Read Online There was an Old Woman by Howard Engel - Free Book Online Page A

about it. If I live to finish it, Benny. Thanks for the company. Here, let me get your coffee,” he said scooping up my check. “See you later.”
    There was a cold wind blowing up St. Andrew Street when I came out of the Di. I let it decide my next move. By turning my back to it, I let myself be blown along towards the corner at Queen Street. Once in the lee of the bank, I was able to make decisions again for myself. I went into the bookstore across the street from the Beacon.
    â€œBenny! It’s a long time since I’ve seen you!” It was Susan Torres, who ran the place. It was her reminders of my long absences that kept me away, I think. She always made me feel guilty I wasn’t reading four or five books a week.
    â€œI got a message that you had the book I ordered,” I said, using this gambit as a club to beat her back. Shereached under the counter and opened a bag with my name on it, after blowing the dust off rather theatrically. It was a feminist book I’d heard Anna talking about; so I’d ordered it. Susan looked at me suspiciously, as though my sudden interest contaminated the whole movement. She rang up the sale and I handed her my plastic.
    â€œDo you have any of McKenzie Stewart’s crime novels?” I asked as an afterthought.
    â€œAre you kidding? McStu is never out of stock in this store. He’s a dear, even if he does rearrange the shelves near his books when he comes in. We’re going to have a big signing for him when his next one comes out.”
    â€œWhen’s that?”
    â€œHere’s your personal invitation,” she said, handing me an orange piece of paper with a date that was less than two weeks away. “We’d hoped to have the book sooner, but I guess the printers were held up.”
    â€œWhat have you got of his that I would like?”
    â€œLet’s see, let’s see, let’s see.” She was sucking or chewing on the temple of her half-moon glasses, which hung around her neck on a black cord. After a moment, she pulled two paperbacks from the shelf. “He’s really very naughty, you know. I straightened these shelves on Saturday. Now look at them! All of his covers are showing and only the spines of his competitors’ books. Poor Kit Small and Heather Sigworth. And they have such nice covers too!” As a sample she showed me a cover with a picture of a woman in a nightgown dangling by the neck from a curtain rope. “Benny, I think you might likethese.” I looked at the titles: Dead Letter, which had a bloody hand peeking out of an envelope, and Dudley Earnest, which showed a pair of scissors sticking out of a mass of blonde hair tied up in a ribbon. I picked up Blood on the Floor as well. “I think you’ll love these, Benny. If you do, I’ve got more.”
    â€œYou sound like you know him quite well. What’s he like?”
    â€œOh, he’s a real charmer, Benny. Not that he tries to be. He’s as little aware of his effect on one as a good dinner. When he tries to turn on the charm, it’s really quite funny. He’s shy too: he’d never dream of asking to have his books put in the window, but it gives him great pleasure to see them there. I think you’d like him. You’ve probably seen him around town.”
    â€œHe doesn’t sit at the counter in Diana Sweets, does he? Scribbling?”
    â€œNo. That’s Malcolm Binny. He’s another story.”
    â€œI call him the Mad Scribbler.”
    â€œBit of an understatement, if you ask me,” she muttered, smiling, with her glasses dangling from the corner of her mouth. “No, McStu looks like a school teacher: tweeds and corduroys, you know. He never wears a winter coat, but has a long woollen scarf that he can’t be separated from.”
    â€œIs he the guy I’ve seen with Catherine Bracken?” 1 tried this on just to see if it would fit.
    â€œShe’s really quite