The Fred Carver Mysteries Volume Two by Lutz John;

Author:Lutz, John;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
Published: 2017-07-27T00:00:00+00:00

21

BETH’S SHOWER WAS STILL running as Carver toweled dry and limped from the bathroom. The short-napped gray carpet was rough under his bare soles. It was cool in the room and felt good. He sat on the edge of the bed and dressed himself, then scooted around until he could reach the old-fashioned black phone on one of the nightstands. Dialed 9 for an outside line.

McGregor wasn’t on duty at Del Moray police headquarters. Carver hung up. Dialed 9 again, then McGregor’s home number. Got an answering machine.

When the high-pitched tone sounded to signal him to begin his message, he said simply, “This is Carver.”

Click. McGregor was home and had been screening his calls. “Got something for me?” his voice said.

“It’s possible.”

“This line sounds funny. Where you calling from?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“If it didn’t matter I wouldn’t have asked, fuckface. You better not cut up cute with me or—”

“Did I hear you say you had something for me?” Carver interrupted. He was tired of McGregor’s threats; he already knew he was dealing with something sick and vicious with a badge.

McGregor sighed loudly; it was a lonesome sound on the already hissing connection. “All right, I’ll play your game. You want me to say please with sugar on it? Grow the fuck up, Carver!”

A series of sharp raps sounded from the closed connecting door. Beth was working on the painted-over sliding bolt lock on her side, maybe using a shoe for a hammer.

McGregor said, “You at a carpenters’ convention?”

“Just a minute.”

McGregor objected to Carver leaving the phone, but Carver didn’t listen to what he said. A barrage of tinny obscenity trailed faintly from the receiver as he laid it on the nightstand.

Carver got up with the help of his cane. Limped over and pounded on the door a few times with the heel of his hand. Kind of hurt, but he loosened the door where it had been painted to the frame. He heard Beth curse, more sharp rapping coming from near the bolt lock, then a metallic scraping sound. Carver twisted the doorknob. Felt it come alive in his hand as it rotated from the other side. He yanked backward and the door made an odd popping sound and swung open.

Beth was standing with a high-heeled shoe in her right hand. He’d identified the rapping sound correctly; she’d been using the shoe as a hammer on the bolt lock. She looked as if she wanted to use it the same way on Carver. She was wearing faded designer jeans and a blue short-sleeved blouse. White Reeboks. Still had on her gold loop earrings. She said, “This sure as hell isn’t the Dark Glades Hilton, Carver.”

He said, “Yes it is.”

She strode into his room like a queen claiming property rights, immediately noticing the phone off the hook. “I interrupting?”

“No, better if you hear.”

Beth stood with her long arms folded as Carver returned to the phone and lifted the receiver; he wondered if she realized how it emphasized her breasts. “Still there?”

“I’m still here,” McGregor said.

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