Read Online 4 - Stranger Room: Ike Schwartz Mystery 4 by Frederick Ramsay - Free Book Online
Authors: Frederick Ramsay
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you.”
She snatched the whole box of napkins from him and tore out a handful.
“That’s another first, Ike.” He started to say something, but she put her fingers over his lips. “No more, not now.”
They sat in silence a moment, mentally regrouping. He cleared his throat. Time to change the subject. “The clock,” he said, “is a sort of reminder. You wanted time, and I thought I’d give you some…literally.” She nodded her head and blew her nose.
“Don’t mind me.” She wiped her eyes and balled up the napkin.
Ike opened the case and withdrew the key. “You wind it with this,” he said, and then felt like a fool. Of course you wind it with the key.
“Show me.”
He attempted to insert the key in a hole in the clock’s face. It didn’t fit. He tried the second with the same results.
“Betsy must have given me the wrong key.”
“I guess you just bought yourself a little more time.”
“Don’t need it.” He replaced the key, closed the front panel and turned back to her. “Will you mar—” She threw up her hands and silenced him.
“Not yet. Not tonight, Ike, please.”
“When?”
“It’s enough that I know.”
Ike stood, and dimmed the lights, letting the full panorama of the down slope at the back of the house come into view. A half moon lighted the hillside. Three miles away and a thousand feet down, headlights sliced through the night on I-81, people heading north-east or south-west late at night. Good people and bad, lost in the darkness. Judas trees, which in the daylight would have provided a splash of magenta against the white of the adjacent dogwoods, were muted to shades of gray. They stood, side-by-side staring into the distance.
“Movie time?” he asked.
“What did you get?”
“ For whom the Bell Tolls, Gary Cooper, Ingrid Bergman—”
“You rented For Whom the Bell Tolls ?”
“It’s one of my collection. An old VCR.”
“You collect old movies?”
“A few classics.”
“You are a many faceted gem, Schwartz. Who’d a thought? The movie has a sad ending, doesn’t it?”
“Roberto waits at the machine gun while Pilar, Maria, and the others flee, yes.”
“I’m not up for sad, can we take a pass on that?”
“Sure.”
“Are you ready?” she murmured.
Ike thought a moment. Were they still in the tag end of their earlier conversation or something new? “Ready for what?”
“Ready to check me for tattoos.”
Chapter 10
Sam toyed with the food on her plate. She didn’t eat much ever, and tonight, not at all. Karl, oblivious of her silence and lack of appetite, attacked his crêpes as if he hadn’t eaten in a week. In truth, Sam did not care for French cuisine, real, or the genre offered at Chez François , Picketsville’s “other restaurant.” Most of the townspeople ate at the Crossroads Diner, if they ate out at a restaurant. Fast food, out on the highway, had replaced most of the townsfolk’s culinary needs beyond the Crossroads. The nearest alternative eateries were north to Lexington or south to Roanoke. Le Chateau , a pricy tax write-off for a local orthodontist, did serve excellent food in a location up in the mountains, but it was not well known nor often frequented by anyone from the town.
The faculty from the college rarely, if ever, patronized the diner, could not find or afford Le Chateau, and contented themselves with trips north or south. They considered it to be one of many sacrifices they made in their efforts to bring a measure of culture to the area. The townspeople, for their part, thought the college folks were jerks. Too stupid to realize what an easy berth they had compared to, say, farmers, mechanics, over the road truckers or, indeed, anyone who actually worked for a living.
The owner of Chez François believed his restaurant would eventually provide a meeting place, a neutral ground, if you will, where these two disparate peoples could break bread together, meet and mingle. He envisioned a melding of
She snatched the whole box of napkins from him and tore out a handful.
“That’s another first, Ike.” He started to say something, but she put her fingers over his lips. “No more, not now.”
They sat in silence a moment, mentally regrouping. He cleared his throat. Time to change the subject. “The clock,” he said, “is a sort of reminder. You wanted time, and I thought I’d give you some…literally.” She nodded her head and blew her nose.
“Don’t mind me.” She wiped her eyes and balled up the napkin.
Ike opened the case and withdrew the key. “You wind it with this,” he said, and then felt like a fool. Of course you wind it with the key.
“Show me.”
He attempted to insert the key in a hole in the clock’s face. It didn’t fit. He tried the second with the same results.
“Betsy must have given me the wrong key.”
“I guess you just bought yourself a little more time.”
“Don’t need it.” He replaced the key, closed the front panel and turned back to her. “Will you mar—” She threw up her hands and silenced him.
“Not yet. Not tonight, Ike, please.”
“When?”
“It’s enough that I know.”
Ike stood, and dimmed the lights, letting the full panorama of the down slope at the back of the house come into view. A half moon lighted the hillside. Three miles away and a thousand feet down, headlights sliced through the night on I-81, people heading north-east or south-west late at night. Good people and bad, lost in the darkness. Judas trees, which in the daylight would have provided a splash of magenta against the white of the adjacent dogwoods, were muted to shades of gray. They stood, side-by-side staring into the distance.
“Movie time?” he asked.
“What did you get?”
“ For whom the Bell Tolls, Gary Cooper, Ingrid Bergman—”
“You rented For Whom the Bell Tolls ?”
“It’s one of my collection. An old VCR.”
“You collect old movies?”
“A few classics.”
“You are a many faceted gem, Schwartz. Who’d a thought? The movie has a sad ending, doesn’t it?”
“Roberto waits at the machine gun while Pilar, Maria, and the others flee, yes.”
“I’m not up for sad, can we take a pass on that?”
“Sure.”
“Are you ready?” she murmured.
Ike thought a moment. Were they still in the tag end of their earlier conversation or something new? “Ready for what?”
“Ready to check me for tattoos.”
Chapter 10
Sam toyed with the food on her plate. She didn’t eat much ever, and tonight, not at all. Karl, oblivious of her silence and lack of appetite, attacked his crêpes as if he hadn’t eaten in a week. In truth, Sam did not care for French cuisine, real, or the genre offered at Chez François , Picketsville’s “other restaurant.” Most of the townspeople ate at the Crossroads Diner, if they ate out at a restaurant. Fast food, out on the highway, had replaced most of the townsfolk’s culinary needs beyond the Crossroads. The nearest alternative eateries were north to Lexington or south to Roanoke. Le Chateau , a pricy tax write-off for a local orthodontist, did serve excellent food in a location up in the mountains, but it was not well known nor often frequented by anyone from the town.
The faculty from the college rarely, if ever, patronized the diner, could not find or afford Le Chateau, and contented themselves with trips north or south. They considered it to be one of many sacrifices they made in their efforts to bring a measure of culture to the area. The townspeople, for their part, thought the college folks were jerks. Too stupid to realize what an easy berth they had compared to, say, farmers, mechanics, over the road truckers or, indeed, anyone who actually worked for a living.
The owner of Chez François believed his restaurant would eventually provide a meeting place, a neutral ground, if you will, where these two disparate peoples could break bread together, meet and mingle. He envisioned a melding of
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