Read Online The Underground Lady by JC Simmons - Free Book Online Page B

involved in something that got one of them killed. It was time to meet banker Pushkin for lunch.
    The Hot Spot is mainly a take-out barbecue restaurant with a few tables for the lunch crowd. Its decor is sparse, clean, neat, and the owners serve some of the best food in the area. I took a seat in the rear of the room with a view of the front door.
    Peter Pushkin was a poster child for every banker I've ever known. He wore a suit and tie, expensive shoes, and carried himself with an air of confidence. I waved him to the table, and as we shook hands, I took a careful look at him. He was over six feet tall, much older than I thought, but still carried himself with the air of an ex-athlete. His skin was the color of polished walnut, and his face was marked with hard wrinkles, running horizontal on his forehead and vertical on the cheeks and neck. His hair was thin and gray, cut short, above the ears. He looked eighty and I knew he was a grandfather many times over.
    "I do not have much time, Mr. Leicester, so let's get right to it, shall we?"
    "You want to order?"
    "I've already had lunch."
"Coffee?"
    "That will be fine."
    I went to the counter and ordered a sandwich and two coffees. Bringing them back to the table, I said, “Hadley's daughter, Sunny Pfeiffer, wants to know what happened to her mother. Did you know the little girl?"
    "Yes, certainly, I knew the daughter, and if you are implying that I might be her father, you are wrong."
    I felt like a Christian on the way to the coliseum. This stunned me. Was this what this was all about? Sunny Pfeiffer was trying to find out who her real father is and what happened to her mother. Was this the reason Rose English wanted her to accompany me during the investigation? It never crossed my mind that Hadley's husband wasn't the father. Suddenly my job seemed to take a new and bitter twist.
    "No, Mr. Pushkin, I'm looking into why and how Hadley Welch disappeared, not who's the father of her daughter. Could you be?"
    "No, I am not. I knew Hadley before the baby was born, but it was strictly business."
    "There was never a crash site found, no body recovered. You have any idea what may have occurred?"
    "It was a long time ago and I have no idea what happened to that woman."
    "Did you and she date later, after the death of her husband? I heard it was a brain aneurysm that killed him."
    "We did go out for a short time, before I met my wife. I don't know how her husband died."
    "I heard you were the jealous type. True?"
    He stood up. "I have nothing else to say to you."
    "Sure you do. Sit, we'll parse sentences together. Do a textual exegesis of the love life of southern bankers. We'll talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs, and with teary eyes write sorrow on the bosoms of our violated whores."
    He remained standing, looked at me like I was somebody Noah left off the passenger list. "I shouldn't have come." Throwing a five-dollar bill on the table, he said, “Do not contact me again." He walked away.
    My barbecue sandwich was left uneaten. I needed to talk with Rose English.
    Driving straight to Rose's house, I parked in the drive, got out and stood for a moment beside the truck. Far in the distance, a dog barked four times, after that…silence.
    Rose walked around the corner of the house. She wore a padded vest, blue jeans, and rubber boots. "I thought someone drove up. Come on in, I'll make some coffee."
    "Is Ed Pfeiffer Sunny's father?"
    Rose walked up close and stared at me with unblinking eyes that were as expressionless as the muzzles of a 12 gauge double-barreled shotgun. "Come inside."
    The kitchen was warm and cozy. Rose busied herself with making the coffee. I sat at the table and waited. Finally, she poured two cups, handed me a hand-painted clay honey jar and a dipper. Stirring in a dollop of the honey, I said, "The banker, Pushkin denied he was the father without me asking. What do you know about it?"
    "Pushkin is one of those men who holds the conviction that the only thing