Alone

Alone by Loren D. Estleman Page A

Book: Alone by Loren D. Estleman Read Free Book Online
Authors: Loren D. Estleman
Tags: Suspense
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heard about someone getting a black eye in the newspapers?” He told her about his encounter with the microphone.
     
    Her tone softened. “Why don’t you come to my place tonight and I’ll put a compress on it? Ancient Danish recipe, guaranteed to reduce swelling, cure the grippe, and repel vampires.”
     
    “Actually, I was just about to ask you if you’re free tonight. We’re invited to dinner at Rankin’s.”
     
    “That might be a conflict of interest on my part,” she said after a moment. “He’s still under suspicion.”
     
    “The invitation came from his attorney. He seemed confident the prosecution will drop charges. So does Lieutenant Padilla, your nemesis.” He decided not to mention Padilla’s personal interest in the case. He was sorry he’d mentioned him at all. He didn’t want to spend quality time with Harriet discussing the man. He hoped she wouldn’t pursue the subject.
     
    “Are you there?” he asked after a moment.
     
    “I was just wondering what I should wear. He’s seen the Garbo outfit.”
     
    He said he was sure she’d think of something and arranged to call for her at six-fifteen.
     
    When he locked his office Ruth was at her desk, lacquering her nails a stoplight red, to match her lips. As a rule, not many demands were made upon their department, so she kept her own personal cosmetics counter in the drawers of her desk with which to while away the hours. Her nails were fully an inch and a half long, apparently homegrown, and filed to bayonet points. How she managed to type with them as fast as she did and without making errors was too deep a mystery for a mere film detective to solve.
     
    “I’m glad things slowed down finally,” she said without looking up from the operation. “If things kept up the way they did this morning I would’ve had to put in for a raise. I don’t know what to do with the money I make now.”
     
    “I didn’t realize the university was so generous to its clerical staff.”
     
    “It pays less than Taco Bell. When you’ve been around this burg as long as I have, you’ve bought everything worth having and seen everything worth looking at. After that you’re just treading water till death.”
     
    “How would you like to invest in a theater restoration project that will bring glory to our fair city for decades to come?”
     
    She blew on her nails. He swore he saw a wisp of flame. “I said I didn’t know what to do with it. I didn’t say I was looking for a furnace to shovel it into. Go shake your cup on Sunset. Sell maps to the movie stars’ homes. There are still some people who think they live in the United States.”
     
    “There’s always travel. When was the last time you took a vacation?”
     
    “Whenever it was, I found someone sitting at my desk when I got back. That weirdo son of a bitch Howard Hughes never wasted a minute replacing a female employee who wouldn’t put out. And not only female. But you can pay to read my autobiography when it hits the stores, just like everyone else.”
     
    He hoped for the sake of his adopted hometown she never published it. The city might survive the Big One, but not that.
     
    **
     
    Harriet Johansen’s otherworldly resemblance to Greta Garbo had vanished with the costume, replaced by a beauty that was hers entirely. Her short, smoky blonde hair clung to a head that seemed to have been shaped specifically not to be concealed beneath heavy tresses, and the slightly Far Eastern tilt of her eyes, which suggested a bloodline other than Scandinavian, compelled Valentino as he drove to make remarks that required her to turn her head his way to respond.
     
    “Are you admiring me again?” she said.
     
    “Guilty.”
     
    “Well, stop it. I’m self-conscious enough. I know I’m dressed all wrong.” She was wearing a blue cocktail dress that brought out the color in her eyes.
     
    “You look elegant. I, on the other hand, look like the guest of honor at a lynching. I can’t

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