Read Online Murder in Hell's Kitchen by Lee Harris - Free Book Online Page B

him.”
    â€œOK, hang on and I’ll ask around.”
    Maybe it was a dormitory, not a bar. The voices sounded male, and there was a lot of laughing. She waited over a minute before he came back.
    â€œYou’re right, he did live here for a while. But he’s been gone for a long time.”
    â€œTell me, Al, is this a hotel? All Jerry gave me was a phone number.”
    â€œNah, we’re a loft downtown. People stay awhile, then move on. Jerry was one of them.”
    â€œYou have any idea where he went?”
    â€œHe left the city. Went back to where he came from. One of the guys thinks maybe Omaha.”
    â€œOK, thanks, Al.”
    â€œHey, a pleasure. Call anytime.”
    Not likely.
    She worked for the next hour. Going rapidly through a box of more or less important papers, she was happy she and Hack had never written each other letters. He gave her gifts that she treasured, things that she used or wore and would continue to do so, but there was almost a sense of relief that their relationship was not documented on paper, little notes or long letters folded into envelopes, precious missives that would demand rereading, that would evoke all the wrong emotions.
    The floors, bare of the rugs, looked odd. She saw for the first time how the sun had bleached the uncovered areas in the living room, how the shape of the rug remained like a memory.
    Every step along the path to moving out made her more eager to leave. She was tired of this place; weary was a better word. She found that she hated the glossy paint on the trim around the doors, hated the fact that not one door closed. How had she put up with it for so long? The apartment seemed like a gift when she moved in, and, happy at her newfound independence, like a woman newly in love she had ignored or been blind to all its faults. Now it seemed shabby and worn, a place she could hardly remember liking.
    She picked up the Manhattan phone book to put it in a carton and remembered Hollis Worthman, the black tenant on the second floor. She went through the Worthmans, but found no Hollis and no
H
. Looking at the addresses, she picked one in the Thirty-second Precinct in Harlem and dialed it.
    â€œHello?” It was the voice of an old woman.
    â€œIs this Mrs. Worthman?”
    â€œYes, it is.”
    â€œI’m trying to reach Hollis Worthman.”
    â€œHollis? My son Hollis?”
    â€œI believe so.”
    â€œHollis died, dear.”
    â€œOh, I’m sorry to hear it. My information must be wrong. Can you tell me when it happened?”
    â€œIt’s more than four years ago now. Hard to believe it’s that long.”
    â€œWas it illness?” Jane asked, as long as the woman seemed content to keep talking.
    â€œYou mean was he sick? No. My boy was a healthy person. He wasn’t sick a day in his life. It happened in the street. It was a mugging. I don’t know why they had to kill him. He gave them his wallet and his watch. They were just mean. All the young people nowadays, they’re mean.”
    Jane felt a quickening of her heart. Another death from unnatural causes. “I see. Where did this happen?”
    â€œJust on the way to the little grocery store. It’s around the corner from us. He often took a walk there at night. He liked the exercise.” Her voice trembled.
    â€œI’m very sorry, Mrs. Worthman. I apologize for the intrusion.”
    â€œYou’re quite welcome. I wasn’t doing much anyway.”
    Things were in good shape by the time she was ready for bed. The medicine chest was empty, and all the old leftovers in the refrigerator were in the garbage. The few canned goods and cooking necessities were packed as well.
    In her slippers and robe she made a circuit of the apartment, looking for things she had missed. There were two more evenings before moving day. As she passed the answering machine, she stopped. There were no old love letters, no tapes, and no videos. She