Stone Cold Dead by James Ziskin (great novels of all time txt) 📕

“Miss Stone,” whispered Mrs. Worth, interrupting my memory. “Everyone has heard that rumor.”

Suddenly Chief Finn, red face, white hair, and bushy eyebrows, noticed me and tried to shoo me away, insisting I had no business there. Frank informed him in his world-weary way that I was there to see him.

“What do you want with her?” asked Finn, a barrel-chested Irishman in a tight, blue pinstriped suit.

“She’s the one who called us,” said Frank. “If she hadn’t, you’d have a homicide on your hands, Finn. I phoned the school as soon as I heard, and the assistant principal saved Russell’s life. So you can thank me and her for doing your job for you.”

“Is she the gal from the newspaper? Artie Short told me about her,” said Finn, glaring in my direction. Then to me: “Hey, sweetie, next time try keeping track of your car, will you? Look at the trouble you caused us.”

“Come on over here, Ellie,” said Frank. “Let’s hear what happened.”

Finn looked me up and down, grinning like a bully. Frank opened the principal’s door and escorted me in. When the police chief tried to follow, Frank blocked him with a bearish arm.

“Get lost, Finn. And learn some manners when you’re talking to a lady.”

“So Joey made good his escape?” I asked.

“Yeah, he was gone before we got here,” Frank drawled. “He must have been driving like a bat out of hell. We showed up here about twelve minutes after your call. Finn took an age to get here.”

“It’s a pretty good car,” I said, “if you don’t mind that Fred Blaylock drove it into the lake last summer. Still smells of wet sometimes.”

“Forget about that. We’ve got to find that kid before he hurts someone. You talked to him for a while. Where do you think he’ll go?”

“He won’t go home,” I said. “The last time he broke out, he stayed in Darleen Hicks’s barn.”

“You think he’ll go there?” asked Frank.

I shook my head. “No. No Darleen. I’m sure he’ll be skulking around Ted Russell’s house tonight. If I were you, I’d set a trap for him there.”

Frank thought on it, and I could tell he liked the idea. And I had a feeling he might want to have the press along to document his triumph.

On my way out of the office, I met Assistant Principal Brossard, who was giving Ted Russell some kind of talking to, but I couldn’t tell if the intensity of his words was due to anger or concern for his well-being.

“Good afternoon, Miss Stone,” he said, wiping his brow with a handkerchief. “I understand it’s been an interesting morning for all.”

“Mine had its excitement,” I said. “Though no more than Mr. Russell’s.”

Ted Russell was a handsome man. Just under six feet tall, with an athletic build and wavy brown hair, he had a soft, angular quality. His eyes were a prepossessing blue—cerulean blue—and they squinted just so when he smiled, which he was doing to great effect at that very moment. He had a large, red scratch on his neck. If I found him attractive, I wondered if an impressionable, young girl like Darleen Hicks might have done the same.

“Do you two know each other?” asked Brossard.

“I haven’t had the pleasure,” said Russell, extending his right hand to me. He stared deep into my eyes with the practiced tenacity of a seducer. I knew that look well. “You have me at a disadvantage, miss.”

“Eleonora Stone,” I said. “Ellie Stone.”

“I’ve heard that name somewhere,” he said, holding my hand, it seemed, until he remembered.

“Miss Stone is a reporter for the Republic,” volunteered Brossard, who was the forgotten man in our conversation.

“That’s it,” said Russell, and he released me gently, managing to graze his fingers over my palm as he did. “You’re that girl who wrote all those articles about the Shaw murder case, aren’t you?”

I blushed.

“May we help you, Miss Stone?” asked Brossard, interrupting the lingering gaze between Mr. Russell and me.

“As a matter of fact, I wanted to get a statement from Mr. Russell for the paper. For the article I’m writing.”

Brossard seemed fine with the idea, but Russell demurred politely, saying he’d rather not make a big deal about Joey Figlio.

“But I wasn’t going to ask you about the attack,” I said. “At least not exactly.”

“Then what do you want to ask me?”

“I’d like to know about your relationship with Darleen Hicks.”

Russell choked. Louis Brossard stood by as I stared at Russell, waiting for some kind of coherent answer. Finally he managed a smile and a dismissive wave of the hand.

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Miss Stone,” he said. “I had no relationship with Miss Hicks beyond that of a teacher. Joey Figlio had the crazy idea that there was something untoward going on, but it wasn’t true.”

I asked Brossard if the school’s administration had known anything about Joey’s accusations before today.

“It’s true that we were aware of the rumor,” said Brossard. “Principal Endicott asked me to investigate the matter last fall. I spoke to the girl, several of her classmates, Mr. Figlio, and, of course, Mr. Russell.”

“And what did you conclude?” I asked.

“Both Darleen Hicks and Mr. Russell denied that anything of the kind had ever happened.”

“I would never do that with a student, Miss Stone,” said Russell with an apologetic smile. “Really, I’m not that kind of man.”

Outside the school, I found Chief Finn leaning against my car, smoking the stub of a foul-smelling cheroot, giving some instructions to his men. My handsome cop was listening intently to his boss, but not so much that he didn’t cast a glance my way.

“Am I keeping you from something, Palumbo?” Finn asked with all the feigned sweetness he could muster. My handsome cop flushed red and cleared his throat.

“No, Chief.”

Then Finn pushed off my fender and reeled around to find the source of Palumbo’s distraction. His eyes came to rest on me.

“You?” he asked. “What do you want?”

I pointed timidly to the car