Read Online Don't Dare a Dame by M Ruth Myers - Free Book Online

vaguely.
     
        Marsh had been too quick to answer. He was hiding something. Either that, or he’d been warned not to talk to me. The question was what? Or why?
     
        
     
    ***
     
        
     
        With ten minutes to spare I pulled to the curb a block from the factory where Neal worked. It gave me a chance to study the street and spot a few beer joints where men coming off their shift were likely to head. Since I hadn’t the least idea what Neal’s car looked like, or even if he drove it to work, my best move was to find a spot a few doors away from the factory entrance and try to look inconspicuous. The inconspicuous part didn’t work so well.
     
        A whistle blew, and men began to file out. They carried lunch buckets and some wore overalls, but they weren’t covered with the soot and the grime spit by the machines at most factories. Whatever they made there possibly demanded a bit more skill or maybe just cleaner conditions. Most of the time they came out in groups of four, five, six. Most of the time someone in the group gave me the once over and nudged his companions.
     
        A big guy with cowlicked black hair and a grin that had probably broken some hearts peeled off from his chums and strolled my way.
     
        “That’s some hat, sweetheart. Want to show it off over beer and a sandwich?”
     
        “Hey, thanks for the nice offer, but I’m looking for someone.”
     
        “What’s he got that I haven’t?”
     
        “V.D.,” I said.
     
        He took off fast.
     
        A few minutes later Neal appeared with two other men. As they ambled up the street I stepped out of the doorway where I’d been waiting and fell in behind them. Neal was on the outside of the trio, which made it easier. Taking a couple of fast steps to catch up, I hooked my arm through his.
     
        “Hi, Neal. We need to have us a little chat.”
     
        He tried to pull away as he recognized me.
     
        “What the — You meddling piece of fluff. We’ve done all the chatting we’re going to.”
     
        He jerked his head curtly at his companions. They moved away with frequent glances over their shoulders, torn between entertainment and fear of tripping over their feet.
     
        “Now here’s how it’s going to work, Neal,” I said pleasantly. “Either you answer a couple of questions without any guff, or I start screaming how if you don’t marry me, my daddy’s going to come after you with a shotgun.”
     
        His eyes took on an uneasy look. His Adam’s apple bobbed.
     
        “You’re nuts,” he said hoarsely.
     
        I smiled.
     
        “Who did you call at City Hall?”
     
        “At ... what?”
     
        “To complain about me?”
     
        His mouth opened and closed without sound.
     
        “I never — Don’t start screaming! I’m telling the truth! — I never called City Hall. To complain about you or anything else. By the time those cops finished asking questions and said I could go, I was praying to God I’d still have a job. I didn’t take time to pee, let alone make a phone call!”
     
        He began to regain equilibrium. Cunning edged out his panic. His shoulders eased free of their protective curl and he waggled a finger closer to my face than I deemed polite.
     
        “I’m warning you, though. If you bother me again, I will make a complaint!”
     
        “Do you think Alf really killed himself?” I asked on impulse.
     
        The whitening of his face was at odds with his returning swagger. His tongue licked out.
     
        “How would I know? I was home in bed. I wasn’t there!”
     
        “But you know—”
     
        “I don’t know anything! I didn’t even talk to him that day! Now let me alone!”
     
        Wresting his arm free, he hurried away.
     
        
     
    ***
     
        
     
        Back in my office I hung my hat carefully on the top of my coatrack. It had