COME ON, David,” Mom said. “I know you can be charming.”
David Hennings sat in the kitchen of his parents’ home, his hand wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee, and faced down his mother, a woman so formidable and connected the mayor of Chicago kept in constant communication with her. She might be able to sway masses, but she was still his mother and, at times, needed to be told no.
Otherwise, she’d control him.
And that wasn’t going to happen.
“Mom, thank you for your never-ending encouragement.”
She scoffed at his sarcasm. “You know what I mean.”
Yes, he did. As much as he liked the usual banter between them, he didn’t want to hear about whatever scheme she had going. Not on a Monday morning when he had a to-do list a mile long, including meeting with the contractor renovating his new condo. Yep, after two weeks of living under his parents’ roof, because even he couldn’t be rebellious enough to break his mother’s heart by staying in a hotel, he needed to get that condo in shape so he could move in.
As usual, Mom kept her piercing eyes on him and with each second she slowly, methodically chipped away at him. This look was famous in the Hennings household. This look could possibly bring down an entire nation. He blew air through his lips, part of his willpower going with it. “Have you talked to Dad about this?”
“Of course.”
Lying. He eyed her.
“Well, I mentioned it. In passing.”
David snorted. “I thought so.”
After attending a fund-raiser for a fireman’s fund the night before, his mother had gotten it into her head that Hennings & Solomon, the law firm his father had founded, should have their investigators look into a cold case. An apparent homicide. All in all, David didn’t get what she wanted from him. All she knew about the case was what she’d overheard at the dinner table. One, some detective had a skull he couldn’t identify. Two, the detective wanted a sculptor to do a reconstruction.
That was it.
A reconstruction alone would be no easy task if an artist didn’t have training in forensics. And who knew what kind of credentials this particular artist had?
David might not have been a criminal lawyer like his father and siblings, but he knew that much about forensics.
Mom folded her arms and leaned one hip against the counter. “We can help. I know we can.”
For years now, the two of them had been allies. Unlike his siblings, when David needed shelter, he went to his mother. He adored her, had mad respect for her. No matter what. Through that hellish few months when he’d destroyed his father’s dream of his oldest son joining the firm because David had decided civil law—horrors!—might be the way to go, his mother had pled David’s case, tirelessly arguing that he needed to be his own man and make his own decisions.
And Dad had given in.
It might have been butt-ugly, but the man had let David go.
That was the power of Pamela Hennings.
David slugged the last of his coffee because, well, at this point, the extra caffeine couldn’t hurt.
“Okay,” he said. “You do realize I’m not a criminal attorney, right? And, considering I don’t even work at Hennings & Solomon, I’m guessing I’m not the guy for this assignment.”
“Your father said Jenna and the other investigator, Mike what’s-his-name, are too busy. And you said you were bored. Since your new office won’t be ready for a couple of weeks, you can do this. We can do this.”
Cornered. Should have known she had a counterattack prepped. So like his mother to use his own words against him after he’d complained the night before that the contractor doing the renovation on his new office was running behind. Had he known that, he’d have stayed in Boston another two weeks before packing up and moving home to open his own firm.
“But I’m meeting with my contractor this morning.”
“By the way, as soon as you’re done with him, you need to call Lexi.”
“The decorator? Why?”
Mom huffed and gave him the dramatic eye roll that had won lesser actresses an Academy Award. “Interior designer, dear. And what do you mean, why? I told you I arranged for her to work with you. Because, so help me, David, you will not be living the way you did in Boston with all that oddball furniture and no drapes. You, my love, are a grown man living like a teenager. Besides, Lexi’s significant other knows the detective from last night. When you talk to Lexi, get the detective’s name. He’ll help you. We’ll get Irene Dyce in on this, as well.” Mom waggled her hand. “She was at the fund-raiser last night and overheard the conversation. I’m about to call her to set up lunch and you can bet I’ll mention it. Between her and her husband, they know half this city. It’s doable, David.”
He sat forward and pinched the bridge of his nose. By now he should be used to this. The bobbing and weaving his mother did to confuse people and get them to relent. “What is it exactly you want me to do?”
She slapped a business card in front of him. “Talk to the artist. I got her card last night. I told her you were about to move into a new home and might need artwork.”
“Seriously? You’re tricking her? And how much is that going to cost me?”
“David Jeremy Hennings, just shush. I needed a reason to contact her again. And it’s not a trick if you hire her. Just have her do a painting or something. That’s only fair.”
If he wound up buying something, his mother was paying for it. That was all he knew. Sighing, he picked up the card. Amanda LeBlanc. Nice name. Good, solid name. “Why do I need to talk to her?”
“She told the detective she couldn’t do the sculpture. I think she’s intrigued, though. She might just need a push. And you, my darling, excel at the art of the push.”
He held up both hands. “Mom, please don’t strain yourself with all these compliments. First I’m charming, and now it’s persuasive. This might all go to my head.”
“You need to zip it with the sass. For God’s sake, you’re the intellectual around here. You love research and history and combing through information to reach a conclusion. This case would be perfect for you.”
“I’m no investigator.”
“But you don’t have to be. All you need to do is get the ball rolling. Think of the people we have at our disposal. Russ is an FBI agent. I’m sure he’d help.”
Now she wanted to drag his sister’s boyfriend into this. Great. Given David’s strained—as in they drove each other nuts—relationship with Penny, he and Russ hadn’t gotten off to the greatest of starts.
Inspired, Mom boosted herself away from the counter and sat in the chair beside his. It’s over now. When she got charged up like this, there’d be no denying her.
“David,
