Read Online Play It Again by Stephen Humphrey Bogart - Free Book Online Page B

was ready to make an exception. “What did you have in mind?”
    She moved over and hung herself on the couch, smoothing her skirt down over her long legs. The sharp angle of the couch showed them off to real advantage. “The piece I was doing on your mother. It’s more important than ever now. And just so all my cards are on the table, I am not exaggerating when I say this story could really make my career. So you know what’s in it for me, okay? It’s a very hot story.”
    “Nothing like a little murder to raise interest in a fading star.”
    She looked annoyed, but she went on. “The fact is, she was in the middle of a comeback. I think my piece would have helped. About halfway through, I realized I wanted it to help.” Casey gave him a very small smile. “I guess I lost my objectivity. I liked your mother. She was very easy to talk to.”
    “Not for me.”
    “Maybe you never gave her a chance.”
    “Yeah. That must have been it. Maybe I should have opened up to her, in between the boarding schools and the summer camps, and really let her into my life in the three days a year she could put up with me. We could have had some great talks, maybe for the full five minutes at a time she could focus on something besides her career. I should have tried harder. I feel like a jerk.”
    He was surprised at how the words all came out like that. Casey really knew how to get to him, and she had.
    She looked at him without blinking for a long minute. He couldn’t read her expression. “I’m sorry you feel that way,” she said finally.
    “Sweetheart, so am I.”
    “People change, you know.”
    “I know, I’ve done it myself.”
    “It may be that your mother hit a certain age and looked back and didn’t like what she saw. She might have been trying to reach out to you.”
    “She had a funny way of reaching out. I didn’t even know she was in town. Maybe if I had a press card, she would have sent a release, let me know she was coming.”
    Casey gave him that long stare again, the one he couldn’t read. Finally she shook her head. “She’s dead, R.J. Can’t you like her even a little bit?”
    “No, I can’t,” he snarled. He got up and stepped over to the couch, glaring down at her. “I can’t like her at all. Not that it’s any of your business. I never could like her. Only a camera could like that woman. But I loved her. She was my mother. I loved her —not some character she played, and not a sob sister attitude she was trying out on some soggy reporter. I loved my mother, Miss Wingate, and I am mad as hell that she’s gone, and that somebody killed her like that, and whoever it is I’m going to find them, and I may or may not turn ’em over to the cops when I do, all right? Now quit fishing for a story and show me the goddamn tapes before you have me chewing up your furniture.”
    Something finally showed in her eyes. Approval? Amusement? He couldn’t tell. “All right, R.J.,” she said and stood up smoothly. “Just so we understand each other. You’re after a killer, I’m after a story. I’ll show you the tapes—but you’ve got to help me out too. Deal?”
    She held out a hand. He looked at her, and the elegant hand, for a long moment. Then he laughed.
    “What the hell,” he said. “Deal.” He took her hand. The electricity was still there, maybe stronger. Casey pulled her hand back with a slightly startled look.
    “Good,” she said, already smoothing over any sign that she had felt anything she didn’t want to feel. “Do you have any ideas yet about the murder?”
    He shook his head. “Not a clue. I guess it could be one of those star stalker things—but it could be a lot of other things too. She was no angel, and she stepped hard on a lot of people.”
    “So you think it was someone from her past?”
    R.J. shook his head. “I didn’t say that. But it could have been, sure. Something’s been bothering me, something I saw on a piece of your film.”
    “What was it?”
    R.J.