Read Online If Dying Was All by Ron Goulart - Free Book Online Page B

I’ve been married twice since then. I started my own small advertising shop, specializing in television commercials, about four years back. No, I haven’t seen any of them really. Everybody changes. At twenty-five you’re one thing, at thirty something else.”
    “Who might be pretending to be Jackie?”
    “You haven’t told me why they’re doing it.”
    “To get McCleary out of his house for a day probably. There may be more to it. More to come.”
    “They wrote what? Letters, in handwriting?”
    “Right. I’m having the handwriting checked now.”
    Segal said, That’s funny. It just occurred to me. Could Jackie be alive? I guess they never found her body. I never heard they did.”
    “They didn’t.”
    Segal took his round-rimmed glasses completely off and dropped them on the grass next to the clipboard. “That would be funny. Jackie alive. Alive all this time.” He looked directly at Easy. “I take it you’re working for Jackie’s father.”
    “Yes.”
    “What do you think?”
    “I think I’m still trying to find out who sent the letters.”
    “All that exists is letters really. No one has seen Jackie?”
    “No one I’ve talked to yet.”
    Segal put his dark glasses back on and picked up the clipboard. “It’s all something to think about, Easy,” he said. “Right at the moment, though, I don’t think I know a darn thing that would help you. You can be sure I’m going to keep thinking. I’ll communicate anything that occurs to me. A promise.” He stood up. “Gina, don’t let them push the tombstones like that. Bobby, you knocked the thing all lopsided. Now it won’t match the other shots. Gina, get that damn tombstone straight.” He smiled absently at Easy. “I’d better go back to work.”
    Easy watched Segal hurry back uphill to the cameras and the cockeyed tombstone.

IX
    T HE BIG, SUNBURNED MAN poked his tennis racket toward Easy, aiming for his stomach. “What is it you want?” He was in white shorts and a white pullover, and he had splotchy freckles and sun blisters speckling his broad face. His racket was in a wood and metal press, and he smelled as though he’d just finished playing.
    “Win your match?” Easy asked. They were both standing in an aisle of bleachers above the courts of the Floradena Community Country Club.
    “What business is it of yours?”
    The tall blonde sitting in the aisle seat said, “He lost. 6-0, 6-2.”
    The sunburned man made another jab at Easy with the racket and one of the nuts on the press made a small rip in Easy’s jacket. “Just shut up, Perry. Just shut up.” He scowled at Easy. “I asked you who you were. Are you that son of a bitch private eye?”
    “I’m a private investigator,” Easy said. “Which son of a bitch did you have in mind?”
    “We don’t want to talk to anybody,” said the sweating man. “I’ve got enough problems. Taking a whole day off from the studio to play in this tournament and then getting trounced by some, I don’t know, some chicano.”
    “He’ll probably turn into,” said the blonde, “another Pancho Gonzales, Bud. Someday you’ll be able to brag about this.” “Keep your nose out, Perry.”
    To the seated blonde Easy said, “I’m John Easy. My secretary set up an interview. I can talk to you later if you’d like.”
    “Why don’t you take a running jump for yourself?” said Bud Burley.
    Perry Burley reached out and caught her angry husband’s sleeve. “Buddy hates to lose. Relax, Bud. I can talk to you now, Mr. Easy.” The silver setting of her turquoise ring sparkled once in the early afternoon sun.
    Burley gave Easy another scowl and white, sunburned skin flaked off his forehead. “Okay, Perry. I’ll go take a shower. I’m sorry I lost the God damn tennis match. I’m sorry I disgraced you in front of your peers.”
    His pretty wife stroked his sweater arm against the grain. “We’ll be down in the bar, Buddy. If you get over your grump.”
    “Bullshit,” said Burley.