Read Online Requiem for a Realtor by Ralph McInerny - Free Book Online

assistant, a college kid hired for the summer, danced out of range. The two did not inspire confidence.
    â€œMaybe we should have the lab send a crew here, Agnes.”
    The driver took umbrage at this. “Even if I touch the damned thing my prints are on record.”
    â€œWhat were you in for?”
    â€œOh, come on.”
    Even so, Cy stayed close as they hooked up the car and then pulled it onto the flatbed truck.
    â€œMy fingerprints are on the car,” Agnes said to Cy when they had stepped away.
    The car had been unlocked when she found it and the registration had told her it belonged to the deceased Stanley Collins.
    â€œThat’s how I know it’s a scarf on the front seat.”
    Before they left, Cy went over to check out those sweet-smelling weeds. Who decides if something is a weed and not a flower?
    â€œWhy did you ask if it was Mrs. Robertson’s car?” Agnes was asking the driver when he came back.
    â€œIt’s a long story.”
    Cy told Agnes the story on the drive downtown, following the flatbed with Stanley Collins’s car aboard.
    â€œI thought they were a little funny in Traffic.”
    â€œThey always are.”
    He had Agnes drop him at the morgue.

2
    At the morgue Cy tried not to notice how beautiful Dr. Pippin, the assistant coroner, was. Would he have stayed if Lubins were performing the autopsy? Pippin’s lab coat hung to her knees but could not conceal her graceful body. Her tawny pony tail tossed as she went about her grisly task, talking into the microphone suspended above her. Why would someone go through medical school and then settle for a job as assistant coroner? It was one of those mysteries that fascinated Cy about Pippin. Of course, he was waiting for her to finish so they could talk. She represented an occasion of sin of sorts, not that he would ever say or do anything, but there are sins of thought and Cy fought against them manfully. He loved his wife, and Pippin now had a husband, a double protection against anything stupid on his part. On her part, there was only a cheery friendliness. She might have been his sister.
    â€œPoor devil,” she said, when she emerged. “Hungry?”
    â€œAre you?”
    â€œFamished.”
    â€œI’ll buy you lunch.”
    â€œYou will not. It’s my turn.”
    They went across the street to the sports bar, another precaution. It was filled with cops and reporters, and no one would wonder what he was doing having lunch with Pippin. Her own attitude was so devoid of anything romantic that Cy had only to mimic it. She ordered a Reuben and a beer, and Cy had the goulash.
    â€œIs it Hungarian?”
    He put his ear near the plate. “Can’t tell. What killed him?”
    â€œA car.”
    She chewed her sandwich and smiled at the same time. Very distracting, but Cy was a Hungarian whose face betrayed nothing. In fact he had only one expression. Well, maybe one and a half. He was wearing the half.
    â€œDead on the scene?”
    â€œHe whacked his head on the curb. The car drove across his rib cage. It would have been quick.”
    â€œIt was reported at six-thirty.”
    â€œHe probably lay there for hours.”
    â€œHow many?”
    She shrugged, chewed, looked at the ceiling. “Four, five.”
    â€œEarly morning?”
    â€œProbably. After midnight.”
    â€œHis name was Stanley Collins.”
    â€œDid you know him?”
    â€œHe was a Realtor. He sold me my house.”
    She put down her sandwich. “Tell me about your house.”
    â€œIt’s just a house.”
    â€œWell, you must have been an easy sale.”
    â€œMy wife picked it.”
    â€œI’d like to meet her.”
    Cy nodded, making no promises. What would it be like with her if she knew his wife? That was ridiculous. Cy got down to business on the hit-and-run. He had had one adolescence, and he didn’t want another.
    The body of Stanley Collins had been found on