Читать книгу Death By Email - Carol Hadley - Страница 17

I followed so closely on Smith’s heels that he stopped me in the hospital doorway by cracking my jaw with the back of his head.

His sudden tears of pain diluted the dirty look he threw in my direction making me change my mind about a confrontation.

With a sharp right turn, I veered across the corridor toward a bank of telephones. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing the splintered stars twirling around my head.

I called Tomas again. He cheerfully agreed to wait a while longer for me at Digger’s Café in the Golden Hotel.

“You’re not late yet and the coffee’s good,” he said. “I have enough to read and the scenery’s quite pleasant.” I heard a giggle in the background and the slosh of pouring coffee.

Fortunately, the hotel was only a few blocks from the hospital, but first I had to know what Smith was telling the Twerp.

No one guarded his room so I tapped briskly and walked in. Twit lay curled on his side, listening intently to Smith, who huddled in a chair beside the bed. The detective jumped up at my entrance and rudely hustled me out.

“There’s no need for you to be involved in this,” he barked.

What was he thinking? I was involved.

I hovered shamelessly in the hall listening to him question the Twit until the wail of a rapidly approaching ambulance echoed through his open window, drowning Smith’s voice.

The kid was no help. He just repeated his desire to get his hands on whoever wanted him dead. He actually mentioned my name as a possible suspect.

To think I lost precious sleep over that ungrateful philistine. Whatever guilt I may have felt was revoked, deleted forever!

I still say it was his fault for being such a two-faced pain in my backside! Whoever targeted him had obviously decided, as I had, that he was insufferable and expendable.

My guess was GQ, though I couldn’t begin to guess how or why. It made no sense. What was the connection? Did they know each other? If so, I smelled a mystery. A real live one and it was my very own!

The officer, who’d drifted across the hall to use the phone at the nurse’s station, finally noticed me loitering. He terminated his call then shooed me away with flapping hands. I suspect he didn’t want the detective to know he’d left his post, but I had better things to do than alienate the local constabulary, not counting Smith, that is.

I had a contract to sign.