I shrugged. “Well it’s a connection, however tenuous it might seem.”
“I don’t know if anything can be made of it,” Diver admitted, “but it does establish a connection. The rest of it is up to the courts.”
“A job well done,” I toasted him, raising my glass. He raised his and we clinked.
“How did you find me here?” I asked him.
He punched me lightly in the shoulder and said, “You know very well how. You left a message with your service that you would be here.”
That was true, I had left a message.
But it hadn’t been for him.
I was glad he had gotten it, though. I felt considerably better for having talked to him.
“I’ve got to go. I just thought you might like to know how things worked out.”
“I appreciate it, Jim … and the lecture. Thanks.”
“No problem.”
We shook hands and he said, “Listen.”
“What?”
He smiled. “Keep in touch, huh?”
“Sure.”
When he left Debby came over to collect his mug. “You want another one, Hank?”
I looked at my half-filled glass and pushed it away. “No thanks, Deb, I’ve had enough.”
Her smile was radiant as she took my mug and said, “Good. How about a midnight snack?”
“That sounds great. Thanks.”
She cleaned both glasses and put them away Then she disappeared into the kitchen, which had been dark. I saw the light go on as she set about to prepare my midnight snack. I checked my watch. My midnight plus thirty snack. I figured I’d eat and then follow Diver’s example and go home.
“Where’s your friend?” she asked as she brought out some warmed stew. Her stew — or Rosellen’s, there wasn’t that much difference — had gotten to be my favorite dish.
“Which one?” I asked back.
“The lady jockey.”
“Oh. Uh, she left for California, yesterday, I think. Didn’t even say good-bye. Guess she didn’t like the way they rode here in New York.”
I hadn’t spoken to Brandy, or seen her, since that night at Debby’s, when she had stormed out. I had heard around the track that she was heading back to the coast. I’d left the message with my service for her, in case she wanted to say good-bye, in case she had decided not to go.
But the message may have defeated its purpose. Leaving her word that I would be found at Debby’s, that was just stoking her fire again.
Maybe I didn’t really want to see her again. Maybe I wanted her to go back to California.
Maybe I didn’t know what I wanted.
I pushed thoughts of Brandy aside and devoted my attention to Debby’s stew. Debby knew to leave well enough alone.
When I finished the stew and she had taken the bowl and cleaned it I said, “I’m going to call it a night, Deb.”
“I think I will, too,” she said, staring me right in the eye. We were the only two people in the place. She dimmed the lights and took off her apron. We went around and collected the glasses off the tables and put them behind the bar.
That’s where we were when she said, “You know, you never gave it back to me.”
“What?” I asked her.
We were close together and, that close up, she was overpowering. I took her in my arms and kissed her, and she kissed me right back.
“I wondered how long it would take you to do that,” she told me.
“I’ve had a lot on my mind,” I told her lamely.
“I know, “she said, and pushed my arms from around her. “Don’t let this play on your mind, though, Hank. I would like to be friends with you — close friends, perhaps — but only friends. I’m not ready for anything else. Friendships shouldn’t play on people’s minds. They should be shared, and enjoyed.”
Honestly. I hadn’t come across that too much this past week. Even Brandy wasn’t fully honest about her feelings. If she had been maybe she wouldn’t have left.
In fact, if I had been honest, maybe she wouldn’t have left.
“Anyway, you never gave it back,” she continued, as if we’d never embraced.
“Given what back?” I asked.
“My television guide. I hadn’t done the puzzle yet.”
I stepped back and slapped my forehead with my palm.
“I forgot,” I admitted. “You don’t seem like the crossword puzzle type.”
“Are you any good at crossword puzzles?” she asked.
“I’ve got a fairly large vocabulary,” I told her, which wasn’t answering the question.
“Where is it now?” she asked.
“What?”
“The book, Hank. Where’s the book?”
“Oh, yeah, the book. It’s, uh, up at my place.”
She linked her arm through mine and suggested, “Why don’t we work on the puzzle together.”
“Why not?”
We closed up the place and went up to my apartment.
You know what?
We really did work on that puzzle.
About the Author
Robert j. Randisi was born in Brooklyn, New York. He began writing at fifteen, made his first sale at twenty-two. At the age of thirty, he quit working a “real job” to write full time. With Ed Gorman, he co-founded and edited Mystery Scene magazine, and co-fonnded the American Crime Writers League. He founded The Private Eye Writers of America in 1981, and created the Shamus Award. Randisi has written in many genres, but the P.I. story is still his first love. With over 40O books to his credit, almost 300 of them are set in the Old West. Like his Joe Keough character, he now lives in Missouri.
Serving as inspiration for contemporary literature, Prologue Books, a division of F+W Media, offers readers a vibrant, living record of crime, science fiction, fantasy, western, and romance genres. Discover more today:
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Copyright © 1980 by Robert J. Randisi
Cover images ©clipart.com
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
ISBN 10: 1-4405-4825-0
ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-4825-3
eISBN 10: 1-4405-4318-6
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-4318-0
The Disappearance of Penny Page 21