Read Online Ron Goulart - John Easy 03 - The Same Lie Twice by Ron Goulart - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ron Goulart
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sedate white blouse.
“Shut up for a while, Jeannie,” suggested her husband. He reached up, took her cigarette from her fingers and began smoking it himself.
“I thought you were giving it up.” Jeannie walked slowly across the room, stopping with her back to the drawn drapes.
“So I’m nervous this morning,” said Mowatt. Three of their cats were sprawled and slumbering on the bright sofa.
“Do you know where Joan is?” Easy asked the nervous Mowatt.
“Would Mr. Easy mind if I turned on the hi-fi? It helps soothe my nerves sometimes.” The husky blonde looked in Easy’s direction but focused on the even row of small pictures which ran up the wall behind him. Each picture showed a famous nineteenth century steam engine.
“Do whatever you want, Jeannie, but shut up,” said her husband. “I’ve decided I better talk to you, Easy.”
Easy nodded, not replying.
Jeannie passed close in front of him. She knelt at a hi-fi system built into white wall cabinets. “Does Mr. Easy like jazz?”
“Honest to Christ, Jeannie, what is all this Mr. Easy crap?”
Easy said, “I don’t think your wife took too kindly to me on my last visit.”
“This is Miles Davis,” announced Jeannie as she slapped a record on the turntable.
“Turn it down,” said Mowatt above the initial blast of the music. He left the sofa, which caused the cats to stir and complain. Reseating himself on a cobbler’s bench closer to Easy, he went on. “I’m right in assuming the same people killed Phil’s sister. I mean, the same people who did it to him?”
“Yeah,” answered Easy, “I’d say so.”
“He’s afraid they’re going to come and get him,” said Jeannie. She took a new cigarette from the canister on the round coffee table. “He couldn’t stand that, being beaten up.”
“Why don’t you go away somewhere and shut up,” said her husband. “It’s Joan I’m worried about.”
“You had your chance with her,” said the husky blonde as she lit the cigarette.
“Honest to Christ, Jeannie, I don’t expect you to be at all sentimental, I know you too well for that, but you can at least shut up for a while. You slept with Phil, after all.”
“Only so you could have a turn with dear Joan. I don’t need extra playmates.”
“That’s great,” laughed Mowatt. “You’ve balled every guy within a radius of a mile, down to and including that kid with acne who mows the Hodgins’ lawn, and you try to tell me …”
“Where’s Joan?” asked Easy.
His eyes still narrowed and aimed at his wife, Mowatt said, “Excuse us, Easy. I didn’t bring you over to … look, they may try to kill Joan, too? Is that a possibility?”
“If they haven’t already.”
Mowatt puffed rapidly at his borrowed cigarette. “That’s what I’m really afraid of, Easy. I was going to coast on this, leave it alone, until I heard the radio this morning. Until I heard about Phil’s sister.”
“It takes two or three murders to get Neddy’s moral sense going,” said his wife.
“You were the one who didn’t want me to talk to him. I wanted to call him last night. It would be better if he finds Joan than some …”
Easy asked, “Can you tell me where she is?”
“Yes,” answered Mowatt. “She’s in Mexico.”
“Olé,” said Jeannie under her breath.
“Where in Mexico?”
Mowatt sighed out blue smoke. “I’m not exactly sure.”
“He wishes he did,” said his wife. She wandered over to the flowered sofa and dropped down amidst the dozing cats. “He’d be there now, holding her lovely white hand, giving her aid and comfort.”
“This is what happened,” Mowatt went on. “Joan called me last Saturday morning around 4 A.M. She’d been out with someone else that night, not with Phil. You know how she was I guess. Anyway, she’d decided to go back to Phil’s place and spend the rest of the night there.”
“She found him dead?”
“Yeah, right. There was nobody else around, according to Joan.
“Shut up for a while, Jeannie,” suggested her husband. He reached up, took her cigarette from her fingers and began smoking it himself.
“I thought you were giving it up.” Jeannie walked slowly across the room, stopping with her back to the drawn drapes.
“So I’m nervous this morning,” said Mowatt. Three of their cats were sprawled and slumbering on the bright sofa.
“Do you know where Joan is?” Easy asked the nervous Mowatt.
“Would Mr. Easy mind if I turned on the hi-fi? It helps soothe my nerves sometimes.” The husky blonde looked in Easy’s direction but focused on the even row of small pictures which ran up the wall behind him. Each picture showed a famous nineteenth century steam engine.
“Do whatever you want, Jeannie, but shut up,” said her husband. “I’ve decided I better talk to you, Easy.”
Easy nodded, not replying.
Jeannie passed close in front of him. She knelt at a hi-fi system built into white wall cabinets. “Does Mr. Easy like jazz?”
“Honest to Christ, Jeannie, what is all this Mr. Easy crap?”
Easy said, “I don’t think your wife took too kindly to me on my last visit.”
“This is Miles Davis,” announced Jeannie as she slapped a record on the turntable.
“Turn it down,” said Mowatt above the initial blast of the music. He left the sofa, which caused the cats to stir and complain. Reseating himself on a cobbler’s bench closer to Easy, he went on. “I’m right in assuming the same people killed Phil’s sister. I mean, the same people who did it to him?”
“Yeah,” answered Easy, “I’d say so.”
“He’s afraid they’re going to come and get him,” said Jeannie. She took a new cigarette from the canister on the round coffee table. “He couldn’t stand that, being beaten up.”
“Why don’t you go away somewhere and shut up,” said her husband. “It’s Joan I’m worried about.”
“You had your chance with her,” said the husky blonde as she lit the cigarette.
“Honest to Christ, Jeannie, I don’t expect you to be at all sentimental, I know you too well for that, but you can at least shut up for a while. You slept with Phil, after all.”
“Only so you could have a turn with dear Joan. I don’t need extra playmates.”
“That’s great,” laughed Mowatt. “You’ve balled every guy within a radius of a mile, down to and including that kid with acne who mows the Hodgins’ lawn, and you try to tell me …”
“Where’s Joan?” asked Easy.
His eyes still narrowed and aimed at his wife, Mowatt said, “Excuse us, Easy. I didn’t bring you over to … look, they may try to kill Joan, too? Is that a possibility?”
“If they haven’t already.”
Mowatt puffed rapidly at his borrowed cigarette. “That’s what I’m really afraid of, Easy. I was going to coast on this, leave it alone, until I heard the radio this morning. Until I heard about Phil’s sister.”
“It takes two or three murders to get Neddy’s moral sense going,” said his wife.
“You were the one who didn’t want me to talk to him. I wanted to call him last night. It would be better if he finds Joan than some …”
Easy asked, “Can you tell me where she is?”
“Yes,” answered Mowatt. “She’s in Mexico.”
“Olé,” said Jeannie under her breath.
“Where in Mexico?”
Mowatt sighed out blue smoke. “I’m not exactly sure.”
“He wishes he did,” said his wife. She wandered over to the flowered sofa and dropped down amidst the dozing cats. “He’d be there now, holding her lovely white hand, giving her aid and comfort.”
“This is what happened,” Mowatt went on. “Joan called me last Saturday morning around 4 A.M. She’d been out with someone else that night, not with Phil. You know how she was I guess. Anyway, she’d decided to go back to Phil’s place and spend the rest of the night there.”
“She found him dead?”
“Yeah, right. There was nobody else around, according to Joan.
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