Read The Ghost and the Femme Fatale Online
Authors: Alice Kimberly
Tags: #Mystery, #Ghost stories, #Private investigators, #Fiction, #Actors, #Women Sleuths, #Mystery And Suspense Fiction, #Mystery & Detective - Women Sleuths, #Murder, #Murder - Investigation, #Film festivals, #Horror & Ghost Stories, #Mystery fiction, #Ghost, #Mystery & Detective - General, #Police Procedural, #Juvenile Fiction, #Women booksellers, #Entertainment & Performing Arts, #Rhode Island, #Actresses, #Detective, #Mystery & Detective, #Fiction - Mystery, #Contemporary, #General, #Fantasy, #Suspense, #Biography & Autobiography, #Ghosts, #Fantasy - Contemporary
The Ghost and the Femme Fatale (9 page)
“So, you’re finished with your investigation?” Seymour asked as he inched toward the front door.
“The preliminary phase,” Ciders replied, giving Seymour his back.
Seymour stopped. “Well?”
Ciders frowned, looked up from the clipboard in his hand. “Don’t you have work to do?”
Seymour nodded.
“Then get the heck out of here!”
Seymour shrugged and opened the door, smacking into the crowd of film festival fans waiting for the store to open. “Clear a path, people! Official government employee coming through!”
“Hey, in there, are you
eve
r
going to open?!” someone yelled from the crowd.
Eddie closed the door.
I faced Chief Ciders. “Well? Have you completed your investigation?”
The beefy man sighed. “We’re finished. And you can open, once we’re sure you’re providing a safe working environment. What was this woman, Dr. Lilly, doing on your ladder? Was she a paid employee?”
“She was an academic, a film historian, and an author. She was helping us get ready for her book signing.”
“I see,” said the chief. “Your store does carry insurance, right?”
“Of course, but why would that matter?”
“Because, Mrs. McClure, you allowed her to climb a ladder unsupervised. That’s negligence on your part. Simply put: Dr. Lilly had a fatal accident while working in your store—”
“Accident!” I cried.
I warned you,
Jack gloated.
CHAPTER 7
My, my, my. Such a lot of guns around town and so few
brains.
—
Philip Marlowe,
The Big Sleep,
1946
“
YES, MRS. MCCLURE,
an accident,” Chief Ciders reiterated.
“Dr. Lilly fell off a ladder—”
“No! She was pushed!” I blurted out.
Bull McCoy snorted. “You were right, Uncle . . . I mean,
Chief
. You said she was gonna try and call it murder!”
“Shut up, Bull,” Ciders warned.
“How do you know it wasn’t murder?” I demanded.
“As I see it, Dr. Lilly tried to fix the banner,” Ciders said. “She lost her balance and fell. She died when she slammed her head against the corner of the stage.”
“It
looks
like an accident,” I replied, “but that’s the diabolical part. Don’t you see? Someone attempted to drop a speaker on Dr. Lilly last night—”
“You’ve got your facts wrong there, Mrs. McClure,” said the chief. “Brainert Parker reported to me that it was a former actress—someone named Hedda Geist—who almost got clobbered.”
“It was Dr. Lilly who was supposed to be on stage. Hedda was under the speaker when it fell, but she only came up to the stage at the last minute—”
“That’s enough, Mrs. McClure,” the chief interrupted.
“At least let me finish explaining!”
The chief waved his hand. “What happened at the theater last night was an accident, too, that’s all. Clearly the result of faulty construction.” Ciders rubbed his fleshy chin. “Makes me wonder if the Movie Town was built to code. Better check in with the Town Council on that one. Marjorie’s sure to be interested—”
“Two accidents in two days? One nearly fatal, the other deadly. And both involving the same woman?” I shook my head. “That’s too much coincidence for me. And it should be for you, too. I want another official opinion—”
“That’s why I’m here, Mrs. McClure,” said Dr. Rubino, stepping forward before I could suggest that the state police be called in.
“I thoroughly examined Dr. Lilly’s body,” Rubino continued. “While I still have to perform an autopsy to be absolutely certain, my preliminary findings confirm Chief Ciders’s theory. Dr. Lilly appeared to have died of an injury to the skull. The scene itself makes it clear the injury was inflicted by the edge of your stage. We have a fallen ladder at the scene, and we have a witness in your own aunt, the last person to see the deceased alive. She mentioned to the chief that Dr. Lilly was indeed trying to hang a banner, and wasn’t it true that your store was locked from the inside?”
I wanted to scream, but I knew it wouldn’t give the man confidence in my sanity.
“Mrs. McClure?” Rubino pressed. “Was the store locked?”
“Yes,” I said, clenching my fists. “The store was locked, but Dr. Lilly could have let someone in herself. The dead bolt wasn’t thrown, and the killer could have relocked the door simply by setting the handle on lock from the inside and slamming it shut when departing—”
“If I had to render an opinion right now,” Dr. Rubino interrupted, “I’d say Dr. Lilly’s death was a tragic
accident
. Nothing more.”
“You’re wrong.”
You tell him, baby!
Dr. Rubino’s dark brown eyebrows lifted in absolute surprise. Clearly he was used to having the last word at a crime scene. Having his conclusions so directly and adamantly challenged was an obvious shock. He glanced at Ciders, who shrugged and looked away.
“Mrs. McClure . . .” The doctor stepped closer. He lowered his voice. “If Dr. Lilly were
actually
murdered—that is to say, if a person had entered this store and killed her, there would have been clues that I would not have missed.”
“Such as?” I folded my arms and tapped my foot.
“Dr. Lilly would have resisted an attack, you see?” he explained in painfully slow syllables. “If she fought and the killer had to subdue her, there would be marks on her arms, perhaps her throat.”
The doctor made gestures to his arm and neck, as if I were still learning the names of body parts. “These bruises or scratches are called ‘defensive’ wounds.” He put air quotes around “defensive.”
Will ya tell this clown you’ve learned the alphabet already? Didn’t I tell you Ivy Leaguers are the worst?
“Yes, yes,” I told the doctor (and Jack). “I know what defensive wounds are. But what if someone pushed Dr. Lilly off that ladder? Or pulled the ladder out from under her?”
Dr. Rubino rubbed his forehead. He glanced at Chief Ciders, who suddenly looked our way again with a questioning expression.
I congratulated myself. Now at least the chief was considering the possibility of foul play!
“Well . . . I suppose it’s
possible
,” Dr. Rubino was forced to admit. He frowned and rubbed the back of his neck. “But it would be a one- in- ten chance that Dr. Lilly’s head would strike the platform. For someone to push her so she landed in just such a way as to cause death...” His voice trailed off and he shook his head. “No, I just don’t see that as likely.”
Chief Ciders sighed and looked away again.
“But someone could have pushed her,” I quickly countered, trying to pry the chief’s mind back open. “That same someone could have dragged Dr. Lilly to the stage and
made sure
her head struck it before she had a chance to fight back.”
“Chief, the ambulance is here,” Officer Franzetti called.
Ciders slapped his knee with the clipboard. “Good. We’ve spent enough time here.”
“But—”
“That’s enough, Mrs. McClure,” said the chief. “You’re letting your imagination run away with you.” He glanced around at the novels on our shelves. “It’s no wonder,” he muttered condescendingly, “the business you’re in.”
“I didn’t
imagine
last night’s attempt on Dr. Lilly’s life—”
“It was an
accident
,” Ciders shot back. “Last night and this morning, and that’s how I’m reporting both incidences.” The chief moved to the front door, and then turned to face me. “If I were you, Mrs. McClure, I’d forget about trying to sell that cock- and- bull story of yours and hire a good lawyer. Your business is likely to get slapped with a lawsuit over this. So brace yourself for more bad news: My accident report will probably send your insurance premiums soaring.”
A SHORT TIME
later, Chief Ciders and his nephew were parting the crowd in front of my store to make way for a grim pro cession. Along with everyone else, I watched the para medics carry Dr. Lilly’s bagged- up body to the waiting ambu lance. Her remains would be delivered to the local hospital, where Dr. Rubino was scheduled to perform an autopsy later in the day.
Officer Franzetti lingered behind and, to my surprise, so did Dr. Rubino. “You don’t mind if I browse a little, do you?” the doctor asked me. “It’s my day off, and I haven’t read a good book in awhile.”
“Be our guest,” Sadie called when I failed to answer.
The doctor nodded then put a hand on my shoulder. “Would you like a prescription, Mrs. McClure?” he said quietly. “I can write one for you, just something to calm your nerves. I’m actually a little worried about your reaction to all of this.”
I fixed a level gaze on him. “I’m not in shock, Doctor. And I’m not delusional, either, despite what Chief Ciders thinks.”
You tell him, baby.
I swallowed my reply to Jack. I couldn’t risk a non sequitur now.
Good idea, doll. The doc’s already sized you up for crazy pills. Better not give him cause to send you to a cackle factory.
“A what?” I asked the ghost.
A cackle factory. Don’t you have those nowadays?
“Have what exactly?”
A funny farm? Nut house? Mental hospital? Insane asy
—
“Okay! I get it!”
The doctor frowned. “Mrs. McClure?”
I blinked. “Yes?”
“Events like this can be very stressful for a person. Perhaps you should take a rest. The chief mentioned that you and your aunt live upstairs. Maybe if you lie down, take a nap for a few hours—”
I shook my head. “Thank you for your concern, but I’m fine. And I have a business to run.”
“I understand... well, you do have a very nice store, I must say.” He smiled and made a show of glancing around. “I’ll just browse a little then. You don’t mind?”
I folded my arms. “Be our guest.”
While the doctor began browsing the store, Eddie approached me. “You okay, Pen?”
I took a shaky breath, still upset over my clash with Chief Ciders. “Life goes on,” I told Eddie. I glanced in Rubino’s direction. He was leafing through a frontlist Tess Gerritsen in the New Release section. “Looks like I’ve already got one customer . . . and we’ve got to open the store for the others waiting out there, even if we don’t have a guest speaker for our morning event.”
“You don’t have a place to
put
a guest speaker, either.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, considering the physical state of the Community Events room. It would have to be cleaned before the public could come into the store. But the thought of cleaning up all that blood made me shudder.
“I guess I’d better get started,” I said softly. When I tried to walk away, however, Eddie gripped my arm.
“No, Pen, let me do it. It’s the least I can do for writing you that littering ticket this morning.”
“Oh, Eddie, that’s very sweet. But I couldn’t ask you—”
“It’s Saturday night to me,” he said with a shrug. “You have no idea what I see on that highway after the bars close. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”
“But—”
“Thank you, Eddie,” Sadie cut in, stepping up to us. “It’s above and beyond the call of duty, and Pen and I appreciate it. Just come with me, and I’ll show you where we keep the cleaning supplies so you can get started.”
Eddie smiled, squeezed my shoulder, and then followed Sadie into the Community Events room, which led to the restrooms, store room, and supply closet.
When they were gone, I noticed that Dr. Rubino had discovered our Film Noir Festival display near the front window. He appeared to be quite interested in one book in par tic u lar,
Po
rtraits in Shadow
, a coffeetable book written by Hedda Geist- Middleton.
The oversized book of photos featured dramatic black- and-white stills from Hedda’s Gotham Features years. The small amount of accompanying text amounted to short anecdotes from Hedda about shooting her movies and working with leading men and directors.
Dr. Rubino looked up suddenly and caught me staring. “This is an older book, isn’t it?” he asked.
I nodded. A small New En gland publisher had released the book about two years before, without any publicity. It sold few copies, according to the publisher’s sales rep, who’d confided in Sadie and me that Hedda was lucky they’d kept the book in print. This weekend’s film festival was a chance for her to move out their inventory and, with the help of Barry Yello’s Web site, maybe even get some national buzz going.
“Hedda Geist herself will be signing these books in the Community Events room, at five o’clock today,” I told Rubino.
He smiled. “Hedda mentioned coming to Quindicott for a film festival, but I lost track of the date. I hadn’t realized it was this weekend.”
“You
know
Hedda? Personally?” I asked, more than a little surprised.
“Yes, she and her . . .” Dr. Rubino paused. “Well, the long and short of it is that Hedda is a patient of my Newport practice.”
I was about to question him further when the delivery bell rang. “Excuse me, I have to get this.”
I unlocked the front door to find Vinny Nardini, our DDS delivery man, standing there in his brown uniform beside several boxes on a dolly.
“Hi- Yo!” Vinny said with a grin. “Opening the store late today, Pen? You and your aunt party too hearty at that Finch Inn last night?”
I frowned down at the boxes. They were marked San Fernando University Press, and I realized with a shiver that these were the very books Dr. Lilly was supposed to be signing for us at noon. The shipment had finally arrived, safe and sound, and I felt tremendously guilty that I’d failed to keep the book’s author that way inside my own store.
Vinny scratched his brown beard. “Penelope?”
“Come in, Vinny, come in!” called Aunt Sadie, walking up behind me. “You know where to take those, don’t you?”
“Sure thing,” said Vinny, whistling as he wheeled the dead author’s books toward the back of the store.
CHAPTER 8
Funny how gentle people get with you once you’re dead.
—Sunset Boulevard,
1950
STANDING BESIDE ME,
Sadie put her arm around my shoulders. “What shall we do with Dr. Lilly’s books, do you think? Put them on the selling floor with some sort of note?”
I shook my head. “To tell you the truth, I’d feel terrible hawking them today.”
Sadie nodded. “You’re right. Let’s hold them in the storeroom for now. I’m sure Dr. Lilly would want her book available to the public, but I think it’s best if we let Brainert handle the announcement of what happened. We’ll just focus on other books today and let the poor woman rest in peace.”
“Aunt Sadie,” I said in a quiet voice, “what do
you
think about Dr. Lilly’s death? You heard what I said to Chief Ciders. Do you think her death is suspicious, too? Or do you believe Ciders is right, and that she simply fell by accident?”
My aunt’s arm fell away from my shoulders and she actually looked a little miffed. “I can’t believe you just asked me that, Penelope!”
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot—”
“Chief Ciders is the biggest blowhard in this town! His opinion isn’t worth a hill of beans, and you’ve proved it more than once in the last few years. That’s what’s eating him, Pen.
He’s obviously determined never to let you get the best of him again. Well, I believe you, dear, and I believe
in
you.”
Sadie smiled at me then; and, boy, did I need that vote of confidence.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“Sweetie, you’re a wonderful niece, and a very sharp young woman.” She put her arm back around my shoulders and squeezed. “Don’t you think I feel terrible about leaving that poor woman in our store alone? What ever I can do to help, you let me know. And for goodness’ sake don’t you go letting Ciders’s idiotic bluster discourage you from following your instincts. They’ve been good in the past, and I have no doubt that what ever track you’re on, it’s the right one.”
Bang, Bang, Bang!
Sadie and I jumped at the noise, then looked up to find a twentysomething with tattoos, a nose ring, and a sin city T-shirt knocking on the glass window of our front door. “Open up already!” his muffled voice demanded. Then he turned back to his group of young friends and they all laughed.
I sighed. The ambulance, cops, and mysterious body bag wheeled out of our store had made us a local spectacle. The crowd out front was even bigger now, snaking down the sidewalk, spilling into the street. Waiting customers were gossiping with curious tourists. Some were laughing and pointing.
I stepped closer to the front window, overheard some snippets of conversation. “I can’t believe it, but I think these people believe we just staged a publicity stunt.”
“That’s awful!” said Aunt Sadie. “Who would think we’d do such a thing?!”
“It’s Film Noir week. Dark and cynical are the words of the day.”
“Then I guess we’d better open soon,” said Sadie, shaking her head, “or we’re liable to get another ticket from the councilwoman for unlawful assembly.”
“What do we’d do about the twelve o’clock signing?” I studied the crowd, hoping to spot Brainert. “Should we just send the people away? I don’t relish announcing our store’s noontime speaker is now a corpse on its way to an autopsy.”
“There are a lot of authors scheduled for signings this weekend,” said my aunt. “Perhaps we can call someone, ask him or her to step in.”
“Isn’t that Maggie Kline out there, speaking to a group of college kids?” I pointed to the sixtysomething woman with the red glasses and bouncy, scarlet- streaked, cocoa- colored curls.
“The screen and televi sion writer?” Sadie peered through the plate glass, into the crowd. “Oh, yes, that’s her. I spoke to her briefly at the party last eve ning. She’s quite smart and articulate. And we have at least three of her suspense novels in stock. She penned them years ago, but their backlist sales have held up well. Do you think, since she’s here now, she might step in for Dr. Lilly?”
I checked my watch. “Ms. Kline’s already scheduled for a Saturday signing, but there’s such a huge crowd here now, I bet she wouldn’t mind doing a little Q and A for us. How do you feel about introducing her?”
“I’d love to!” said Sadie. “I’ve read her books, of course, and seen most of those televi sion shows she used to write for . . . Let me see now . . . there was
The Brutal Streets
,
Manhunt
,
Shield of Justice.
I can certainly think of a few good questions for her if the audience can’t.”
In the next few minutes, our spirits brighter, Sadie and I helped Officer Eddie finish cleaning the Community Events room, and our young part- time clerk, Mina Griffith, arrived to start her shift.
“I think we should call Seymour, too,” I told Sadie. “We’ll really need him for crowd control.”
She nodded, dialed his cell, and got right through. “He’ll be here in ten minutes,” she said.
Finally, Mina braced herself behind the counter; Aunt Sadie positioned herself inside the Events room; and I opened the front door. The murmuring, laughing people flowed in like a river released from a dam, many of them heading right into the adjoining space to grab seats for our noontime event.
I stood near the front of the store, watching for Maggie Kline—until a large man in a Hawaiian shirt of neon pink and lime green blotted out my view of practically everything else.
“Good morning... you’re Pen McClure right?” asked the man. “You run this store?”
“Yes, with my aunt,” I said, weaving and bobbing to see around the man’s bulky form.
“I’m here for the film festival, and I was just wondering what the deal was? With the ambulance and police, I mean. Somebody have a stroke or heart attack in here or something?” He lowered his voice. “It wasn’t Hedda Geist, was it? The corpse they wheeled out looked pretty small, like a woman.”
I moved my gaze north of the large, Hawaiian- shirted obstruction and immediately recognized the round baby face and blond ponytail of the famous Webmaster Barry Yello—the young guy who’d introduced Dr. Lilly the night before.
“Oh, my goodness,” I murmured. “You’re Barry Yello, aren’t you?”
“Rumor has it.”
I quickly pulled him aside. In hushed tones, I told Barry that his colleague Dr. Lilly was the one who’d died in our store. “She fell from a ladder.”
“God, that’s awful.” Barry shook his head. “I better get the news out on my Web site.”
“Oh, no! Don’t do that! Not until we’re sure her family’s been notified.”
“Oh, yeah. Right.” Barry frowned. “Sorry, but I didn’t know her that well. I mean, I learned a lot from her books. And she seemed like a nice lady, but as far as her personal life?” He shrugged. “I think she’s married, but I don’t have any contact info or anything. Wish I could be more helpful. You’re better off tracking down Dean Pepper for that . . . or Professor Brainert Parker . . .”
“I will.”
“Like I said, I’m sorry about what happened; but I’m glad it wasn’t Hedda Geist.” He glanced around the store. “You haven’t seen her around this morning, have you?”
“Hedda? No. She’s not expected here for her signing until five.”
“Her
sign
ing
?” Barry squinted. “What’s she going to sign, publicity stills?”
We were standing near the Film Noir Festival display, so I just pointed to Hedda’s oversized photo book.
“Oh, yeah.
Po
rtraits in Shadow
.” He grabbed a copy off the stack. “I forgot about this thing. But then it was pretty forgettable. The text is disappointingly minimal . . . more like extended captions. She should have hired someone like me to write a real book for her. It’s no wonder it didn’t make any waves. I mean, she didn’t do much to promote it, either.”
“Well, she’s promoting it
now
,” I pointed out.
“True.” Barry nodded. “This weekend’s pretty much Hedda’s first public appearance since her film career ended back in the day. That’s why I’m looking forward to interviewing her on stage this afternoon. I’m streaming the whole thing on my Web site and uploading a choice segment onto YouTube . . .”
Oh, yeah?
Jack said in my head.
Then w
hy don’t you ask her the sixty- four- million- dollar question: whether she knifed Irving Vreen by accident or let him have it in cold blood.
“Jack, be quiet,” I shot back. “I’m in a jam here!”
“...anyway, Mrs. McClure, you can see why I was stressed about the corpse and wanted to make sure that it wasn’t Hedda . . .” As Barry continued to yammer on, I realized that he had a book to hawk this weekend, too.
“Listen, Barry,” I interrupted, “I have a thought. Since you’re here now, would you mind taking the book- signing spot left by the late Dr. Lilly? You could even say a few words about her since you enjoyed her books on film history—”
“Oh, no,” Barry said quickly. “I’m sorry, Mrs. McClure, but I wouldn’t know what to say. I mean, I’m great at writing on the ‘Net, but speaking at length right off the top of my head with nothing written down first?” He shrugged. “Not good. I’ll just stick my foot in it. And my signing’s already set for Sunday. Let’s keep it that way, okay? I’ve already announced it on my site and...”
As Barry kept talking, I went back to frantically searching the crowd for Maggie Kline. It wasn’t that we couldn’t just cancel the noon event. Sending the crowd away would be easy to do. But it would be a shame, considering this was the first festival event our store was hosting. We might not ever get the people to come back to our store again. And we had too many books in stock to let potential book buyers slip away. I was sad about Dr. Lilly, but I still had a boy to feed and clothe and put through college.
“Ms. Kline!” I called out, interrupting the beefy Webmaster. “Excuse me, Barry. I’m not usually this rude, but I’m a little desperate right now. Ms. Kline, over here!”
As I waved the woman over, Barry’s expression soured. “Why are you calling
her
over here?”
“What’s the matter?” I whispered. “Are you two having some sort of feud?”
“No,” he said shortly. “I’ve never even met the woman.”
Maggie Kline strode over to us, an expression of curiosity on her broad face. Her features weren’t delicate or conventionally pretty, yet she had a very attractive air about her, a glowing confidence. She had a fit figure, too. She was tall and slender, and despite being in her sixties, looked great in her youthful clothes.
Over the years, I’d seen older women try to dress younger and fail miserably at it—usually because their skirts were too high, their dresses too tight or too revealing of flesh that just wasn’t as elastic, smooth, and blemish- free as it once was. But Maggie’s red- framed glasses, snug red T-shirt, and low- waisted khaki pants made her look carefree and approachable. Even her shoes were whimsical—instead of heels or boots, she wore black Keds.
“Hello,” she said, walking up to me. “Do I know you?”
I introduced myself and explained that Dr. Lilly just expired in a freakish accident. I didn’t see the need to go into my theories on how and why—not yet, anyway.
Maggie Kline’s face fell at my news. “That’s awful! The poor woman...”
“Yes, well, you see, Ms. Kline—”
“Call me Maggie.”
I nodded. “The reason I called you over here, Maggie, wasn’t just to tell you the bad news. I’d like to ask a huge favor.”
“Name it.”
“The store needs another speaker at noon. Would you mind very much appearing in Dr. Lilly’s place?”
Maggie’s expression went from expectant to puzzled. “I don’t know,” she said, clearly taken by surprise. “It’s a little creepy, isn’t it?”
She glanced at Barry standing beside me, as if to see what he thought of this idea. He just shook his head and shrugged.
“We have such a big crowd here,” I explained, “and so many authors scheduled this weekend already. My aunt and I just felt it made sense to see if anyone would want to step in...”
Maggie shifted. “I don’t know if I’m prepared. I mean, the crowd’s expecting Irene Lilly to speak—”
“You wouldn’t have to give a prepared speech or even say anything to the crowd about Dr. Lilly,” I assured her. “My aunt will handle that. Then she’ll introduce you, tell everyone about what you’ve written and done, and then she’ll start a Q and A off and throw it open to the audience. It should be fun. And we already have your suspense novels stacked up in the Events room for you to sign.”
“Holy crow,” Maggie muttered, obviously put off. “You people don’t miss a beat, do you? Dr. Lilly’s not even cold yet, but the show must go on, huh?”
I blinked, a little stunned—and embarrassed—at Maggie’s bluntness. “Oh, well . . . I, uh... I’m sorry you see it that way... maybe we’re asking too much—”
“Mrs. McClure just wants to keep the crowd happy,” Barry Yello loudly spoke up. “You don’t have to bust her chops over it, Kline.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Yello,” said Maggie. “Did anyone ask
you
to speak?”
Barry folded his thick arms and narrowed his eyes. “As a matter of fact, Mrs. McClure here asked me to do exactly that
before
she asked you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Do the math,” said Barry.
“Oh, I see,” Maggie replied. “You’re saying that I’m sloppy seconds?”
“Oh, no,” I cried, “that’s not true at all. Please,
pleas
e
don’t argue.”
“What ever,” said Barry with a wave of his hand.
Maggie put her hands on her hips. “Clearly, Yello here thinks he’s hot stuff. Well, go ahead, Bad Barry...” Maggie tapped her wristwatch. “It’s almost noon now, and you obviously don’t have anything better to do.”
Barry looked away. “Actually, I
do
. I’m sorry, Mrs. McClure. I wanted to catch Dr. Lilly’s speech, but now I can’t,
obviously
... so I’ll be going...”
“If you must,” I said. Although my remark was meant rhetorically, Barry went on as if Maggie and I were hanging on every moment of his afternoon schedule.
“Oh, yes, I must,” he replied. “There’s the showing of
Double Indemn
ity
. They’re only showing it once this weekend, and I don’t want to miss it. Then I’ve got to get back to my room at the Comfy Time Motel to launch the discussion of the film on my Web site. Then I have to review my questions for Hedda Geist’s appearance on the Movie Town stage. So you see, I do have better things to do.”
