Blind Overlook (Book 3 of the Jay Leicester Mysteries Series) by JC Simmons
Book: Blind Overlook (Book 3 of the Jay Leicester Mysteries Series) by JC Simmons
Read Free Book Online
Authors: JC Simmons
Ads: Link
the airport. I want Gino Anastasio to know I'm
there, waiting if anything should go wrong."
"Sounds
fine to me,” I said, meaning it. "I'll see you in the morning."
Easing the phone
back into its cradle, I took the newspaper and went out on the balcony. It was
dusk dark, the peaceful transition period between light and night. A good time
of day for some, a lonesome time for others.
The evening
ferry was off-loading cars and people. Lines were forming for those finished
with the day’s work, heading home to the idyllic life on offshore islands. The
wind had calmed as the sun set. It was going to be a nice spring night in
Rockland, Maine.
Propping my feet
up on the banister, I unfolded the paper. An article in the lower right hand
corner of the front page caught my eye:
STOLEN RUBENS RECOVERED IN FLORIDA
Miami Beach – A
stolen 17th-century oil masterpiece by Flemish painter Peter Paul Rubens was
recovered in Miami Beach on Tuesday, six years after it was taken from a museum
in Spain. The five-by-eight inch painting entitled AURORA was recovered after
four men offered to sell it for $3.5 million to an undercover agent, officials said.
If the thief's
offered it for $3.5 million, wonder what its real value would be?
I had never
heard of the artist, Rubens. My knowledge of art was still next to nil.
Rockwell Kent, I knew about, though. It was a start.
Night fell
quickly, like someone pulling down a window shade. The ferry pulled out, taking
people to warm, clean homes, laughing children, and loving mates. Sitting alone
on a balcony in a hotel, I thought of two dead bodies, a mournful sister, the
dying wife of a friend, a man who headed the entire crime families in the
United States, and Mabel.
Finishing the
newspaper, I called down and asked Henry to ring me at seven in the morning,
then went to bed.
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
The appetent and
limbic parts of my brain worked embarrassingly well during the night. Henry
called precisely at seven o'clock. Thanking him, I headed for a stinging,
ice-cold shower.
After dressing,
I opened the sliding glass doors and walked out on the balcony. The air was
cool and smelled faintly of salt. A light breeze rippled the blue water of the
bay. The sun was already up, but hung like a giant red ball above the offshore
islands. The early ferry, returning the same people it had carried the night
before, appeared to emerge from the blazing orb.
Chamberlain was
to meet me at eight o'clock for breakfast. Securing the door to my room, I
walked down to the end of the hall. The elevator doors opened instantly when I
punched the button, as if waiting to draw me into the cold, empty space for
some evil purpose. The doors closed, clicking like valves, a pulsating rhythm
in their sound.
Chamberlain was
standing, talking to Henry, when I entered the lobby. After the usual
pleasantries, we went into the restaurant. There were no other customers. Mabel
emerged from the kitchen with a pot of fresh coffee.
"Hello, you
two,” she said, smiling, waving the coffeepot in a broad sweep. "Be a few
minutes for a table."
"Morning,
Mabel,” J.L. said laughing, selecting a seat by the window and sitting down.
"Always the kidder, aren't you?"
"Keeps me
young. How's Kathleen doing?" She asked, pouring us coffee.
"She's not
feeling too well today. But thank you for asking."
"And you,
sir,” Mabel asked, looking at me. "How are you today?"
"Very well,
Mabel,” I said, thinking of the limbic part of my brain. "Do you work all
the time? You're here every time I come in."
"No,” she
said, taking out a pen and pad from an apron pocket. "Sometimes I sit by
the phone and wait for it to ring."
Sitting with my
elbows on the table, I felt my face flush.
"What'll it
be, Gentleman?" Mabel asked with a sly grin.
Chamberlain ate
like a horse. I only had coffee.
"You heard
anything from South Carolina?"
"Waterbury's
are clean,” Chamberlain answered between bites. "Fax came in this morning
from the
there, waiting if anything should go wrong."
"Sounds
fine to me,” I said, meaning it. "I'll see you in the morning."
Easing the phone
back into its cradle, I took the newspaper and went out on the balcony. It was
dusk dark, the peaceful transition period between light and night. A good time
of day for some, a lonesome time for others.
The evening
ferry was off-loading cars and people. Lines were forming for those finished
with the day’s work, heading home to the idyllic life on offshore islands. The
wind had calmed as the sun set. It was going to be a nice spring night in
Rockland, Maine.
Propping my feet
up on the banister, I unfolded the paper. An article in the lower right hand
corner of the front page caught my eye:
STOLEN RUBENS RECOVERED IN FLORIDA
Miami Beach – A
stolen 17th-century oil masterpiece by Flemish painter Peter Paul Rubens was
recovered in Miami Beach on Tuesday, six years after it was taken from a museum
in Spain. The five-by-eight inch painting entitled AURORA was recovered after
four men offered to sell it for $3.5 million to an undercover agent, officials said.
If the thief's
offered it for $3.5 million, wonder what its real value would be?
I had never
heard of the artist, Rubens. My knowledge of art was still next to nil.
Rockwell Kent, I knew about, though. It was a start.
Night fell
quickly, like someone pulling down a window shade. The ferry pulled out, taking
people to warm, clean homes, laughing children, and loving mates. Sitting alone
on a balcony in a hotel, I thought of two dead bodies, a mournful sister, the
dying wife of a friend, a man who headed the entire crime families in the
United States, and Mabel.
Finishing the
newspaper, I called down and asked Henry to ring me at seven in the morning,
then went to bed.
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
The appetent and
limbic parts of my brain worked embarrassingly well during the night. Henry
called precisely at seven o'clock. Thanking him, I headed for a stinging,
ice-cold shower.
After dressing,
I opened the sliding glass doors and walked out on the balcony. The air was
cool and smelled faintly of salt. A light breeze rippled the blue water of the
bay. The sun was already up, but hung like a giant red ball above the offshore
islands. The early ferry, returning the same people it had carried the night
before, appeared to emerge from the blazing orb.
Chamberlain was
to meet me at eight o'clock for breakfast. Securing the door to my room, I
walked down to the end of the hall. The elevator doors opened instantly when I
punched the button, as if waiting to draw me into the cold, empty space for
some evil purpose. The doors closed, clicking like valves, a pulsating rhythm
in their sound.
Chamberlain was
standing, talking to Henry, when I entered the lobby. After the usual
pleasantries, we went into the restaurant. There were no other customers. Mabel
emerged from the kitchen with a pot of fresh coffee.
"Hello, you
two,” she said, smiling, waving the coffeepot in a broad sweep. "Be a few
minutes for a table."
"Morning,
Mabel,” J.L. said laughing, selecting a seat by the window and sitting down.
"Always the kidder, aren't you?"
"Keeps me
young. How's Kathleen doing?" She asked, pouring us coffee.
"She's not
feeling too well today. But thank you for asking."
"And you,
sir,” Mabel asked, looking at me. "How are you today?"
"Very well,
Mabel,” I said, thinking of the limbic part of my brain. "Do you work all
the time? You're here every time I come in."
"No,” she
said, taking out a pen and pad from an apron pocket. "Sometimes I sit by
the phone and wait for it to ring."
Sitting with my
elbows on the table, I felt my face flush.
"What'll it
be, Gentleman?" Mabel asked with a sly grin.
Chamberlain ate
like a horse. I only had coffee.
"You heard
anything from South Carolina?"
"Waterbury's
are clean,” Chamberlain answered between bites. "Fax came in this morning
from the
Similar Books
