Read Online Voodoo Moon by Ed Gorman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ed Gorman
Tags: Mystery & Crime
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that fine detective work?'" Chandler said.
"Not that I know of," Laura said.
"Very funny," he said.
I stood up. "I'm going down to my room."
"I'll be glad to go with you to check out this Heather chick," Chandler said.
"No, thanks."
"But all Great Detectives have sidekicks," he said. "Holmes and Watson. Nero Wolfe and Archie. Mike Hammer and Velda . I'm a mystery buff."
"He doesn't want you tagging along, for God's sake, Noah," Laura said. "So just give it a rest."
I felt sorry for him. I didn't like him—God only knew how he'd gotten the producer's job—but Laura's contempt was withering.
I said, "You did some good work, Noah. The gas station guy, I mean. Thanks. I appreciate it."
"You hear that, Laura?" Chandler said. " You hear that? "
"I heard," she said wearily. "He's just trying to be nice, you moron."
"Well," I said, feeling even sorrier for big dumb Noah Chandler. "I guess I'll be going."
F rom a quick look around I'd sensed somebody had been in here. I'd called the desk to talk to Pete, the handyman. He was always around. Maybe he'd seen somebody. Ten minutes later the phone rang.
"Hi. This is the front desk." Friendly female voice.
"Hi."
"Did Pete find you?"
"Nope."
Then, "He's down the hall. Excuse me for a second ." She was back within a minute. "He's coming down to your room right away."
As I was talking, I noticed the clasp on my suitcase affixed to the strap. I always belted the strap on the fourth loop. It was now belted to the second loop. And the empty metal waste can next to the desk had been knocked over. I'm enough of a neat freak to notice things like this. You will find no room of mine with a waste can on its side. Somebody had been in here.
"Send him down."
"He's a nice guy."
"I'm sure he is."
"His son, he just got laid off over to this factory in Davenport. Pete's real worried about him."
I had to admire her loyalty. She was going to make me feel sorry for Pete even if I didn't want to.
"So please don't chew him out."
"I'm going to pistol-whip him."
"What?"
"And then I'm going to stick straight pins underneath his fingernails. And then I'm going to douse him with gasoline and set him on fire: ."
"Smart-ass."
" Pete'll be fine. I just need to talk to him is all."
Pete, when he came, was dressed in bib OskKoshes with a flannel shirt underneath and a black-and-yellow Hawkeye ball cap on top. He was old enough to have wattles and rheumy, faded eyes and a bit of palsy in his left hand. Or maybe he was just scared. He said, "I just want to get one thing clear." He said this before actually stepping inside. "I been working here ten years—after I retired out to the tire company—and I've never stolen one thing in all the time I been here."
"Fine."
"Stuff people leave layin ' around, a dishonest fella'd have a heyday. Wristwatches and diamond necklaces and big fat wads of cash. I admit I've daydreamed about it a few times. But I've never taken anything."
"I believe you."
He smiled. "Good. Helen said she thought you was a nice guy."
The door was open. A breeze came in, smoky with autumn. It made me think of growing up in a small town outside Iowa City. Riding horses through the cornfields of fall, all the way up to the timberland where there were Indian burial mounds and a winding river so clear you could see the fish weaving along its bottom.
"I just wondered if you saw anybody around my room."
"That's what I wanted to tell you, this heavyset guy leaving your room. He got into a green car."
"Balding guy?"
Thought a moment. "Yeah, right. Balding."
"You happen to notice the plates on his car?"
"Sure. They're the first thing I look at. I got kind of a thing about license plates, I guess. Always have had. My dad used to nail all his license plates to the wall of the garage. By the time he died, he had quite a collection."
"I'll bet."
"The garage burned down right after he died. Never did figure out what started the fire."
"How about the plates on the green
"Not that I know of," Laura said.
"Very funny," he said.
I stood up. "I'm going down to my room."
"I'll be glad to go with you to check out this Heather chick," Chandler said.
"No, thanks."
"But all Great Detectives have sidekicks," he said. "Holmes and Watson. Nero Wolfe and Archie. Mike Hammer and Velda . I'm a mystery buff."
"He doesn't want you tagging along, for God's sake, Noah," Laura said. "So just give it a rest."
I felt sorry for him. I didn't like him—God only knew how he'd gotten the producer's job—but Laura's contempt was withering.
I said, "You did some good work, Noah. The gas station guy, I mean. Thanks. I appreciate it."
"You hear that, Laura?" Chandler said. " You hear that? "
"I heard," she said wearily. "He's just trying to be nice, you moron."
"Well," I said, feeling even sorrier for big dumb Noah Chandler. "I guess I'll be going."
F rom a quick look around I'd sensed somebody had been in here. I'd called the desk to talk to Pete, the handyman. He was always around. Maybe he'd seen somebody. Ten minutes later the phone rang.
"Hi. This is the front desk." Friendly female voice.
"Hi."
"Did Pete find you?"
"Nope."
Then, "He's down the hall. Excuse me for a second ." She was back within a minute. "He's coming down to your room right away."
As I was talking, I noticed the clasp on my suitcase affixed to the strap. I always belted the strap on the fourth loop. It was now belted to the second loop. And the empty metal waste can next to the desk had been knocked over. I'm enough of a neat freak to notice things like this. You will find no room of mine with a waste can on its side. Somebody had been in here.
"Send him down."
"He's a nice guy."
"I'm sure he is."
"His son, he just got laid off over to this factory in Davenport. Pete's real worried about him."
I had to admire her loyalty. She was going to make me feel sorry for Pete even if I didn't want to.
"So please don't chew him out."
"I'm going to pistol-whip him."
"What?"
"And then I'm going to stick straight pins underneath his fingernails. And then I'm going to douse him with gasoline and set him on fire: ."
"Smart-ass."
" Pete'll be fine. I just need to talk to him is all."
Pete, when he came, was dressed in bib OskKoshes with a flannel shirt underneath and a black-and-yellow Hawkeye ball cap on top. He was old enough to have wattles and rheumy, faded eyes and a bit of palsy in his left hand. Or maybe he was just scared. He said, "I just want to get one thing clear." He said this before actually stepping inside. "I been working here ten years—after I retired out to the tire company—and I've never stolen one thing in all the time I been here."
"Fine."
"Stuff people leave layin ' around, a dishonest fella'd have a heyday. Wristwatches and diamond necklaces and big fat wads of cash. I admit I've daydreamed about it a few times. But I've never taken anything."
"I believe you."
He smiled. "Good. Helen said she thought you was a nice guy."
The door was open. A breeze came in, smoky with autumn. It made me think of growing up in a small town outside Iowa City. Riding horses through the cornfields of fall, all the way up to the timberland where there were Indian burial mounds and a winding river so clear you could see the fish weaving along its bottom.
"I just wondered if you saw anybody around my room."
"That's what I wanted to tell you, this heavyset guy leaving your room. He got into a green car."
"Balding guy?"
Thought a moment. "Yeah, right. Balding."
"You happen to notice the plates on his car?"
"Sure. They're the first thing I look at. I got kind of a thing about license plates, I guess. Always have had. My dad used to nail all his license plates to the wall of the garage. By the time he died, he had quite a collection."
"I'll bet."
"The garage burned down right after he died. Never did figure out what started the fire."
"How about the plates on the green
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