My Sweet Untraceable You (3rd In the Lauren Laurano Series) by Scoppettone Sandra

Author:Scoppettone, Sandra [Scoppettone, Sandra]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sandra Scoppettone
Published: 2011-05-18T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

WORSE THAN MYSTERIES, worse than coincidences, are twins. I loathe and despise the twin gambit. There are twin movies and twin novels and twin plays. Recently, a Grand Master of Mystery Writers of America utilized this device. And, of course, even Shakespeare used the twin ruse. But he can be forgiven because it was new then. It's hard to believe that I'm involved in a twin case. Still, this explains what Jimmy the Snail said about Susie not remembering sometimes. If the Nut Man is right and the twin used other names, then she was probably an actress too.

I get the distinct feeling that this is going to be a good twin-evil twin ploy. The worst kind.

Did the evil twin (Sharon) kill the good twin (Susie)?

I refuse to believe this.

Why has nobody mentioned a twin sister sooner?

And how can we be sure it's the good twin (Susie) who was murdered? Maybe it was the evil twin (Sharon) who was murdered, but not by the good twin (Susie).

Or maybe the good twin (Susie) did murder the evil twin (Sharon), which would make the good twin (Susie) really the evil twin (Susie), and the original evil twin (Sharon) now the good twin (Sharon). Good but dead.

I HATE THIS!

I go into the Waverly Place Luncheonette with hopes that I might locate Cecchi. Also, I know I'll find a phone book. Probably the only public one left in New York City.

In one sweep I take in the room. No Cecchi.

Ruby zips past me, a tray of breakfasts balanced on one hand. When she comes by again I stop her.

"Hi, Ruby. Seen Cecchi?"

"Not today." White shoes spirit her away with the silence only an older New York waitress can manage.

I go to the back, where the phone is, and pull out the Manhattan directory. No Sharon or Susie Mcmann or Shelley McCabe. There are many S. Mcmanns and S. McCabes, more than I want to deal with. None at East Sixth Street, where Cecchi said the dead woman lived.

Suddenly and shockingly, Ruby speaks to me of her own accord for the first time that I can remember.

"So you got a murder right on your own front stoop, huh?"

I nod, stunned at this unsolicited conversation.

"Which one of them was wasted?" she asks.

Obviously everybody knows about these twins.

"Susie," I say, as if the twin thing is old news, part of my history.

"Too bad. She was the nice one."

Here we go with the good and evil twins. I'm not sure I can bear it. "The other one?"

"Farbissineh. You know what that means?"

Yiddish, but I don't know the meaning and say so.

"Sour. Like a pickle. It was why it was easy to tell them apart. One sunny, one like a black cloud."

"Ruby, do you by any chance know where the sour one lives?"

"The exact address?"

"Yeah."

"I look like a Rolodex or something? I should know my customers' addresses like maybe they invite me over for cocktails and canapés? 'Scuse me, got work to do." Shaking her head, she mumbles to herself, but loud enough for me to hear: "I don't know what Cecchi sees in her.

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