For a Dancer: A Private Eye Novel (Tommy Shore Mystery Book 2) by Lawrence Dorfman

Author:Lawrence Dorfman [Dorfman, Lawrence]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781685491314
Publisher: Rough Edges Press
Published: 2022-08-08T16:00:00+00:00

EIGHTEEN

Reilly and I got into the rental and headed towards West Haven. He was unusually quiet for most of the ride, which usually meant one of two things – he was either very tired or he was pissed off. Might be both. I decided to speak first.

“What’s going on with you? You okay?”

He kept looking out of the window and took a while to answer.

“Not really. I still can’t find a doctor that’ll tell me conclusively what these episodes I’ve been having are. I’m tired all the time. I can barely work. Just want to sleep.”

My first thought was the booze couldn’t be helping. I didn’t want to say it, though…the last thing he needed was another mother. I decided to try a psychological route.

“Hey, maybe we need to cut back on the Jameson and Guinness? That can’t be helping. I’ve been feeling it myself lately.”

He finally looked over at me and scoffed, saying sarcastically, “Right, ‘we’ stop drinking and that’ll make everything right with the world. Give me a break. And don’t use that psych 101 shite on me.”

I knew as I said it that it wouldn’t fly and decided to just clam up. We didn’t say another word for the rest of the ride.

We got to Michael’s place in twenty minutes. It was on a central street, set back away from the curb. It was a three-level house in desperate need of major repair. The studio was at the back of the house in a free-standing building. The driveway entrance off the street curved around to a small lot that could accommodate parking for another three to four cars. Kathy’s Subaru was there, easily recognizable by the Back off, ya Feckin’ Gobshite! bumper sticker.

We entered the house from the back porch, walking up an old staircase to the second floor. I knocked softly on the door and Michael answered immediately.

“They’re in the studio. Follow me.”

He took us back down the stairs and across the driveway to the back of the other building. There was a small door with a buzzer that had to be pushed to be let in, but I’d never seen the door locked. I rang it anyway, then entered into the front room, a small kitchen. Vince, who owned the house and the studio, was sitting at the small kitchen table and spoke directly to Michael in a whisper.

“Are these the guys? ‘Bout time. Where’d they come from, Peru?”

I looked at Reilly, who shrugged, then bulled his way past, yelling out for Kathy as he went in.

I followed. Kathy came out from another room and spoke to me first.

“Thank god you’re here. She’s a basket case. The constant cellphone ringing with nobody there put her over the top. She’s in the recording studio.”

I nodded, thanked her, and went past, down a long corridor that ran the length of the building and led into a control booth. I could see her through the glass, sitting on a chair in the recording area, behind a bevy of microphones and cables.

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