Or Was He Pushed? by RICHARD LOCKRIDGE

Author:RICHARD LOCKRIDGE
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MysteriousPress.com/Open Road Media
Published: 2018-10-10T16:00:00+00:00

It was cool in the Shapiros’ apartment in Brooklyn—well, reasonably cool. Nathan had his gun off and his jacket off before the telephone rang. Rose was bringing in two tall glasses on a tray. One held her evening, hot-weather, gin and tonic. The other was Nathan’s sherry on ice with a splash of soda. In summer, Nathan yields to his wife’s insistence on something long and cold. She has tried to convert her long, sad husband to something less sweet, but has only got him as far as sweet sherry on ice. She regards this as a small advance over sweet red wine without ice. She put the tray down and answered the telephone. She said, “Yes, Tony, he is. Just got in.”

So, Anderson had been the right Anderson; Akins was in a hurry for a script based on Langhorn’s characters, and Anderson had it almost done. All but a final read-through to find out if it sounded all right. O.K., probably typescript didn’t always translate smoothly into the spoken word. Which wasn’t something Nathan Shapiro would know anything about. So Rachel had been one of those reading lines for Roy Anderson.

“Convenient,” Nathan said. Tony Cook agreed that it was convenient. Tony did not know whether Timothy Langhorn had been told Akins was picking up the option. No, Tony needn’t bother. No doubt Miss Claymore had already passed the word to Langhorn, who’d have to take the bird in hand, apparently. He might be wistful about the one his agent discerned in the bush. On the other hand, he might think that five thousand would be an adequate bird.

“It would to me,” Tony said. Nathan agreed that five thousand would also be a largish bird to him. Yes, if Tony wasn’t at home or at Miss Farmer’s, he’d try Hugo’s French Restaurant. He hoped he wouldn’t have to try.

Oh, and the sponsor who’d been acquired by Folsom, Akins & Bradley, now diminished to Akins Associates or something, probably was the Mini-Motors Division of the Majestic Motors Corporation. It was nothing that need bother the New York Police Department.

No, nothing had come through on Mrs. Sue Perkins. New York City is a large haystack. Hay was being diligently turned over. O.K., they’d start again in the morning.

Nate went back to his drink and to Rose.

“I was afraid you were going to have to go out again,” Rose said. “I wish we could just take the receiver off. I had it off for a couple of hours this afternoon.”

“You’re a civilian,” Nathan told her. “Still on Trollope?”

“I switched over to Jane Austen,” Rose said. “Pampering myself, I suppose. Now I suppose I’d better get out to the kitchen.”

Nathan shook his head slowly.

“All right,” Rose said. “I’ll consider my arm twisted, dear. For the rest of our drinks, anyway. It’s going to be broiled fish. I’ll have to sit up with it.”

They drank, slowly, relaxed. It had been years since they had needed speech to ensure tranquillity. Rose lighted a cigarette. Prompted, Nathan lighted one too.

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