Death Is a Lonely Business (Crumley Mysteries 1)
Page 59
I went to the door but before I could open it, Henry’s voice behind it said, “Only me.”
I opened the door and Henry sniffed. “Spearmint gum. That’s how I know you. You ever chew anything else?”
“Not even tobacco.”
“Your cab’s here,” said Henry.
“My what?”
“Since when can you afford a taxi?” asked Fannie, her cheeks pink, her eyes bright. We had had a glorious two hours with Mozart and the very air was luminous around the big lady. “So?”
“Yeah, since when can I afford—” I said, but stopped, for Henry, outside the door, was shaking his head once: no. His finger went to his lips with caution.
“It’s your friend,” he said. “Taxi driver knows you, from Venice. Okay?”
“Okay,” I said, frowning. “If you say so.”
“Oh, and here. This is for Fannie. Pietro said give it over. He’s so crammed full downstairs, no room for this.”
He handed over a plump purring calico cat.
I took and carried the sweet burden back to Fannie, who began to purr herself when she held the beast.
“Oh, my dear!” she cried, happy with Mozart and calico. “What a dream cat, what a dream!”
Henry nodded to her, nodded to me, and went away down the hall.
I went to give Fannie a big hug.
“Listen, oh listen to his motor,” she cried, holding the pillow cat up for a kiss.
“Lock your door, Fannie,” I said.
“What?” she said. “What?”
Coming back downstairs, I found Henry still waiting in the dark, halt-hidden against the wall.
“Henry, for God’s sake, what’re you doing?”
“Listening,” he said.
“For what?”
“This house, this place. Shh. Careful. Now.”
His cane came up and pointed like an antenna along the hall.
“There. You—hear?”
Far away a wind stirred. Far away a breeze wandered the dark. The beams settled. Someone breathed. A door creaked.
“I don’t hear anything.”
“That’s ’cause you trying. Don’t try. Just be. Just listen. Now.”
I listened and my spine chilled.
“Someone in this house,” whispered Henry. “Don’t belong here. I got this sense. I’m no fool. Someone up there, wandering around, up to no good.”