“I’m not. Got a few minutes to chat?”
“That’s not really a request, is it?”
“Nobody everhasto talk to the police,” Cantor said. “But when they don’t, it’s been my experience that they generally have something to hide.”
He’s not here to screw around.
“I have nothing to hide.”
“Then no reason why we can’t have a nice chat.”
“Haven’t you already asked all the questions you need to ask about Dad’s death?”
“Wouldn’t be here if I had.”
“Am I a suspect?”
“Seems like that’s for you to know and me to find out,” Cantor said.
He was tall, curly hair the color of ink sprinkled with some gray, probably around my age, good-looking, blazer, no tie, jeans, ancient penny loafers. He actually reminded me a little of Jack Wolf, the dark knight of the Wolf family. Cantor was probably in his early forties, as Jack was. Danny and Thomas were more fair, favoring our mother. Cantor wasn’t as good-looking as Thomas Wolf was, I thought. But good-looking enough.
“I thought my father’s death was an accident,” I said.
“Maybe it was. Unless you know something I don’t know.”
I stared at him.
“Let me ask you again. Are you actually looking at me as a suspect?”
He stared back at me. His eyes were so dark they looked navy blue.
“Don’t take it personally. I’m a suspicious type of person, especially when it comes to what we classify as an unattended death.”
He grinned.
“And I figured I better have a sit-down with you before one of your brothers turnsyouinto an unattended death.”
He held up a hand.
“Kidding.”
Sure you are.
“Do you know somethingIdon’t?”
“Depends on the subject matter.”
I nodded back toward the field. We walked down the sideline and sat in the bleachers on the home side. I wasn’t sure why he made me feel uneasy. Or maybeuneasywasn’t the word. Maybealertwas. I told myself to treat him as if he were a reporter. Anything I said could, and would, be used against me.
“Have you had this kind of chat with my brothers?”
“You gonna let me ask the questions or not?”
“Must be the teacher in me.”
“Or the lawyer.”
He stared out at the field.