Read Online All in One Piece by Cecelia Tishy - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Cecelia Tishy
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a pharmaceutical company.”
“Ah, Big Pharma’s dirty little game.” She sees the question mark on my face. “It’s drug trials on human guinea pigs in the
so-called developing world. Innocent subjects sign up, all dark-skinned. Informed consent, forget it. It’s probably a really
dangerous drug. Your dentist will probably make a ton of money. What’s his name—Forest?”
“H. Forest Buxbaum, D.M.D. My high-maintenance tenant.”
“And if he hadn’t gone fortune hunting for six months, there’d be no sublet… no murder.”
No blood mark on my door? Or could my son be right, that Jo’s town house is somehow a targeted address?
“Believe me,” says Trudy, “I thought twice before buying on the second floor. Plus, hauling my merchandise, lotions by the
case. And I never got the Mary Kay pink Cadillac. If I’d sold more Spot Solution or Lumineyes—those are the high-end items.
Anyway, it looks the same as always back here, no signs of break-in. So the killer came through the front door?”
“Most likely.”
“Right past your own door?”
I shiver, fold my arms, and nod in silence. We walk around to the front of the square, the parakeet riding her shoulder. “Trudy,
how well did you know my aunt?”
She sighs. “With my schedule, I hardly socialize, so mostly it was about who’s bringing potato salad or slaw for the square’s
block parties. Your aunt organized them. She always made a vat of her incredible chowder, better than Legal Seafood’s. I told
her, ‘Ms. Cutter, this is marketable.’ She just laughed. We were, you know, just good neighbors.”
“You didn’t know Steven Damelin?”
“The victim? ‘Know’ is a stretch. I saw him at the curb when I got home from work a couple times in the last month. That time
of the morning, there’s nobody out on Barlow Square. We said hi. He was waiting with a suitcase and a garment bag over his
shoulder. The cabs came. Off he went.”
“Any particular cab company?”
“In Boston? Among the million? Very hard to break into the cab business, tons of red tape. I looked into it. And the birdseed
project fizzled. For now, it’s Hershey and PayDays.”
“Trudy—” I pause to get her attention. “Two days ago, a small blue car nearly ran me down out front here at about two o’clock
in the afternoon. I was crossing the street, and it sped at me. Do you know anyone with a little blue car? It clipped my calf.”
“People on phones, worse than drunk drivers. I don’t mean to sound flip, Reggie. It’s just so awful that you can’t take it
in. I see everything in the hospital. I’m supposed to be shockproof. Another stupid myth.” She stares at Steven’s window,
shudders, and tells me to take care of myself as Kingpin says, “Pretty bird, kiddo, pretty bird deluxe.”
It’s almost 3:00 p.m. Back in my kitchen, I grab a quick sandwich. Somebody knocks, and I jump like a scared rabbit. It’s
Right True Clean, all done, including my door. Mercifully neither man comments on the blood marks. “You want to let the upholstery
and rugs dry out for about twenty-four hours. We put wood fill in the holes in the floor. It matches pretty good. We found
this behind the fireplace mantel.”
He holds up an envelope. “We think it slipped back there. The police probably worked that area, so I don’t know what you want
to do.”
I stare at the white envelope as if expecting blood to seep through in front of my eyes, a time-release hemorrhage. No, it’s
snow-white. “I’ll see the police get it. Just put it on the table.” I write the check. Huge. Worth every penny. Right True
Clean loads up and departs.
The envelope isn’t sealed, and so I peek at the single letterhead sheet from Corsair Financial, Steven’s employer. It’s just
a piece of paper with handwritten numbers and abbreviations in pencil. Holding it, I begin to feel dizzy. It’s that screen
thing, the water and log. The swirling currents.
“Ah, Big Pharma’s dirty little game.” She sees the question mark on my face. “It’s drug trials on human guinea pigs in the
so-called developing world. Innocent subjects sign up, all dark-skinned. Informed consent, forget it. It’s probably a really
dangerous drug. Your dentist will probably make a ton of money. What’s his name—Forest?”
“H. Forest Buxbaum, D.M.D. My high-maintenance tenant.”
“And if he hadn’t gone fortune hunting for six months, there’d be no sublet… no murder.”
No blood mark on my door? Or could my son be right, that Jo’s town house is somehow a targeted address?
“Believe me,” says Trudy, “I thought twice before buying on the second floor. Plus, hauling my merchandise, lotions by the
case. And I never got the Mary Kay pink Cadillac. If I’d sold more Spot Solution or Lumineyes—those are the high-end items.
Anyway, it looks the same as always back here, no signs of break-in. So the killer came through the front door?”
“Most likely.”
“Right past your own door?”
I shiver, fold my arms, and nod in silence. We walk around to the front of the square, the parakeet riding her shoulder. “Trudy,
how well did you know my aunt?”
She sighs. “With my schedule, I hardly socialize, so mostly it was about who’s bringing potato salad or slaw for the square’s
block parties. Your aunt organized them. She always made a vat of her incredible chowder, better than Legal Seafood’s. I told
her, ‘Ms. Cutter, this is marketable.’ She just laughed. We were, you know, just good neighbors.”
“You didn’t know Steven Damelin?”
“The victim? ‘Know’ is a stretch. I saw him at the curb when I got home from work a couple times in the last month. That time
of the morning, there’s nobody out on Barlow Square. We said hi. He was waiting with a suitcase and a garment bag over his
shoulder. The cabs came. Off he went.”
“Any particular cab company?”
“In Boston? Among the million? Very hard to break into the cab business, tons of red tape. I looked into it. And the birdseed
project fizzled. For now, it’s Hershey and PayDays.”
“Trudy—” I pause to get her attention. “Two days ago, a small blue car nearly ran me down out front here at about two o’clock
in the afternoon. I was crossing the street, and it sped at me. Do you know anyone with a little blue car? It clipped my calf.”
“People on phones, worse than drunk drivers. I don’t mean to sound flip, Reggie. It’s just so awful that you can’t take it
in. I see everything in the hospital. I’m supposed to be shockproof. Another stupid myth.” She stares at Steven’s window,
shudders, and tells me to take care of myself as Kingpin says, “Pretty bird, kiddo, pretty bird deluxe.”
It’s almost 3:00 p.m. Back in my kitchen, I grab a quick sandwich. Somebody knocks, and I jump like a scared rabbit. It’s
Right True Clean, all done, including my door. Mercifully neither man comments on the blood marks. “You want to let the upholstery
and rugs dry out for about twenty-four hours. We put wood fill in the holes in the floor. It matches pretty good. We found
this behind the fireplace mantel.”
He holds up an envelope. “We think it slipped back there. The police probably worked that area, so I don’t know what you want
to do.”
I stare at the white envelope as if expecting blood to seep through in front of my eyes, a time-release hemorrhage. No, it’s
snow-white. “I’ll see the police get it. Just put it on the table.” I write the check. Huge. Worth every penny. Right True
Clean loads up and departs.
The envelope isn’t sealed, and so I peek at the single letterhead sheet from Corsair Financial, Steven’s employer. It’s just
a piece of paper with handwritten numbers and abbreviations in pencil. Holding it, I begin to feel dizzy. It’s that screen
thing, the water and log. The swirling currents.
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