Brooklyn Graves (Erica Donato Mysteries Book 2) by Stein Triss

Author:Stein, Triss [Stein, Triss]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Poisoned Pen Press
Published: 2014-02-28T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

I drove slowly through the quiet back streets of Greenwich Village, looking for the address Ryan had given me. In the busy heart of the Village, you would not think there were any quiet back streets left. The sidewalks always seem to be thronged with NYU students and suburban tourists looking for adventure, and any block might offer a tattoo and piercing shop, a multi-starred restaurant, and one of the few remaining jazz clubs—reminders of an earlier age—or the entire block might be pizza shops, cheap shoes, and cell-phone stores.

Yet, the quiet spots remain. These blocks are lined with exquisitely preserved brick row-houses, much older than those in my neighborhood. There are gracious trees, and well-dressed adults walking sleek dogs. Yes, I could see Dr. Flint here.

Until I found the address, I hadn’t realized I was not looking for one of the grand old apartment buildings that anchor some of the corners. I imagined him there in Edith Wharton-ish splendor, but in fact, it was one of the brick townhouses, in the restrained Federal style, with none of the Gilded Age embellishments of my neighborhood. Elegant planters with clipped boxwood lined the stairs. Sleek black painted shutters. And, yes, there was a smartly polished brass plaque next to the door. It said 1823.

I ran up the short flight of front steps, rang the doorbell, waited, and rang again. I was anxious to get the unpleasant errand done.

True, Ryan was a bit flaky but we had just talked, so where was he? I was beginning to be annoyed. Perhaps I should have gone to the old tradesman’s entrance under the stairs. I rang the bell down there, peered through the wrought-iron security gate and even rattled it, looking for a sign of life.

I dug my phone out and called, and when there was no answer, left a message: “I am right outside. Answer the damn doorbell!”

I returned to the main door, determined to pound on it until I had his attention. All of the neighbors’, too, if necessary. With the first smack of my fist, it gave and I realize it was not quite locked. Okay, I would go in and wake him from his nap, or his video game-induced stupor or whatever it was. Perhaps it was a substance-induced funk. He seemed to be too anxious about his job to try that during working hours, but what did I really know?

I stepped into a dark narrow hall, papered in an elaborate antique-looking design. There seemed to be a parlor off to the right. Though I would normally have been full of curiosity about this elegant old house, I was too annoyed to do more now than take it in, in passing. It seemed surprisingly messy.

I walked to the kitchen in the back, calling Ryan’s name, but the room was empty. I looked out the French doors, into a tiny, well-lit garden, to see if he was out there.

There was another room, a kind of study I guessed, as I saw rows of bookcases beyond the half opened door.

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