Chapter Twenty-one

15 1 0
                                          

Jimmy sat in his office thinking about why Harriet might want to kill Deborah Alston and making the odd sales call, and my job was to call Odin and get back into his good graces. At least call him. From everything I knew of Karl, he was a proud man and forgiveness wasn't likely to come easily.


With that astounding foresight, I dialed Rockford's Public Safety Building and asked for the surly lieutenant. When his trusty sidekick answered, I counted myself lucky.


"Listen, Greenberg," I said, "this is Paulette Goddard."


"He isn't here," was the curt response.


"Really?" I said. "And here I thought you'd pulled rank just to talk to me." I was rewarded with a slight chuckle on the other end.


"What'd you do to him?"


"Me?" I asked.


"Yes, you. Sunday, you're supposed to eat with his Mama. Monday, I ask how it went, and he bites my head off. Ergo, you did something."


Ergo? Maybe Greenberg did go to college.


I tossed red wine in his face."


"That explains it," he said.


"Explains what?"


"Why his Mama dropped off his cleaning. It was an Armani, you know."


"What was?"


"The shirt he wore," Greenberg said. "Now with a wine stain. Karl likes the good stuff."


"That explains it," I said.


"What?"


"Me," I said. "I'm a regular spitfire." That got another chuckle from Greenberg.


"Can you give the big guy a message from me?"


"Your funeral, Paulette."


I smiled even though Greenberg couldn't see me over the telephone wires. "Tell him that all is forgiven."


Greenberg was still laughing when I hung up.

Death and the MotherlodeWhere stories live. Discover now