Read Online Time to Murder and Create by Lawrence Block - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lawrence Block
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afraid of, anyway?"
"The same thing the Spinner was afraid of."
She nodded thoughtfully. "He was very nervous toward the end," she said.
"It made the bed part very interesting."
"It must have."
"I wasn't the only one on his string. He made that fairly obvious. Are you playing his whole string, Matt?
Or just me?"
"It's a good question, Mrs. Ethridge."
"Yeah, I like it myself. Who killed him, Matt? One of his other customers?"
"You mean he's dead?"
"I read newspapers."
"Sure. Sometimes your picture's in them."
"Yeah, and wasn't that just my lucky day. Did you kill him, Matt?"
"Why would I do that?"
"So that you could take his nice little number away from him. I thought you shook him down. Then I read how they fished him out of the river. Did you kill him?"
"No. Did you?"
"Sure, with my little bow and arrow. Listen, wait a year for your money and I'll double it. A hundred thousand dollars. That's nice interest."
"I'd rather take the cash and invest it myself."
"I told you I can't get it."
"How about your family?"
"What about them? They don't have any money."
"I thought you had a rich daddy."
She winced, and covered it by lighting another cigarette. Both our drinks were empty. I motioned to the waitress, and she brought fresh ones. I asked if there was any coffee made. She said there wasn't but she'd make a pot if I wanted. She sounded as though she really hoped I wouldn't want her to. I told her not to bother.
Beverly Ethridge said, "I had a rich great-grandfather."
"Oh?"
"My own father followed in his father's footsteps. The gentle art of turning a million dollars into a shoestring. I grew up thinking the money would always be there. That's what made everything that happened inCalifornia so easy. I had a rich daddy and I never really had to worry about anything. He could always bail me out. Even the serious things weren't serious."
"Then what happened?"
"He killed himself."
"How?"
"Sat in the car in a closed garage with the motor running. What's the difference?"
"None, I guess. I always wonder how people do it, that's all. Doctors usually use guns, did you know that? They have access to the simplest, cleanest ways in the world, an O.D. of morphine, anything like that, and instead they generally blow their brains out and make a hell of a mess. Why did he kill himself?"
"Because the money was gone." She picked up her glass, but paused with it halfway to her mouth. "That was why I came back east. All of a sudden he was dead, and instead of money there were debts. There was enough insurance so that my mother can live decently. She sold the house, moved to an apartment.
With that and Social Security, she gets along." She took a long drink now. "I don't want to talk about it."
"All right."
"If you took those pictures to Kermit, you wouldn't get anything. You'd just queer your own pitch. He wouldn't buy them, because he wouldn't care about my good name. He'd just care about his own, which
would mean getting rid of me and finding a wife as bloodless as he is."
"Maybe."
"He's playing golf this week. A pro-am tournament, they have them the day before the regular tournaments. He gets a professional golfer for a partner, and if they finish in the money the pro gets a few dollars out of it. Ketmit gets the glory.
It's his chief passion, golf."
"I thought you were."
"I'm nicely ornamental. And I can act like a lady. When I have to."
"When you have to."
"That's right. He's out of town now, getting ready for this tournament. So I can stay out as late as I want.
I can do as I please."
"Handy for you."
She sighed. "I guess I can't use sex this time, can I?"
"I'm afraid not."
"It's a shame. I'm used to using it, I'm damned good at it. Hell. A hundred thousand dollars a year from now is a lot of money."
"It's also a bird in the bush."
"I wish to hell I had something to use on you. Sex doesn't work, and I don't have money. I have a couple of dollars in a savings account, my own money."
"How
"The same thing the Spinner was afraid of."
She nodded thoughtfully. "He was very nervous toward the end," she said.
"It made the bed part very interesting."
"It must have."
"I wasn't the only one on his string. He made that fairly obvious. Are you playing his whole string, Matt?
Or just me?"
"It's a good question, Mrs. Ethridge."
"Yeah, I like it myself. Who killed him, Matt? One of his other customers?"
"You mean he's dead?"
"I read newspapers."
"Sure. Sometimes your picture's in them."
"Yeah, and wasn't that just my lucky day. Did you kill him, Matt?"
"Why would I do that?"
"So that you could take his nice little number away from him. I thought you shook him down. Then I read how they fished him out of the river. Did you kill him?"
"No. Did you?"
"Sure, with my little bow and arrow. Listen, wait a year for your money and I'll double it. A hundred thousand dollars. That's nice interest."
"I'd rather take the cash and invest it myself."
"I told you I can't get it."
"How about your family?"
"What about them? They don't have any money."
"I thought you had a rich daddy."
She winced, and covered it by lighting another cigarette. Both our drinks were empty. I motioned to the waitress, and she brought fresh ones. I asked if there was any coffee made. She said there wasn't but she'd make a pot if I wanted. She sounded as though she really hoped I wouldn't want her to. I told her not to bother.
Beverly Ethridge said, "I had a rich great-grandfather."
"Oh?"
"My own father followed in his father's footsteps. The gentle art of turning a million dollars into a shoestring. I grew up thinking the money would always be there. That's what made everything that happened inCalifornia so easy. I had a rich daddy and I never really had to worry about anything. He could always bail me out. Even the serious things weren't serious."
"Then what happened?"
"He killed himself."
"How?"
"Sat in the car in a closed garage with the motor running. What's the difference?"
"None, I guess. I always wonder how people do it, that's all. Doctors usually use guns, did you know that? They have access to the simplest, cleanest ways in the world, an O.D. of morphine, anything like that, and instead they generally blow their brains out and make a hell of a mess. Why did he kill himself?"
"Because the money was gone." She picked up her glass, but paused with it halfway to her mouth. "That was why I came back east. All of a sudden he was dead, and instead of money there were debts. There was enough insurance so that my mother can live decently. She sold the house, moved to an apartment.
With that and Social Security, she gets along." She took a long drink now. "I don't want to talk about it."
"All right."
"If you took those pictures to Kermit, you wouldn't get anything. You'd just queer your own pitch. He wouldn't buy them, because he wouldn't care about my good name. He'd just care about his own, which
would mean getting rid of me and finding a wife as bloodless as he is."
"Maybe."
"He's playing golf this week. A pro-am tournament, they have them the day before the regular tournaments. He gets a professional golfer for a partner, and if they finish in the money the pro gets a few dollars out of it. Ketmit gets the glory.
It's his chief passion, golf."
"I thought you were."
"I'm nicely ornamental. And I can act like a lady. When I have to."
"When you have to."
"That's right. He's out of town now, getting ready for this tournament. So I can stay out as late as I want.
I can do as I please."
"Handy for you."
She sighed. "I guess I can't use sex this time, can I?"
"I'm afraid not."
"It's a shame. I'm used to using it, I'm damned good at it. Hell. A hundred thousand dollars a year from now is a lot of money."
"It's also a bird in the bush."
"I wish to hell I had something to use on you. Sex doesn't work, and I don't have money. I have a couple of dollars in a savings account, my own money."
"How
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