enmity with known gangsters—would assure it a sale to a major book club. I want that book, Mr. Walker.”
“So buy it.”
“That’s the problem. I told him to send me what he had and we’d talk contract. Right after I hung up I realized I’d been foolishly cautious. I should have had an agreement drawn up then and there, sight unseen. Like all dying enterprises, the book business is getting highly competitive.
There was no telling how many other publishers he was talking to.
“I tried to call him back, but he’d left or he wasn’t answering his phone. I’ve tried several times since with no luck. Someone at the News told me he was on a leave of absence. This morning I rented a car at the airport and bought a map and drove out to his house. It’s locked and his lawn needs mowing. I thought maybe you’d know where I could get in touch with him.” She leaned forward a little with her hands in her lap. She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.
“What day did he call?”
She thought. “I was with the board that day. Monday. Late Monday afternoon.”
That was the day I’d been with Barry in the Press Club, the day before he dropped out of sight. I ground out my cigarette and put the ashtray on the stand next to the chair. “Did he say what the book’s about?”
“He was reluctant. I think that’s why I wanted to see a sample. I assumed it’s autobiographical, but maybe that’s just because he’s led such an interesting life.”
“They’re a lot more fun to read about than to lead,” I said. “I don’t know where Barry is. I’m not alone. His employers have hired me to try to find him. He may have gone underground because of a hot potato he was working on. The hot potato may be the book. It may be he’s trying to duck a grand jury investigation. He’s had some personal problems lately and it may be those. In any case you could be the last person he had contact with before he slid offstage.”
“I have an alibi. I was in New York at the time.”
I stared at her.
She colored just a little. “Sorry. I plead jet lag. Do you think you can find him?”
“I’ve been in this line a long time, Mrs. Starr. I get asked that question twice a week. I’m fresh out of answers. I can’t see through walls or read the future in sheep intestines. I’m pretty good, but I’m not that good.”
“It would be worth a great deal to the firm I work for if you could answer the question,” she said. “It would be worth a great deal to me.”
I sat there for another second. Then I stood and picked up her empty glass. “More juice?” She shook her head. I took the glass back into the kitchen and rinsed it out and wiped it off and put it next to the others in the cupboard. I didn’t even look at the fresh bottle of Hiram Walker’s on the same shelf. Back in the living room I sat down and said, “Your job’s that thin?”
She crossed her ankles in that way she had that could empty a gentlemen’s smoker across town. “I edited a biography of a dead movie star by the movie star’s daughter. It contained two lines on the movie star’s affair with a captain of industry I’d thought was dead. The biography was a Book-of-the-Month-Club featured alternate and two producers were bidding for motion picture rights. Then the captain of industry came out of the woodwork with a battery of corporate lawyers and got every copy yanked off the stands. The publishing business isn’t the automobile industry; it isn’t equipped to handle a one hundred percent recall. Yes, my job’s that thin. Thin enough I don’t dare put this trip on the pad. I’m just hoping that when I get back I won’t find some bright young thing who cut her capped teeth editing westerns sitting at my desk.”
“How do you stand it?” I asked.
“I put myself through college proofreading mathematic texts for a small academic house in Boston. After graduation I spent four years as a reader for a senior editor at the house I’m working for
“So buy it.”
“That’s the problem. I told him to send me what he had and we’d talk contract. Right after I hung up I realized I’d been foolishly cautious. I should have had an agreement drawn up then and there, sight unseen. Like all dying enterprises, the book business is getting highly competitive.
There was no telling how many other publishers he was talking to.
“I tried to call him back, but he’d left or he wasn’t answering his phone. I’ve tried several times since with no luck. Someone at the News told me he was on a leave of absence. This morning I rented a car at the airport and bought a map and drove out to his house. It’s locked and his lawn needs mowing. I thought maybe you’d know where I could get in touch with him.” She leaned forward a little with her hands in her lap. She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.
“What day did he call?”
She thought. “I was with the board that day. Monday. Late Monday afternoon.”
That was the day I’d been with Barry in the Press Club, the day before he dropped out of sight. I ground out my cigarette and put the ashtray on the stand next to the chair. “Did he say what the book’s about?”
“He was reluctant. I think that’s why I wanted to see a sample. I assumed it’s autobiographical, but maybe that’s just because he’s led such an interesting life.”
“They’re a lot more fun to read about than to lead,” I said. “I don’t know where Barry is. I’m not alone. His employers have hired me to try to find him. He may have gone underground because of a hot potato he was working on. The hot potato may be the book. It may be he’s trying to duck a grand jury investigation. He’s had some personal problems lately and it may be those. In any case you could be the last person he had contact with before he slid offstage.”
“I have an alibi. I was in New York at the time.”
I stared at her.
She colored just a little. “Sorry. I plead jet lag. Do you think you can find him?”
“I’ve been in this line a long time, Mrs. Starr. I get asked that question twice a week. I’m fresh out of answers. I can’t see through walls or read the future in sheep intestines. I’m pretty good, but I’m not that good.”
“It would be worth a great deal to the firm I work for if you could answer the question,” she said. “It would be worth a great deal to me.”
I sat there for another second. Then I stood and picked up her empty glass. “More juice?” She shook her head. I took the glass back into the kitchen and rinsed it out and wiped it off and put it next to the others in the cupboard. I didn’t even look at the fresh bottle of Hiram Walker’s on the same shelf. Back in the living room I sat down and said, “Your job’s that thin?”
She crossed her ankles in that way she had that could empty a gentlemen’s smoker across town. “I edited a biography of a dead movie star by the movie star’s daughter. It contained two lines on the movie star’s affair with a captain of industry I’d thought was dead. The biography was a Book-of-the-Month-Club featured alternate and two producers were bidding for motion picture rights. Then the captain of industry came out of the woodwork with a battery of corporate lawyers and got every copy yanked off the stands. The publishing business isn’t the automobile industry; it isn’t equipped to handle a one hundred percent recall. Yes, my job’s that thin. Thin enough I don’t dare put this trip on the pad. I’m just hoping that when I get back I won’t find some bright young thing who cut her capped teeth editing westerns sitting at my desk.”
“How do you stand it?” I asked.
“I put myself through college proofreading mathematic texts for a small academic house in Boston. After graduation I spent four years as a reader for a senior editor at the house I’m working for
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