchen.
“There’s a small roast with potatoes and carrots in the Crock-Pot,” she said.
Mike stood at the counter and began sorting. The bill pile was disturbingly high. Peg picked up the lid. Judge, who was standing beside her, barked.
“Yes, it smells good,” she said to the dog.
Mike reached the bottom of the stack. The last item was an envelope from Forrest, Lambert, Park, and Arnold.
“Something from the old firm,” Mike said.
Peg glanced at him. “I saw, but since it was addressed to you, I didn’t open it.”
Mike tore off the end of the envelope. Inside was a letter from Maxwell Forrest. Mike read it, furrowed his brow, and then examined it more slowly. Peg came over to him.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Mr. Forrest is ordering me not to come to the office or discuss the Miller case with anyone at the firm. I talked with Juanita last week, and she must have mentioned it to him.”
“Can he do that?”
“Partly. I don’t have the right to go beyond the reception area. That would be trespassing. But a private gag order as to firm personnel is way out of bounds. I wouldn’t expect anyone to violate the attorney-client relationship with the bank, but my duty to Sam involves investigating the facts, no matter who has the information.”
Twelve
MIKE’S PREOCCUPATION WITH THE MILLER CASE DIDN’T KEEP him from eating the fork-tender roast. While they ate, Judge lay underneath the table, occasionally giving a slight groan that communicated his deep desire to lick a plate or gulp down a less-than-perfect piece of meat. Mike responded to Peg’s attempts at conversation with grunts that were first cousins to Judge’s groans.
“Are you enjoying your food or just filling up your stomach?” Peg asked as Mike speared the last carrot on his plate.
“Oh, it’s great. The meat almost melted in my mouth. And the carrots are just right.”
“Still thinking about the letter?”
“Yes.”
“Have you figured out what’s going on?”
“No, but my focus for the case has been off. I’ve been thinking about the end, not the beginning. I need to interview the leaders of the church where Sam was preaching. It’s their money that was allegedly embezzled.”
“What’s the name of the church?”
“Craig Valley something. I’ll call Sam and find out who to talk to.”
Mike took their plates to the sink. Judge followed him and looked up with such longing that Mike put one of the plates on the floor so he could lick it.
“When are you going to talk to him?” Peg asked.
“Tonight. He works during the day.”
“Before or after you eat a bowl of the apple cobbler I bought from the little lady who sells them from the back of her car at light number nine?”
“Do we have ice cream?”
“Of course. But you shouldn’t have more than one scoop. If you keep eating like you did tonight, you’re going to get big around the middle faster than I am.”
Mike’s stomach had always been solid from daily sit-ups. He touched his shirt and felt a slight pudginess.
“Skipping a meal then gorging isn’t the best,” he admitted. “But tomorrow would be a better day to begin cutting back than tonight.”
After dessert, Mike helped clean the kitchen. Peg went upstairs, and Mike phoned Sam Miller. “Do you have time to talk business?” he asked.
“Did you buy a notebook yet to put beside your bed?” Sam responded. “You’re going to need it.”
“No.”
“Don’t put it off.”