Читать книгу The Paper Detective - E. Joan Sims - Страница 12

Chapter Nine

Christmas came and went before you could say “Ebenezer Scrooge.” I suppose it was pleasant enough, but thinking back, all I can remember were the quiet good times Mother and Cassie and I shared after the guests were gone.

Two days after New Year’s Eve, Cassie went back to school and left a big old empty hole in my heart. Aggie and I sulked around the house for the next three weeks like two souls lost in purgatory. One evening after supper, Mother finally commented on my behavior.

“Paisley, for heavens sake! You have to get used to being without your daughter. I did. Believe me, it wasn’t easy for me when you moved to South America.”

“Well, I’m just not the iron maiden you are, am I? And besides, where is that daughter now, hmmm? Right here, that’s where I am, back on the farm. Does that make you happy?”

I stormed off to the library with a huffy little puppy dusting my heels. Aggie was much better at disdain than I. She didn’t look like a naughty little child. And she did not feel guilty about acting like a spoiled, middle-aged brat.

We lay down side by side on our stomachs in front of the French doors and looked out at the January night. The first days of the new year had brought warmer winds to melt the snow. With the lovely white blanket stripped away, the land looked stark and dead in the harsh green light of the mercury lamp.

Aggie barked halfheartedly at a dry leaf bouncing across the yard in the wind, then fell asleep. I lay there listening to her soft little doggie snores, wondering why I was so down in the mouth. Mother was right, I should have gotten used to Cassie’s being gone by now. After all, she did have a life beyond hearth and home, and soon she would be leaving for good—that I could not deny. How had Mother coped so well, I wondered. The answer was obvious. She had a vast network of friends, not to mention her adoring Horatio. At the drop of the first lonely tear, I’m sure he was at her side with all manner of distractions. I had no one. And that was the problem. I was lonely.

While I was deeply engrossed in writing a book the characters became my friends, or my enemies, depending on how well they got along with Leonard. But those were only paper acquaintances—I needed the flesh and blood kind.

When the phone rang I tried to get up, but my stiff limbs were full of pins and needles. Mother came to the door and peered inside.

“Paisley, dear, the phone is for you.”

She held the cordless receiver out towards me and said clearly and distinctly, “It’s that charming Bert Atkins you’re so fond of, dear.”

I managed to raise up on one stiff knee, grabbed the phone, and covered the mouthpiece with my hand.

“For Pete’s sake, Mother!”

She winked broadly and closed the door behind her.

I flopped back down and accidentally landed on Aggie’s tail. She jumped up and bit the first thing she could reach.

“Ahhhhh, shit!” I screamed as I flung the phone across the room and grabbed my left breast.

“Damn dog!”

I scrambled across the carpet on my hands and knees looking for the telephone.

“I’m coming, Bert,” I shouted.

“Please don’t hang up,” I whispered to myself.

Finally I located the receiver under the upholstered ottoman and put it up to my ear. All I heard was a dial tone. Bert Atkins was gone.

I pulled myself up on the sofa holding the phone against my wounded breast. Tears were starting to fall when he called again.

“Hello,” I sniffed. “Bert? Is that you?”

“Yes, Paisley,” he answered in a tightly controlled voice. “I can call back later if you have company.”

“No, no. It’s only Aggie. The dog, that is. Her real name is Agatha Christie, but we call her Aggie. You haven’t met her. You would probably hate her. I know I do. I mean, I don’t really hate her, but…”

I suppose I would have continued making nervously inane remarks, but mercifully, he interrupted.

“Paisley, we need to talk.”

“We do?” I squeaked.

“I don’t think I should come to your home. I’ll explain why when I see you.”

Bert calmly instructed me where to meet him in an hour. I would just have enough time if I didn’t change clothes. I ran through the house looking for my car keys and jacket.

Mother waved me off with, “Have fun, dear. And put on some lipstick!”

The little “hole in the wall” tavern he’d described was closing when I got there. I had driven faster than the law allowed and actually arrived early, but it looked like I was too late. I cursed my luck once again as I slowly circled the block looking for Bert’s old beat-up jeep. When I couldn’t see it anywhere, I decided to park across the street on the off chance that he was still inside. I pointed Watson’s nose in the direction of the bar and turned off the engine. I watched the door as stragglers came out. I hadn’t been waiting long when suddenly Watson’s back door opened and a man climbed inside.

“Start the car and head back out of town,” he barked.

After my heart came back out of my throat, I recognized Bert’s voice and hurried to obey.

“You scared me to death! Did you have to scare me to death? Couldn’t you think of another way to shorten my life, like give me the plague, or something? My heart’s still pounding.”

“I can’t hear you, Paisley. I left my hearing aid at home.”

“How very convenient. How absolutely and astonishingly handy to have a hearing aid you can put on only when you’re ready to participate in a relationship. Meanwhile, I have to swallow your crap because you left your ears at home.”

“Turn here,” he said quietly. It was obvious he hadn’t heard a word of my diatribe.

I took the turn much too fast and was gratified to see him disappear from sight in the rearview mirror while he fought to keep his balance. I yearned for another corner, but he directed me to a narrow driveway on a dark side street. I pulled in and drove slowly all the way to the back. The drive ended in front of a small white bungalow that had seen better days. There was no light inside or outside. Only the pale reflection of the quarter moon kept the night from being pitch black.

I turned around and faced him so he could read my lips in the moonlight. I was still somewhat miffed. After all, I thought, just who did he think he was? I opened my mouth to ask him that, when he cut me off for the second time that night.

“Someone tried to kill me yesterday,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Wha…what?”

“You heard me, Paisley. There’s nothing wrong with your hearing.”

“Yes, but…”

“But what?” he spat. “You can’t believe it? Why not? You set me up. You paid me five thousand dollars to become a target. Now every unbalanced maniac who’s read one of your books and wants to go mano a mano with Leonard is gunning for me. And thanks to your fancy dressed little buddy, they know what I look like and where I live.”

“But Pam wouldn’t…”

“Oh, yes, she would. She did. Now I’m ‘www.leonardmurder.com’ and every nutcase online can look me up on the Internet and find a picture of my cabin. Hell, they can even see my poor old dog up close and personal!”

Bert slammed his right fist into the palm of his left hand and cursed loudly and colorfully. I was impressed.

“You must have some seafaring friends,” I remarked.

He looked intently at me for a long moment and then burst out laughing. Soon we were both cackling like two old hens. It wasn’t long before my laughter turned to tears. I bit on my mittened thumbs and tried to stop. It seemed that all I ever did around this man was cry. He was tired of it, too.

“For heaven’s sake, Paisley, quit sniveling. The bullet missed me by a mile. Murphy warned me at the last minute.”

He was silent for a moment as he let that sink in. I stopped sniffing and wiped my eyes on my coat sleeve.

“The nutcase didn’t fare so well,” he added tersely. “I got him right between the eyes.”

“Oh,” I said in a very small voice. “Who was he?”

“Not much of his face left to identify.”

I fought to keep my dinner down while I pondered that information.

“Then how do you know he was a Leonard fan? Don’t you have enemies coming out of the woodwork? Death threats for breakfast? Weren’t you expecting something like this?”

“Not quite like this. I expected trouble, but from the family of a kid I put away for bank robbery. The one who shot me last year. His drunken dad and four big brothers swore they’d get even. But I suspect that life is so much more pleasant with their little juvenile delinquent behind bars they’ve forgiven me. Anyway, this guy was a professional. He had no identification in his pockets, no driver’s license, no credit cards, and the labels were cut out of all his clothes. He didn’t want anybody to be able to trace him.”

“Then how do you know he was after Leonard and not you?”

“This was in his jacket.”

Bert handed me a dog-eared piece of paper. I turned on the map light and opened it out. It was a page from Pen and Ink with a color photograph of Bert looking handsome and sleuthlike in his black turtleneck and tweed jacket.