Read Online Down for the Count: A Toby Peters Mystery (Book Ten) by Stuart M. Kaminsky - Free Book Online Page A

notebook with a pencil I borrowed from Anne, and gave the social and business contacts low priority.
    “And now?” she asked, getting up from the table.
    “Now,” I said, “we sit around and keep you company and you keep me company and we promise not to talk about old times till I have to leave. That’s if you’re up to a few more hours with me.”
    The smile was sad and a touch weary, but it was there, and deep down I thought this might be the start of something I’d given up hoping for when Anne married Ralph Howard. She took my hand and we were heading for the front of the house when the doorbell rang.
    Our hands were still together when she opened it, and we found ourselves facing Meara, Belleforte, and a very frightened-looking young Mexican girl in a cloth coat. Meara smiled and looked at Anne’s and my hands clasped together, then at Belleforte, who looked back at him and at us at the same time.
    “This is a pleasant surprise, Peters,” Meara said, clasping his hands. “This might even turn into a good day.”
    I didn’t let go of Anne’s hand.
    “You’ve wrung all the joy out of scaring little girls, and now you want to try something more your own size. That the way it is?” I said.
    Anjelica was trying to keep it all straight, but her eyes made it clear that she understood little of what was happening.
    “ Quién sabe? ” Meara said. “See, I picked up a little Mex on the job. Being a cop can be very educational. Let’s you and me and Belleforte take a trip down to the station, and I’ll show you our library.”
    “I’ll pass,” I said.
    He shook his head no and rocked happily on his heels before he spoke. “You are coming with us now. You are a suspect in a murder. You are withholding evidence. You are a pain in the keester, Peters, and you need an education.”
    “I think he needs a lawyer,” Anne said at my side, letting go of my hand to lead Anjelica into the house. “I’ll call one as soon as you walk out of the door.”
    “Suits me fine,” Meara said with a smile. “How’s it suit you, kid?”
    “Fine,” said Belleforte.
    “Lawyer will take maybe an hour to get back to you, go for the papers, get down to the station. Hell, our friend Peters will be lucky to be out in three hours, and by then we can get him through every book in the library. Let’s go.”
    I turned my back on the two cops and pulled my copy of the names in the notebook out of my pocket. I pressed my list into Anne’s hand, blocking Meara’s view with my body.
    “I’ll be fine,” I said. “My lawyer’s name is Leib. He’s in the book.”
    Meara’s thick hand on my shoulder indicated that I was a slab of ribs and all his. Meara, Belleforte, and I left with me in the middle. I asked them to bring my car, but Meara said it would be safer right there and so we got into his black, unmarked Chrysler at the front of the driveway. I had a moment of panic, thinking the wild-eyed Belleforte might drive, but Meara got behind the wheel. I got in the back seat with Belleforte.
    “You know, Peters,” Meara said joyfully as he drove up Main Street. “I’ve got a kid in the Army, training now in Missouri. Good kid. My wife worries about him. Hell, I worry about him too, but we pray. We wait. You know how it is?”
    “I know some people in the service,” I said.
    It went on like that for the four miles to the station house in Santa Monica. We were almost buddies by the time we went up the four concrete steps. I was thinking of giving Meara my recipe for apple tacos.
    Belleforte didn’t say much, just rubbed his curly hair every once in a while like Stan Laurel. The Santa Monica station was old, but bright and sunny with lots of windows. It seemed a little sleepy on a Monday afternoon as Meara guided me to some steps leading down.
    “This way,” he said. I went ahead of him. “Library. You like dogs, Peters? I mean you ever have a dog?”
    “I had a dog,” I said at the bottom of the stairs. Meara pointed