Read Online Corkscrew by Donald E. Westlake - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Donald E. Westlake
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there.'
'Thanks.'
Wayne walked to the elevator feeling pleased with himself. The doorman's accent would have conflated 'Wayland' and 'Wayne' for Lucie, but if he ever had to give a name to the police it would not be Wayne.
He was alone in the elevator. When he stepped out at 16, it was into a smallish well-decorated rectangular space that was shared by four apartments. Lucie stood in the doorway to the left. 'Right on time,' she said. 'Very good.'
'We aim to please.'
'Come on in.'
She stepped back, and he went through the doorway directly into a large but low-ceilinged living room. The place was furnished tastefully but anonymously by the management, like the living room of a good hotel suite. The primary colors were beige and rust, in the sofas, the end tables, the carpet that covered most of the blond wood floor, even the several paintings on the walls, which were of southern European village scenes, steep streets and old stone walls.
'Sit for a minute,' she said, with an airily dismissive wave at the low sofas. 'I'm almost ready. Are we walking?'
'Oh, I think so,' he said. 'It's nice out.'
She said, 'Do you want a drink?'
'Only if you are.'
'One for the road. If I'm going to walk, I want wine. Red wine because it's winter. What about you?'
'Same.' he said.
'I'll be back.'
She went away down an interior hall, and he looked around, deciding not to sink into one of those low sofas. Instead, he crossed the long room to the wide window and looked out over the roofs of shorter buildings to the black river and New Jersey beyond.
Sixteen stories; quite a drop. Except the window was plate glass, and couldn't be opened. Would there be an openable window anywhere in the apartment? Maybe in the bedroom.
Not a good idea. A screaming woman dropping through the night, Wayne waiting for the elevator, and the doorman in the lobby.
She came back with red wine in a surprisingly fancy etched glass. 'Very nice,' he said, taking it.
She said, 'Don't try to figure me out from the surroundings, I rented this place furnished, absolutely everything in here came with it.'
'Everything?'
'Well, almost everything,' she acknowledged, and gave him a narrow-eyed look. 'Why?'
There was a terracotta statue of a chunky horse and his bundled-up rider, less than a foot tall, on an end table, too large for the space. Wayne had noticed it on the way in and thought it was probably a copy of one of the thousands of terracotta cavalrymen and their mounts that had been discovered buried in China a few years before. He'd read about them in the course of something he was researching. He gestured with the wineglass at the statue and said, 'That's yours, isn't it?'
The narrow-eyed look became narrower. She turned to gaze at horse and rider as though rethinking her ownership of the piece, then nodded briskly at him and said, 'Try, Wayne, not to be too brilliant.'
'That'll be easy,' he said, trying for a friendly smile, wanting to keep it as light as possible. After all, he'd want to come back here, wouldn't he? Another time?
'Good,' she said. Moving away once more toward the hall, she said, 'I won't be long. A man wouldn't notice this sort of thing, but this hair is not ready for public inspection. I'll just be a sec.'
She was fifteen minutes. He spent part of that time, wineglass in hand, wandering the beige room, thinking these apartments would mostly be rented to corporate people, businessmen assigned for a few weeks or a few months to New York. Lucie Proctorr being here showed that she, too, had put her life on hold, waiting for the divorce, the same as Bryce.
He also hefted various objects in the room, looking for something lethal. Everything seemed too lightweight. Besides, could he do that? Hit someone on the back of the head with a… with that ashtray? All that golden hair; wouldn't it cushion her?
When at last she came out, she looked to his eyes the same as before, but she seemed satisfied with whatever changes she'd made. 'All set.
'Thanks.'
Wayne walked to the elevator feeling pleased with himself. The doorman's accent would have conflated 'Wayland' and 'Wayne' for Lucie, but if he ever had to give a name to the police it would not be Wayne.
He was alone in the elevator. When he stepped out at 16, it was into a smallish well-decorated rectangular space that was shared by four apartments. Lucie stood in the doorway to the left. 'Right on time,' she said. 'Very good.'
'We aim to please.'
'Come on in.'
She stepped back, and he went through the doorway directly into a large but low-ceilinged living room. The place was furnished tastefully but anonymously by the management, like the living room of a good hotel suite. The primary colors were beige and rust, in the sofas, the end tables, the carpet that covered most of the blond wood floor, even the several paintings on the walls, which were of southern European village scenes, steep streets and old stone walls.
'Sit for a minute,' she said, with an airily dismissive wave at the low sofas. 'I'm almost ready. Are we walking?'
'Oh, I think so,' he said. 'It's nice out.'
She said, 'Do you want a drink?'
'Only if you are.'
'One for the road. If I'm going to walk, I want wine. Red wine because it's winter. What about you?'
'Same.' he said.
'I'll be back.'
She went away down an interior hall, and he looked around, deciding not to sink into one of those low sofas. Instead, he crossed the long room to the wide window and looked out over the roofs of shorter buildings to the black river and New Jersey beyond.
Sixteen stories; quite a drop. Except the window was plate glass, and couldn't be opened. Would there be an openable window anywhere in the apartment? Maybe in the bedroom.
Not a good idea. A screaming woman dropping through the night, Wayne waiting for the elevator, and the doorman in the lobby.
She came back with red wine in a surprisingly fancy etched glass. 'Very nice,' he said, taking it.
She said, 'Don't try to figure me out from the surroundings, I rented this place furnished, absolutely everything in here came with it.'
'Everything?'
'Well, almost everything,' she acknowledged, and gave him a narrow-eyed look. 'Why?'
There was a terracotta statue of a chunky horse and his bundled-up rider, less than a foot tall, on an end table, too large for the space. Wayne had noticed it on the way in and thought it was probably a copy of one of the thousands of terracotta cavalrymen and their mounts that had been discovered buried in China a few years before. He'd read about them in the course of something he was researching. He gestured with the wineglass at the statue and said, 'That's yours, isn't it?'
The narrow-eyed look became narrower. She turned to gaze at horse and rider as though rethinking her ownership of the piece, then nodded briskly at him and said, 'Try, Wayne, not to be too brilliant.'
'That'll be easy,' he said, trying for a friendly smile, wanting to keep it as light as possible. After all, he'd want to come back here, wouldn't he? Another time?
'Good,' she said. Moving away once more toward the hall, she said, 'I won't be long. A man wouldn't notice this sort of thing, but this hair is not ready for public inspection. I'll just be a sec.'
She was fifteen minutes. He spent part of that time, wineglass in hand, wandering the beige room, thinking these apartments would mostly be rented to corporate people, businessmen assigned for a few weeks or a few months to New York. Lucie Proctorr being here showed that she, too, had put her life on hold, waiting for the divorce, the same as Bryce.
He also hefted various objects in the room, looking for something lethal. Everything seemed too lightweight. Besides, could he do that? Hit someone on the back of the head with a… with that ashtray? All that golden hair; wouldn't it cushion her?
When at last she came out, she looked to his eyes the same as before, but she seemed satisfied with whatever changes she'd made. 'All set.
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