Mel squinted. “I can’t see his face, but he can’t be Richard Knight or you wouldn’t be making me guess. Who is he?”
“Remember that paper you wrote a little over a year ago where you contrasted fictional villains from the beginning of the twentieth century with their popular counterparts from the twenty-first?”
Mel nodded. “And concluded that the steady advance of a culture embracing diversity and tolerance had given birth to the creation of an increasing number of fictional villains as three-dimensional characters,” she quoted, displaying not only her perfect memory, but a mental capacity and clarity that still frequently left her mother in awe.
Diana had been startled when her daughter had started talking in complete and complex sentences at two. She was floored when she’d later learned that Mel’s IQ was in excess of one hundred and sixty.
“How does my paper on fictional villains relate to the private investigator following us?” Mel asked.
“He was one of your study subjects, your favorite one.”
Mel whirled around in her seat again. “Derek Dementer, from the soap, Seattle!” she yelled, sounding very much like an excited nine-year-old.
Diana smiled at her daughter’s exuberance.
Mel turned back to her mom, her voice still high with her discovery. “Jack Knight is a private investigator now?”
“Apparently.”
“He must be Richard Knight’s brother. Richard never said he had a brother in show business.”
Diana nodded as she took a corner. “Richard’s too much of a professional to even discuss his personal business, much less brag. If I hadn’t taped all those Seattle episodes for you, I never would have known his brother was the Jack Knight when he showed up at the firm this morning.”
“Why did he become a private investigator?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“I can’t wait to meet him. Will he stay for lunch?”
Seemed even her brilliant daughter had been struck by the show business bug.
“No, Jack and I have an appointment to see Connie Pearce as soon as I drop you off. Afterward, I have a ton of work waiting for me back at the office. So, when I take you over to say hello, do me a favor and limit yourself to only one of the zillion questions I know you want to ask him.”
Diana could feel Mel’s watchful eyes. “You’re not happy that Jack is on the case?” her daughter said.
“Why do you ask?”
“You have that frown that pulls your eyebrows together,” Mel said as she demonstrated by squeezing the skin on a corresponding part of her face.
Diana put a finger between her eyebrows, making a mental note to work on that. A trial attorney had to be able to control her facial expressions.
“Connie needs the best,” she said by way of explanation. “Richard is the best.”
“But you still hired Jack?”
“White Knight Investigations has always come through for me. If Charles Knight thinks Jack can do the job, professional courtesy demands I give him a chance.”
At least that’s what she told herself. But there was a nagging suspicion at the back of Diana’s mind that her decision might also have something to do with the fact that she wasn’t as immune to Jack Knight’s thousand-watt smile as she should be.
JACK FOLLOWED DIANA into the deeply wooded countryside surrounding the city of Silver Valley, finally parking in front of a well-kept Craftsman-style home. He let the car idle as he waited, assuming they’d be leaving right away. But Diana got out of her car and started toward him with her daughter in tow.
Jack let out a frustrated exhale, turned off the engine and got out to stand beside the driver’s door.
The girl wasn’t bad looking, he supposed, if one liked kids.
Jack didn’t. They were noisy, messy and rude, had to be watched every minute, constantly demanded things and were never satisfied for more than ten seconds with whatever they got. He had no idea why anyone would want one.
Nor could he understand what made parents think that other people were interested in getting to know their kids. He’d just as soon be introduced to their pit bulls. At least they could be kept on a leash.
Yet here was Diana, like all the other proud mothers he’d met, bringing her kid over to be introduced. He didn’t need this. The last kid he’d tried to talk to had sneezed all over him and given him a cold.
He gritted his teeth and diligently tried to keep himself from flinching when this one walked right up to him.
“Hi, I’m Melissa Mason, but everybody calls me Mel. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Knight. Do you mind if I call you Jack?”
He blinked at her in surprise. This kid was articulate, polite, even had a sweet voice. He found himself smiling as he took her offered hand.
“Please do, Mel. You have very nice manners for one so young, or for one of any age for that matter.”
“Thanks, but I’m short on tact when I lose my temper. Mom says it’s a family failing.”
He looked over at Diana as Mel released his hand. “Is that a fact?”
Diana didn’t look too pleased with Mel for having shared that.
“Can I ask you something?” Mel said.
“I guess,” Jack said cautiously.
“I’ve read that one of the biggest agonies of being an actor is an endless search for identity. You portrayed a very believable villain on Seattle. Did you have difficulty keeping your identity separate from the part you played?”
Hell of a question from a kid this young. Jack gave it a moment’s thought before answering.
“When I worked hard and knew I had played the part well, I felt good about myself. I suppose the bottom line is that a strong sense of self develops from doing your best, no matter what your profession.”
She tilted her head. “That was a very interesting answer.”
“I was responding to a very interesting question,” Jack said. “How old are you?”
“I don’t like to give my chronological age,” Mel said. “It elicits a bias about what I’m like, and I’m not like that at all. Did you know that being aware of a person’s age early on in a relationship can actually prevent people from getting to know each other?”
Jack stared at the girl for a moment before turning to address Diana. “Care to help the mentally handicapped here?”
Diana laughed. He felt his insides warm at the bold huskiness of the sound. She stepped behind her daughter, gently clasped her shoulders. “Mel celebrated her ninth birthday a few weeks ago. But she’s currently enrolled in schoolwork equivalent to the third-year college level.”
“You’re a genius,” Jack said to Mel, not attempting to hide either his surprise or fascination.
“Not in any widely agreed-upon definition of the term,” she answered very seriously. “Genius rarely, if ever, equates to superior intellectual achievement, even when that achievement is blatantly manifested. Most researchers think of it as bringing into existence something original, an inspiration beyond intelligent thinking and clever reasoning. What do you think, Jack?”
“I think I’d better wait for a brain donor before I ask you any more questions,” he said, shaking his head.
Mel giggled. “You’re funny.”