Read Online Show Business Is Murder by Stuart M. Kaminsky - Free Book Online Page B

But lately, since he’d stopped going to the office, he’d just let it ring, or let the answering machine get it.
    â€œMiranda?” It was Nora, the bitch, her sister. Always butting her nose in. “Are you there? Pick up. I’m worried about you.”
    He got hot, seething, began screaming at her, though she couldn’t hear him. “We’re working everything out, not that you care, you trouble-making bitch.”
    â€œYou say that, David,” Miranda said, “but we’re not working anything out. It’s too late for that.” Her cheeks were pale, her eyes distant.
    â€œI swear, Miranda, I’m turning over a new leaf.”
    â€œYes. Like when you don’t let me go to the dentist, and to even the supermarket by myself.”
    â€œI don’t want anything to happen to you. Most wives would be thrilled to be taken care of like I take care of you.”
    Miranda sighed. “We’ve been married twenty-five—”
    â€œWonderful years—”
    â€œSome wonderful years—”
    â€œYou turned everything we had into shit.”
    â€œI broke it off with him.”
    â€œYou saw him yesterday, don’t you remember?”
    â€œI told you, for a drink. That’s all.”
    â€œIt’s not all. It’s never all.” He went back to the terrace, slamming the door. Gratitude. No one had any anymore.Miranda was ungrateful for anything he’d done for her. There’d been a scene in Philadelphia—what the hell was the name of the show? His brain was fuzzy. Anyway, they’d cut her number. He’d come down after a tearful phone call, but first he’d made his own calls. The number was put back in.
    He couldn’t lose her. She was his whole life, more important even than The Naked Truth . Why didn’t she understand that? It was for her own good. Yes, he’d had her followed, yes, he’d had the phone tapped. How else would he know what was happening in his life? He’d done what any good husband would do.
    One more call. Ruben Bronson. He’d trained Ruben from scratch. Ruben was production stage manager on The Naked Truth . When was the last time David had talked to him? Once more to the speed dial. “Listen, Ruben—”
    â€œDavid, I was just going to call you. Can you come in tonight? We have a problem.”
    â€œI have some things I have to do.”
    â€œIt’s Jenny’s replacement. You haven’t been around. She’s not working out—”
    â€œYou handle it.”
    â€œOkay, if that’s what—”
    â€œI love ya, kid.” David hung up.
    In the kitchen he scrawled the letter to Patrick on the phone bill. He had to write around the notes he’d made about the people Miranda called and the numbers he didn’t recognize.
    â€œWhy have you stopped going to the office?” she said.
    â€œI want to be with you.”
    â€œYou’re driving me crazy, David. You’ve got to give me some space.”
    â€œSo you can sneak around and meet your friend, the loser?”
    â€œI have other friends.”
    â€œYes. Like Linda Marshall who warned you that I was dangerous.”
    â€œIf you listen to my phone calls, you have yourself to blame. Linda is a therapist. She thinks you need help.”
    â€œShe’s just a dyke who wants you for herself.”
    Miranda stared at him, weeping. Her tears made red streaks on her cheeks. She was tormenting him. Why didn’t she just stay where she was? He closed his eyes and made her go away.
    The quiet became oppressive. He went into the bedroom. She was back in bed, where they would find her.
    He returned to the kitchen and rinsed his hands, stacked the dishes and utensils in the dishwasher, all but the bread knife, which he dried carefully and put in the oak block on the counter.
    The afternoon was waning.
    â€œPlease, David,” she said, “Patrick will be home