Deadline for Lenny Stern: A Michael Russo Mystery

by Peter Marabell

  “Where is he?”

  “Who?”

  “Who? Leonard Stern, that’s who.”

  “He’ll be here in a few minutes. He’s with my associate, they’re on the way.”

  “He’s our first bestselling author, you know. Right here in the store. This is our chance to make a name for Humbug’s. Do you understand?”

  “Understood. Yes, ma’am.”

  “We begin at three sharp, you know.”

  “He’ll be here on time. Promise.”

  “The talk will last about thirty minutes, Q&A another twenty, the rest for signing books.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Now, Mr. Russo, you must be no more than a fly on the wall.”

  “A fly on the wall?”

  “Yes, yes. Out of the way,” she said, with a dismissive flick of the wrist. “We don’t want you to interfere with our customers, after all.”

  “Look …” I took a quick glance at her name badge again.

  “Look, Ms. Cosworth, what plans do you have for your customers if trouble starts?”

  She straightened her shoulders. “Trouble?”

  “Yes, trouble.”

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “Ms. Cosworth, you know that Lenny Stern has received death threats?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Do you understand what that means?”

  “Of course I do,” she said. “Gloucester Publishing wants to gin up sales, get better press coverage for the book tour. Good marketing, I’d say.”

  Ms. Eleanor Cosworth, manager of Humbug’s Bookstore in downtown Harbor Springs, was in for a shock.

  “The threats are very real, Ms. Cosworth.”

  She looked at me, but said nothing, just a small twist of the head.

  Reality was about to sink in.

  “You’re telling me … this … this isn’t the marketing department?”

  “No, ma’am,” I said. “Lenny Stern wrote a book about a Mafia killing.”

  “I read his book, Mr. Russo,” she said, in a voice that was condescending. “I’m not sure the world needs another yarn about the Mafia.”

  “Since you read it, Ms. Cosworth, remember he named names, accused mobsters, public officials, candidates for office. And he’s got evidence that might put some of them in jail.”

  Eleanor absentmindedly began scratching a small spot on her forehead.

  “The bad guys will make a run at him,” I said.

  “You mean, try to kill him?”

  I nodded. “Yes, ma’am. It will happen. We just don’t know when. At one of the stops maybe, on the road. The men coming for him want only two things, to kill Lenny and get away.”

  Cosworth took a deep breath. “So shooting a few of our customers wouldn’t matter to them?”

  I shook my head. “I’m afraid not.”

  “I saw the news … does this have anything to do with the woman they found dead?”

  The grim news had made its way through the fog of selling books.

  “Her name was Kate Hubbell. She edited Lenny’s book.”

  Eleanor’s left hand went to her mouth. “Dear god,” she said. “Can you stop this?”

  “I can cut the odds of people being hurt, but if you’re looking for guarantees, there are none.”

  “So was that woman killed because she was a threat like Mr. Stern, or was she in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

  I shrugged. “We’re not sure.” Even as I said it, my gut was uneasy with her question. I wasn’t sure why.

  “What are you going to do?” Eleanor said.

  “I make myself visible. They see me or my associate, better if they see both of us. They know if they try to hurt Lenny, they’ll pay a price.”

  “You’ll kill them?”

  “If I have to, yes. Better if I don’t have to.”

  “You mean that might be enough to scare them off?”

  “It might be, yes, if we’re lucky.”

  “But wouldn’t they try to kill him at the next stop on the tour, or the stop after that?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You just have to wait for it?”

  “Well,” I said. “We try to be ready, but yes, ma’am.”

  “You live a dangerous life, Mr. Russo.”

  21

  I poured a cup of coffee from a small carafe at the back of the store, sat in one of the white chairs, and waited for Henri and Lenny. Eleanor’s question stuck in my head. Was Kate Hubbell simply in the wrong place, or was she a threat to the bad guys, too? I pushed the question aside. My concern had to be Lenny Stern.

  I still didn’t like putting Lenny at that podium in the front window. Maybe we had time to change things up. I took my coffee and went to the sales counter.

  “Ms. Cosworth?”

  Eleanor looked up.

  “I’m worried about the front window.”

  She nodded, but didn’t say anything.

  “Can we move the podium and the chairs?” I said. “Away from the window, I mean. It shouldn’t take long.”

  “It wouldn’t take long at all, but where would you suggest I move them? This is a small store,” she said, like she wondered why I needed to be told. “Floor space is very valuable.”

  “I appreciate the complexities of retailing,” I said.

  “I doubt that you do, but it was nice of you to say that.”

  “It’s only while Lenny’s here,” I said. “I’ll help you move them all back.”

  “I know you’re trying to be nice,” she said, “but you’ll just have to work with what we have.”

  I looked around again, as if the podium and chairs had rearranged themselves. They had not. I thought — not for very long — about constructing another line of persuasion. The neat, orderly world of Eleanor Cosworth did not appreciate disruption.

  “Mr. Russo? I have a question with … ah, all due respect. Do you have any help, or are you on your own?”

  With his usual sense of good timing, Henri LaCroix entered the bookstore.

  “The front door,” I said with a tilt of the head. Cosworth turned around.

  A few steps behind Henri were Lenny Stern and Tina Lawson. They were dressed professionally in honor of the occasion, but their demeanor suggested caution. And neither of them was smiling.

  I introduced Eleanor Cosworth, and greetings were shared all around. Eleanor stared at Henri, probably wondering why he wore a green nylon windbreaker on such a hot day. She’d finally caught on why I needed a loose shirt. Of course, she might have been sizing up Henri for the task at hand.

  “So, you’ve come to help take care of Mr. Stern?” she said.

  Henri smiled. “That’s my job, keep everybody safe.”

  “Um, I have a question,” Eleanor said, “for you, too, Mr. Russo.”

  “Sure.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Know what?” I said.

  “The men who want to hurt Mr. Stern,” she said, nodding in his direction. “How do you know who it is?” Her face looked confused, uncertain. “I can’t imagine two men wearing masks will rush the store with guns blazing.”

  Perhaps the book lady was sharper than I thought. She’d begun to analyze the situation.

  “No, ma’am,” I said. “That’s not likely.”

  “Do you … I’m not sure how to ask this, but do you, you know, profile people?”

  “You mean,” Henri said, “look for black or brown guys wearing hoodies?”

  Cosworth looked at the floor, a bit sheepishly, and nodded. “Kind of like that, yeah.”

  Henri shook his head and said, “We don’t rely on stereotypes. If we did that, Stern might get killed, us too. We know what to look for because this is what we do.”

&nbs
p; Cosworth nodded slowly, letting that sink in.

  “Mr. Stern,” she said, turning his way. “I didn’t mean to be rude. We’re very excited to have you at Humbug’s this afternoon, but this … this, what should I call it? This situation you’re in has me a little nervous.”

  Lenny smiled. “Me, too, Ms. Cosworth. I’m nervous, too.” He reached out and took her hand. “But that’s why Michael and Henri are here.”

  Eleanor and Lenny then exchanged a few minutes of book-related stories, as if we weren’t there.

  “Well, if you’ll excuse me,” Eleanor said, “I have some details to see to before we get started.”

  After she was out of earshot, Henri said, “It’s bullshit, Russo. Not that I’m telling you anything you don’t know.”

  “Yeah.”

  “He’s going to be in the window, isn’t he?”

  “Yep,” I said, as Lenny turned around and looked at the setup.

  “Won’t she move the podium?”

  “Nope.”

  “Want me to talk to her?” Henri said.

  I shook my head.

  “Bad news, Russo.”

  “What are you guys worried about?” Lenny said. “I’m the target in the big glass window.”

  I was sure Tina was listening, but she seemed detached, her eyes glassy, but that wasn’t unexpected. She had not yet recovered from the emotional trauma of Kate Hubbell’s murder.

  “Why don’t we just tell the book lady to move the podium or Lenny walks?” Henri said.

  Lenny jumped in. “No, no. She’s depending on us, on me. Small stores like this struggle. We can’t disappoint its customers.”

  I took a deep breath.

  After a moment, Henri said, “How ‘bout this …” he glanced at the podium, the tables on the floor. “What if we move the podium and the chairs to the middle of the store? We could slide those two tables over, put them in the window.”

  I looked around. Lenny, too.

  “Think she’d go for it?” Lenny said.

  “Let’s ask,” I said.

  “No.” It was Lenny. “Let me ask. She might do it for me.”

  “Go for it,” I said.

  Lenny nodded and went over to the sales counter. A few moments later, he returned with Eleanor. He had a small grin on his face.

  “All right, Mr. Russo,” Eleanor said. “We’ll move the podium.”

  “Henri and I’ll do the moving, Ms. Cosworth. Just tell us where.”

  She did. The podium and chairs sat in the middle of the store. The tables went to the window. Eleanor seemed satisfied enough, and returned to the sales counter.

  “Well, Henri?” I said.

  “At least Lenny’s away from the window.”

  “What about outside?”

  “I’ll head across the street in a few minutes,” Henri said. “Have you explained the ground rules to Eleanor yet?”

  “Thought I’d wait for Lenny and Tina, do it once. I think we finally got through to her that this is serious.”

  I called out to Tina and Eleanor.

  They walked over.

  “We have to explain a few things,” I said, and looked around.

  “Is there somewhere we can talk, Ms. Cosworth?”

  “In the office,” she said, pointing to a long plaid curtain covering a doorway behind her.

  “I’ll be outside,” Henri said. “Text, Michael.”

  We retreated to her office, a tiny space with barely enough room for a desk, a dented filing cabinet, and an ancient desktop computer.

  I looked at my watch.

  “We have less than twenty minutes,” I said. “Any idea how many people will attend?”

  Eleanor shrugged. “Fifteen. A few more if we’re lucky on a sunny summer afternoon.”

  “All right,” I said. “I have a few ground rules for Lenny’s presentation. I want the three of you to listen carefully. We don’t want any more people getting hurt. This is all new to you, but Henri and I have dealt with this kind of thing before.”

  Lenny and Tina stood quite still, Eleanor was fidgety.

  “First, you do as I tell you, starting now. Lenny will be at the podium, of course, but you, Tina and you, Ms. Cosworth, stay away from the front of the store. I don’t want you anywhere near the windows. Am I clear?”

  “Um, I have to introduce Mr. Stern,” Eleanor said, “from the podium.”

  “Be brief, then head for the back, okay?”

  Eleanor nodded.

  I explained a few more basics. “All right, you do as I say, no questions, no hesitation. Clear?”

  Tina and Eleanor nodded at the same time.

  “Lenny? You on board?” I assumed after the Carnegie he would be, but I had to ask.

  He nodded. “I don’t want anyone else hurt because of me.”

  “This isn’t your fault, Lenny,” I said.

  “Feels that way.”

  “No, Lenny.” It was Tina. “I’ve been with you from the beginning. You were the one who thought the book might be dangerous. I knew that going in, so did Kate.”

  “I never thought anyone would die. Scared, maybe, but killed? You’re all my responsibility. I got you into this, you and Kate …”

  “Lenny,” I said. “It’s no one’s fault. Tina and Kate are professionals, just like you. You had the story, the three of you worked on the documents. Kate edited the manuscript. Tina took care of organizing everything else. You were in it together.”

  “We’re with you by choice, Lenny,” Tina said.

  “Aren’t you scared?”

  “Of course I’m scared, Lenny, but you have an important story to tell. You convinced us of that, and Kate and I signed on.”

  Lenny looked less convinced than Tina did. But it was too late for that.

  “Mr. Stern?” Eleanor Cosworth said. “Come with me, please.”

  22

  Most of the white chairs were filled as Eleanor Cosworth approached the podium, with Lenny Stern a few steps behind.

  “Welcome to Humbug’s Bookstore,” she said. “I hope you’re as excited today as I am.” If Eleanor was nervous about the danger on the street, she offered no evidence of it. Her introduction of the bookstore’s special guest was succinct, interesting and, happily, brief.

  “Good afternoon,” Lenny said as he absentmindedly straightened his skinny black tie. “Thank you for coming to Humbug’s on this beautiful summer day.”

  I eased my way to the window and stood off to one side. Henri had taken up a position at a small table on the patio of Café Java across the street. He sat with a mug of coffee, looking no different than any other patron. Henri casually glanced in both directions as he sipped coffee.

  The heart of downtown stretched three blocks, from Johan’s Bakery at the corner of State and Main to Turkey’s Café at the east end of the street. Between here and there, small two-story clapboard-sided buildings, painted white or a variety of pastels, housed mostly retail shops featuring trendy clothing, high-end sports gear, and glamorous jewelry. Most of them had recessed doorways that could hide one or two men. The newer buildings, red brick structures, housed banks and the real estate office. No one would loiter around a bank. Too suspicious.

  Henri had done his homework. He knew where to look, which nooks and doorways would help shooters blend in with a street full of tourists.

  I glanced out the window. Waves of heat slowly climbed off the pavement. Tourists, wearing odd hats and colorful shorts, moved deliberately from store to store, eating ice cream, sipping cold drinks.

  If the gunmen came, would they tote an automatic pistol in one hand, a Coke in the other?

  “This seems like the perfect day to talk about mayhem and murder, doesn’t it?” Lenny said with a broad smile and a wave of the arms. He’d resumed the role of engagin
g entertainer I’d witnessed at the Carnegie Library. Better he should focus on his audience than any looming threat from the street.

  “I covered the Mafia for more than ten years …”

  I waited and listened as Lenny drew his audience into his tale of corruption.

  “This is the most explosive story in years,” he said. “Heads will roll, careers will end.” I sure hoped Lenny’s career — or head — wasn’t one of them.

  My phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen.

  “Heads up.”

  I moved to the edge of the window. Something had caught Henry’s eye. He was looking down the sidewalk, his hand close to his chest, a finger pointing east. Not sure what … then I saw him, too. He stood in front of Regency Jewelers, a half block down, looking at the window display.

  The man wore a loose-fitting print shirt hanging over the waist. One hand was wrapped around a can of Pepsi, the other was in a jeans pocket.

  I tapped a thumbs-up emoji to Henri. He remained at the table, not wanting to make himself too obvious until we found out if our man was alone. Experience taught us that, more often than not, a second man was nearby.

  I tapped, “One?”

  “So far.”

  Lenny was almost through with his presentation. Forty minutes or so left for questions and signing books before I could yank him away from the front of the store and move his twelve-person audience elsewhere.

  Tina Lawson paced from side to side at the back of the store. Not sure she was even listening to her client. I looked around, but Eleanor Cosworth was nowhere to be seen. Good.

  “Thank you for the kind applause,” Lenny said, “and for being so attentive. I’d be happy to take a few questions.”

  I strained my neck as best I could to see down the street. It was too soon to leave the store. I didn’t want a second man to see me before we found him.

  “Got him,” my screen read. I figured Henri would spot the other shooter first.

  “Claxton’s,” he wrote. The women’s clothing boutique was two shops down from the bookstore, my side of the street.

  “Can’t see him.”

  Henri called this time.

  “He’s tucked into the doorway,” Henri said, “like he’s waiting for somebody inside.”