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Buku Killer on Argyle Street by Michael Raleigh

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Killer on Argyle Street by Michael Raleigh

Author:Michael Raleigh

Language: eng

Format: epub

ISBN: 9781626816213

Publisher: Diversion Books

Published: 2015-02-12T16:00:00+00:00

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Killer on Argyle Street by Michael Raleigh

Sandra smiled when she saw him. “Well, hi,” she said, and he knew she was glad he’d come. Then something in her face changed. “Paul? What’s wrong? You look like…come on in.”

She pulled him in from the hallway and half pushed him to the sofa. “Give me your coat…and I’ll take your—what is this?”

He managed a smile. “It’s a duck.”

 

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Killer on Argyle Street by Michael Raleigh

 

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Killer on Argyle Street by Michael Raleigh

Author:Michael Raleigh , Date: June 11, 2019

,Views: 29

Author:Michael Raleigh

Language: eng

Format: epub

ISBN: 9781626816213

Publisher: Diversion Books

Published: 2015-02-12T16:00:00+00:00
Sandra smiled when she saw him. “Well, hi,” she said, and he knew she was glad he’d come. Then something in her face changed. “Paul? What’s wrong? You look like…come on in.”

She pulled him in from the hallway and half pushed him to the sofa. “Give me your coat…and I’ll take your—what is this?”

He managed a smile. “It’s a duck.”

“What kind of a duck is this long? Oh, God, it’s got the…” and she made a groping motion with her free hand.

“Yeah, it’s got the head on, the beak, the whole deal. I thought we’d eat it. Sometime.”

“A duck with the beak still on,” she said, the way she might say “a hamburger with maggots on it.” Then she gave him an appraising look. “Are you hurt?”

“No, no.”

“You sit. I’ll get you a cup of tea. Or do you want a beer?”

“No. Tea is fine. I’m chilled to the bone.”

“Sit,” she repeated, and then vanished into her kitchen, carrying the duck the way a person would carry a dirty diaper. A moment later the room was filled with the scent of cinnamon and clove and then she came back, carrying two mugs. There was a tea bag in each.

“Cinnamon and clove,” he said, just to be saying something. “Reminds me of an old Sergio Mendes song.”

“ ‘The Moon is like a tangerine,’ ” she sang. “I know that one. Don’t worry: yours is English Breakfast. No herbs and spices for Paul Whelan.”

“I appreciate that. But I’m cold enough that I would’ve drunk the one with cinnamon.”

“Doesn’t feel like May, does it.”

“May in Chicago, sure it does.”

She sipped at her tea and watched him over the rim of the mug. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

“I’m all right.”

She shook her head. “You are not. And…you have to tell me things like this. That’s where we’re at, you and I. It’s got nothing at all to do with whether we’re going to be seeing each other six months from now. You have to tell me things like this.”

“Or you’re gonna give me the gate?”

“Oh, who knows. But it’ll certainly tell me a lot about us.”

He sipped at his tea and nodded. “You’re right. I’m just kind of shocked. If I’m right, something is happening that’s going to make me wish I’d never gotten involved in this case. Also, I’m having a bad week.” He pointed to the side of his head. “You can’t see it now, but this morning I had a large egg right here.”

“Somebody hit you?”

“It’s important to make that good first impression. It was somebody good, too. I had to sit on my butt in an alley and wait for the earth to stop spinning.”

“In an alley.” She stared at him for several seconds. “An alley. I know it’s what you do, but there has to be some way to avoid some of the things that happen to you.”

He thought about that. “There are many ways, but I couldn’t do exactly what I do now, not in the same way.

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