Desperate Enemies 3 by Adam Carpenter (latest ebook reader .txt) 📕

and looked out the window into the back yard. Was it really possible that this had just fallen into their laps? Not only was it in San Francisco, but in North Beach, Edgar's favorite neighborhood. He nearly skipped on the way to the bathroom to shower. Now all he had to do was find a delicate way to approach Jack.

* * * *

It had proven easier than Edgar had initially feared to convince Jack to drive to San Francisco, not that Edgar had been completely honest with his partner. Instead of admitting that he had shown interest in renting the house, Edgar had suggested that his old friend from the paper had merely suggested their help in staging the house for prospective renters. Jack, a sucker for decorating, had fallen for the ruse. The traffic into San Francisco was light and the weather once again agreeable. This morning, however, Edgar was in more of a hurry, as if the house on Telegraph Hill might vanish if he didn't get there quickly, so he decided to circumvent city streets for the highway, exiting downtown and heading straight to North Beach.

Since it was early, the couple decided to have breakfast. Edgar parked the car on Green Street and the two men walked the two blocks down to Columbus, where they went to a cafe and ordered coffee and pastries.

Seated at a sidewalk table, the city bustling around them, Edgar smiled at Jack.

“This is nice,” he said, taking a sip of coffee.

Jack smiled back and took a sip of his own coffee.

“It is,” he agreed. “We really don't visit the city enough.”

Edgar considered his next words carefully. Should this be his cue to jump into the whole “we should move back” spiel or was Jack telling him, in not so many words, that visiting was all he was interested in doing? Thankfully, he was spared having to say anything by the ringing of his cell phone.

“Hello?”

“Edgar, it's Miller.”

“Miller,” replied Edgar, glancing at Jack. “How are you?”

“Let's cut the chitchat,” he said, sounding unusually gruff. “I have some information for you. . . when can we meet?”

“I'm in the city,” replied Edgar, “in North Beach, in fact. Name a time and place.”

“Meet me at the corner of Columbus and Broadway in half an hour,” he said.

Then, without preamble, he hung up.

Edgar put his phone away and looked at Jack.

“Miller has some information for me,” he said. “He wants to meet in half an hour, just down the street.”

Jack nodded.

“Did he say what it was?”

“No,” replied Edgar, “but he sounded pissed off.”

“Will there be time to go to Ben and Lois’ house?”

“I imagine,” replied Edgar.

The two men finished their coffee and pastries in silence, each lost in thought. Finally, Edgar looked at his watch and stood.

“I'd better head that way,” he said. “I'll meet you back here in twenty minutes?”

“I'm going to peek in a few shops,” replied Jack. “Call my cell phone when you're headed this way.”

Edgar turned and began making his way to the rendezvous spot, his thoughts an emotional rollercoaster. On one hand he might be getting the information to save Eldon Court but, on the other, it might mean losing the house on Telegraph Hill. As he neared the corner, Edgar saw Miller and the reason for his grouchiness. . . a black eye.

“Edgar,” Miller said.

“What the hell happened to you?” asked Edgar.

“Let's just say that it's a workplace hazard in my business,” he replied. “And I told you that Converse was a mean cocksucker.”

“Converse didn't do that?” asked Edgar.

“Hell, no,” laughed Miller. “I could take that little prick by myself. . . a couple of his goons did it.”

“I'm sorry. . .”

“Don't be,” replied Miller. “I went poking around regarding Mr. St. John, and found something interesting.”

“Such as?”

“His dear mama is none other than Rose Emerson St. John.”

“The actress?” asked Edgar.

“Actress” was perhaps a misuse of the word. Rose Emerson St. John hadn't acted in years and the movies she did make back in the day were hardly Oscar-worthy. Edgar pressed Miller for more information.

“You're sure she's his mother?” he asked. “How did you find this out?”

Miller looked almost offended by the question and so Edgar talked over it.

“What do we need to do now?” he asked.

“Here's her number,” replied Miller, passing a piece of paper to Edgar.

Edgar looked at the number. It had a southern California area code.

“Should we call her?” he asked. What was he supposed to say? Hello Ms. St. John, your movies were awful and we want your help tricking your son?

“She's expecting you to call,” said Miller.

Edgar was perplexed but, before he could ask another question, Miller spoke again.

“My bill will be in the mail,” he said, walking away. “You're welcome.”

As he disappeared in the crowd, Edgar felt more confused by the minute. He started to call Jack but realized that the house on the hill would have to wait. Reluctantly, he dialed Ben.

“Ben,” he said, “I'm sorry. . . we're going to need to re-schedule. I know, I'm sorry. . . something unforeseen came up. That sounds good. . . my best to Lois.”

He ended the call and then dialed Jack's cell phone.

“I'm headed that way,” he said. “I've got some really strange news.”

* * * *

Miller hadn't been pulling his chain; not only had Rose Emerson St. John been expecting his call, but she seemed eager to meet with him, explaining that she would be in the area the following day.

“I'm certain that we can remedy the situation,” she had said cryptically.

Despite his absolute dislike for her son, Parker, Jack was acting downright giddy at the prospect of meeting the infamous Rose Emerson St. John. The morning of her visit he changed shirts three times and insisted on flowers in the entryway.

“Calm down,” said Edgar, still upset over the house in the city. “Have you forgotten who her son is?”

“No,” replied Jack, looking hurt. “But you have to be polite. She's a star.”

“Was a star,” corrected Edgar.

Jack was about to protest this statement,