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his mother.
    “Many times.”
    “I never knew you had secrets, ” he said with a smile that he probably intended to indicate humor, but didn’t, quite. “I never took you for a reader, least of all for someone who loved it so much, you’d hire somebody to help with it. What other secrets are you keeping behind our backs?”
    I could have told him a whopper of one.
    Mrs. Fairchild almost laughed, as if his words had been funny, but ridiculous, but controlled the impulse, looking as if laughing hurt her lungs. I considered what a sad lot in life that would be.
    “Is that your line of work, then, Miss Pepper?” Leo Fairchild asked. “You’re a professional . . . reader?”
    “Oh, no. Wish I could be, but it’s simply auxiliary funds. We, uh, met by chance, but it’s a business of sorts. I advertise in that local paper—the throwaway you get? Amazing how many grown-ups still love to be read to.” I was being a bad liar, saying way too much, embellishing the lie in ways that could be exposed.
    “What a clever idea, though,” the fiancée said. “And what a luxurious, delicious way to spend an afternoon.”
    “Quite different, I think, from tape-recorded books,” I said.
    “This is personal.” Even I didn’t know what I meant. I drank more coffee to keep me from more verbal nonsense.
    “Then what else is it you said you do?” Leo Fairchild was awkward, but smart, and not easily put off track. His concern on behalf of his mother was obvious and sincere.
    “I teach school, and you know how poorly teachers are paid, and I like reading, so—”
    “What is it you teach?” He’d seemed faded and pale when I first saw him, but now I thought he’d simply been withdrawn for some reason. Now, his forcefulness and will were obvious. He even looked younger. He didn’t trust me. He probably thought I was here to scam his mother, and he didn’t care if I knew it.
    “English.” I try to lie by telling as much truth as possible.
    “Where?” he demanded.
    30
    CLAIRE AND PRESENT DANGER
    “Right—other side of the Square. Philly Prep.”
    “An English teacher! No wonder you like to read, then,” the Poet said. “What a nice thing to do, too. Like having a friend visit, I’d think. You must love it, Mother Fairchild.” She was going out of her way to put me at ease, and of the three of them, I liked her best so far, and realized I was building a grudge against the woman who wanted this sweet woman investigated. My client.
    Leo stood up, and his bride-to-be followed suit. “I hope you don’t think us rude to rush off,” he said in a tone that suggested he really didn’t care what I thought, “but we were about to leave right before you arrived, and given that you and Mother have this . . .
    well . . . appointment, we’ll say goodbye now.”
    I wished them well again, and watched as they kissed the white-haired woman farewell. Nothing more was said until we heard the front door click.
    “The coffee’s still hot,” Claire Fairchild then said. “You could use a refill.” She leaned forward to pour me a cup.
    “I could serve my—” I said.
    “So can I,” she said carefully, continuing to pour.
    I studied her, and although she was paying attention to the coffee, I knew she was giving me the same careful dissection. “Sorry about that lame excuse,” she said. “But you didn’t seem to have any cover story of your own.”
    “I didn’t know what to cover,” I answered honestly. “I hadn’t known I’d need to cover.”
    “But you did well, once you knew the situation. I like that. Your story about teaching—that was a clever thing to come up with on the spot. Do you think they believed it?”
    “Not really.”
    “Not Leo,” she agreed. “Such bad timing for them to show up this afternoon, of all times. Especially with that news. Sugar?”
    I declined.
    “Still, maybe good you saw them. Emphysema, if you’re wondering what my problem is.” She passed me the cup and saucer. “A muggy