Deadly Straits (A Tom Dugan Novel) by R.E. McDermott Page B

it got him killed. I should have left it to you guys.”
    “Tom, you have no idea what tipped Braun off or even if Braun killed him. It could have been a common robbery/homicide, just like it appears.”
    “You don’t really believe that?”
    Anna sighed. “Actually I don’t, but what I do believe is that you can’t second-guess yourself in this business. Otherwise you’ll go loopy.”
    “’Loopy’?”
    Anna smiled. “I believe that’s ‘nuts’ in Yank speak.”
    “I’m not too far from that now,” Dugan said, “and Alex is closer. Did you see him when he came into my office today?”
    “He looked horrible,” Anna agreed. “What did you two talk about?”
    “Ibrahim mostly,” Dugan said. “Alex is really taking it hard, but in a crazy sort of way, he’s more like the old Alex. He asked us to dinner on Wednesday. I put him off until we could discuss it. What do you think?”
    “We should go. Reestablishing closer contact can only help.”
    “Yeah, well, it’s likely to be strained,” Dugan said. “Apparently all the ladies of the house except Cassie are convinced I’m a lecherous toad.”
    Anna smiled. “Just shows what remarkable instincts they have.”
    Kairouz Residence
15 June
    “Oh. I’m ever so sorry, Mrs. Hogan,” Gillian Farnsworth said as she bumped into Mrs. Hogan bustling out of the pantry.
    The cook smiled. “No harm done. Did you see Cassie safe to school?”
    Mrs. Farnsworth shook her head. “Barely. That Farley is a menace.”
    “Aye, he’s a bad ‘un. I’d like to poison his bloody tea and bury him in the back garden.”
    Mrs. Farnsworth smiled at the image of portly Mrs. Hogan dragging Farley across the lawn; thoughts of Farley rarely brought a smile. His hulking presence upset their routine, and his driving was deliberately reckless, provoking tirades from Gillian to which he responded with insincere “Sorry, ma’ams” and smirks in the mirror.
    The women fell quiet as Farley came in the back door.
    “Hello, luv,” he said to the cook, ignoring Mrs. Farnsworth. “How ‘bout a cuppa?”
    “You’ve a kitchen in your quarters, Farley. Take your tea there,” Mrs. Farnsworth said.
    “Well, ain’t we all high and mighty? The old kike took his tea here.”
    “You aren’t Daniel,” Mrs. Farnsworth said. “And do not call him that. It’s not teatime, in any event. Stop loafing. Wash the car.”
    “I did it yesterday,” Farley said.
    “Then do it again.”
    He glared at her, barely under control, and a chill ran through her before he slammed out. She felt Mrs. Hogan’s arm on her shoulders.
    “Don’t you worry, dearie,” the cook said. “He lays a hand to you or Cassie, I’ll gut ‘im like a pig, I will.” She held open a capacious apron pocket to display the handle of a kitchen knife. Suddenly, burying Farley in the lawn didn’t seem so far-fetched.
    Mrs. Farnsworth smiled. “An appealing thought, Mrs. Hogan, but if you’re arrested, where ever would we find a cook as good?”
    “Hah. Nowhere, that’s where, me girl.”
    “Right you are.” Mrs. Farnsworth composed herself. “Now, where were we?”
    “Oh, I almost forgot. Mr. Kairouz rang to—”
    “He did? Is anything wrong? He’s been very upset about Mr. Ibrahim.”
    “Aye, that he has,” Mrs. Hogan said, “but he seemed a bit better just now. In fact, he rang to tell me we’ll have guests tonight.”
    “Who?”
    Mrs. Hogan made a face. “Mr. Dugan and his tart.”
    “Her name is Anna Walsh, Mrs. Hogan, and Alice Coutts tells me she’s a lovely girl.”
    “Aye,” the cook said, “and what else do you call a ‘girl’ fancyin’ a rich gent old enough to be her father? She’s a tart, right enough.” She sighed. “But it’s him that’s the letdown. Men. Even the best of ‘em thinks with the wee head down below. Mr. Kairouz excepted, o’course.”
    Mrs. Farnsworth stifled a smile. “Mr. Dugan isn’t quite old enough to have sired Ms. Walsh. Do try to keep an open