Deadline for Lenny Stern Peter Marabell (best ereader for comics .TXT) 📖

with the best of them.”

“Thank you,” Lenny said.

“I can’t wait for the wrap-up in Chicago,” Bigelow said. “A real VIP group, that’ll be. They’ll be mightily impressed with Gloucester’s newest star. Don’t you think so, Maury?”

“Sure thing,” Maury said. “Gloucester’s newest star.”

“All right,” Bigelow said, with a loud clap of the hands. “It’s time to mark the occasion. I have a table waiting at Chandler’s. Food, drinks, whatever you want. Shall we go?”

Before anyone could answer, Bigelow made his way toward the back door of the Carnegie. We said our good-byes to Andrea McHale on the way out.

“I’m walking,” Bigelow said in the parking lot behind the Arts Center. “You all know where Chandler’s is?” He looked around. “You’ve been there, right, Tina?”

“Sure, Charles,” Tina said. “But …”

“But what?”

“Kate and I thought we’d go back to City Park Grill,” Tina said.

Kate gave a thumbs-up. “We have a couple of barstools all warmed up.”

“Go, go,” Bigelow said. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

The two women took off before Bigelow changed his mind.

“Where’s your car?” I said to AJ.

“At the office,” she said. “I’ll get it later.” She put her arm through mine. “Or maybe I’ll say to hell with it and walk home with you.”

“I vote for that.”

15

“That was a wonderful idea, darling.”

“Which one?” AJ said.

“Which one? To come back here last night.”

“You’re just saying that because I grabbed your ass as soon as we closed the door.”

“Yeah,” I said. “That’s probably it.”

We sat at the small table in my kitchen. It was early, the sun just up, the coffee hot and strong. AJ had put on jeans and a paint-stained sweatshirt that lived on a hook in my bedroom closet.

“I assume you have time to go home and get ready for work.”

She shrugged. “I don’t have to hurry. Maury will be busy with Bigelow all morning. Besides, those two had a few drinks last night.”

I laughed. “After a couple of martinis, Charles Bigelow’s a pretty funny guy.”

“He actually smiled a few times.”

“Was that before or after the martinis?” I said as I refilled our mugs with hot coffee.

“Both,” she said. “I assume you’re headed out to run? Unless those shorts and Spartan T-shirt count as private eye undercover this morning.”

“Be a more relaxing run than yesterday. The Carnegie’s done, Andrea McHale was excited about the packed house …”

“And Lenny’s safe.”

“He is indeed. So Bigelow and Hubbell go back to Chicago today, right?”

AJ nodded. “The rest of the tour belongs to Lenny.”

“Don’t forget me.”

“I’d never forget you, darling,” AJ said, “not as long as you wear those cute running shorts.”

A phone buzzed. “That’s mine,” AJ said, looking around.

“It’s next to the coffeemaker.”

She picked it up and tapped the screen. “Little early, isn’t it, Maury?”

She paused.

“Where am I? At Michael’s. You don’t ask me where I spend my nights, Maury. What’s going on?”

She listened for a moment.

“I need to go home and take a shower first … okay … okay … he’s right here. Yeah … tell me what …”

As AJ listened her shoulders sagged, her face looking strained.

“Dear god,” she said. “We’re on our way.”

AJ ended the call and looked up. There were tears at the corners of her eyes.

“What?” I said.

“Kate Hubbell’s dead. Police found her body a few hours ago.”

“What happened?”

AJ shook her head. “Don’t know. Maury wants us at the office right now.”

“What about Lenny?”

“He’s okay. Maury called Henri first.”

I put the mugs in the sink, switched off the coffeemaker, and grabbed a pair of wind pants. We took my car. It was barely a five-minute trip without traffic. There were two patrol SUVs out in front of the Post Dispatch offices. I left the car at the curb, parked behind a familiar-looking unmarked sedan.

We went through the front door and up the stairs to Maury’s office. His door was open.

“Come on in,” Maury said when he saw us. He was talking with Charles Bigelow, who was perched on the corner of Maury’s desk. Bigelow didn’t acknowledge our arrival. Tina Lawson sat in a client chair, her head down, wiping her eyes with a tissue.

AJ sat in the chair next to Tina and took her hand. Tina looked up.

“Who …” she started to cry. “Who would ‘murder’ … kill her?”

AJ put her arms around Tina’s shoulders.

Henri stood alone, leaning next to the tall windows at the side of the office. His face was without expression. I glanced his way, and he offered a subtle nod.

At one end of the rectangular conference table Lenny Stern sat talking with Martin Fleener, Captain of Detectives with the Michigan State Police. An experienced homicide detective, a legendary interrogator, Fleener was six feet tall with angular good looks and classy taste in clothes. He was the department’s most experienced cop.

Fleener came over and shook hands.

“Marty,” I said. “What do you know?”

“I want to hear what you have to say first, Russo.” The captain, ever the professional, was seasoned enough to know that occasional humor or sarcasm eased the rigors of his job. But not this morning. Murder didn’t happen very often in Petoskey, but when it did, Fleener and Emmet County prosecutor Donald Hendricks got testy because their jobs got harder. Murder disrupted a pleasant, quiet community. The City Council pointed fingers, the Chamber of Commerce worried tourists would stay away. Worse still, on this occasion, a woman we knew was dead.

“Have you interviewed everybody?” I said.

“Between Detective Javier and me, yeah. Except you and LaCroix over there.”

“Then let’s talk,” I said.

“We’ve been using the conference room at the end of the hall,” Fleener said, turning away. “You too, LaCroix. Let’s go,” he added without looking back.

“Stay here till I get back,” Henri told Lenny.

The grizzled crime reporter nodded. He was clearly shaken.

Henri and I followed Fleener down the hall. I felt as though I’d spent more time lately in the Post Dispatch conference room than in my own office.

Fleener closed the door, and we took chairs at one end of the table.

“I heard you two were in charge of security,” Fleener said,