Death Is a Lonely Business (Crumley Mysteries 1)

And Peg’s voice, swiftly, would respond from two thousand miles off. “Tell him it’s Peg! Peg.”

And I would pretend to go away and return.

“He’s not here. Call back in an hour.”

“An hour—” echoed Peg.

And click, buzz, hum, she was gone.

Peg.

I leaped into the booth and yanked the phone off the hook.

“Yes?” I yelled.

But it wasn’t Peg.

Silence.

“Who is this?” I said.

Silence. But someone was there, not two thousand miles away, but very near. And the reception was so clear, I could hear the air move in the nostrils and mouth of the quiet one at the other end.

“Well?” I said.

Silence. And the sound that waiting makes on a telephone line. Whoever it was had his mouth open, close to the receiver. Whisper. Whisper.

Jesus God, I thought, this can’t be a heavy-breather calling me in a phone booth. People don’t call phone booths! No one knows this is my private office.

Silence. Breath. Silence. Breath.

I swear that cool air whispered from the receiver and froze my ear.

“No, thanks,” I said.

And hung up.

I was halfway across the street, jogging with my eyes shut, when I heard the phone ring again.

I stood in the middle of the street, staring back at the phone, afraid to go touch it, afraid of the breathing.

But the longer I stood there in danger of being run down, the more the phone sounded like a funeral phone calling from a burial ground with bad telegram news. I had to go pick up the receiver.

“She’s still alive,” said a voice.

“Peg?” I yelled.

“Take it easy,” said Elmo Crumley.

I fell against the side of the booth, fighting for breath, relieved but angry.

“Did you call a moment ago?” I gasped. “How’d you know this number?”

“Everyone in the whole goddamn town’s heard that phone ring and seen you jumping for it.”

“Who’s alive?”

“The canary lady,. Checked her late last night—”