The Maine Events by Rodney Riesel (most important books of all time txt) 📕

and came to the conclusion thatTucker works for us? Maybe you should be a detective.”

“So, I'm right?”

“I didn't say that.”

“Has Tucker said anything to you about Mya Duffy and me?”

Jordan took a long drag on his cigar and let the smoke outslowly as he spoke. “Nothing I say leaves this room, Crane. You understand?”

“Yes.”

“No, I mean, do you understand?”

“Uh … yes.”

“Tucker asked Myron Spoon to put a bullet in your head.”

Allen felt the color drain from his face as he choked on hisdrink. “W-what?”

“Tucker asked Spoon to kill you. He said he wanted it tolook like a robbery gone bad. He doesn't want you anywhere near Ms. Duffy.Spoon came to me first, and I put a stop to it. I explained to Tucker that youwould be leaving in a few days, and that everything—”

“Would be back to normal.”

“Correct.”

“Um … thank you?”

“You're welcome. You will be leaving.”

“Yes.”

“Without the beautiful Ms. Duffy.”

“Isn't that up to her?”

“No, it's not, but don't worry about it. From what I hear,she would never move away and leave her grandmother anyway.”

“You're probably right.” Allen downed the rest of his drinkand pulled out his cell phone to check the time. “Well, I better get going,Jordan. Thanks for the cigar.”

“Anytime.”

“Where's that back door?”

Both men stood.

“Follow me,” Jordan said.

The two men walked out of the office. Jordan pointed to theend of the hall.

“Right through that door,” Jordan said. “It'll lockautomatically. Just make sure you pull it shut.”

Allen and Bobby shook hands and Allen walked to the exitdoor.

“It was just numbers,” Jordan said.

“Allen turned around. “Excuse me?”

“On the paper, it was just numbers.”

“Like phone numbers?”

“No, like a combination to a safe—my brother's safe.”

“You were going to rob your brother, but you lost thecombination.”

“You got it.”

“You were going to do it when he and your mother were gone.He came home, and that's why it was too late.” Grinning, the gangster tappedAllen's cheek in a gesture that was half slap, half creepy caress. “On thenose, Crane. Must be why you're such a good mystery writer.”

“Why are you telling me this now?”

“Like I said, it's not going to happen now, and I didn'twant you to think those boy's disappearance had anything to do with that pieceof paper.”

Allen nodded. “Thanks.” He pushed open the door and squintedwhen the sunshine flooded the hall.

“I hope you find that kid.”

“Me too, Jordan. Me too.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

“Did you hear me? Are you awake?”

Allen hadn't heard anything. “Who is this?” he asked. Helooked over at the alarm clock on the nightstand. It was six o'clock.

“It's Rose.”

“Oh. Hold on.” Allen yawned and rubbed his eyes. He clearedhis throat. He sat up and scooted back against the headboard.

Frankie was lying on the sofa, his undivided attention onthe phone call.

“Did you hear what I said?” Rose asked again. “Jordan'sdead.”

“Dead?” Allen yanked back his covers and put his feet on thefloor. “What are you talking about? I just spoke with him yesterday.”

“What time?”

“In the afternoon—four o'clock.”

“Where?”

“In his office. What happened?”

“Can you drive over here?”

“Jordan's office?”

“Yes.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now.”

“Is Tucker there with you?”

“Yes. He's canvasing the area with other officers. Why?”

“I'll be right there.”

Allen hung up and hurried to the bathroom. When he walkedback out, he was dressed and his hair was combed. He filled Frankie's waterdish.

“I shouldn't be too long, Frankie,” Allen apologized to hisdog. “I'll grab some more dog food on my way back.”

Allen grabbed his Jeep keys off the table and ran out thedoor. The drive from the motel to Jordan's office took less than five minutes.He parked in the pizzeria's parking lot, and jogged across the street.

“Sorry, sir,” said one of the officers out front, putting uphis hand. “I can't let—”

“My name's Allen Crane. Sergeant Rose is expecting me.”

The officer lifted the yellow police tape. “Follow me,” hesaid.

Allen ducked below the police tape and followed the officerthrough the front door. Rose was standing in front of Doris's desk. Jordan wassitting in her chair behind the desk. His stiff arms hung at his side, and hishead was tilted back. If it weren't for Jordan's purplish hue, the hole in hisforehead, and the fact that his brains were splattered on the wall behind him,it would've looked as though he was inspecting the ceiling for leaks.

Allen wondered when the last time two people had beenmurdered in York only days apart was. Probably never.

“Sarge,” said the officer.

Rose spun around. “Crane,” he said.

Allen stared at Jordan. “Jesus,” he whispered. “Anysuspects?”

“Well, as far as we know, you were the last person to seehim alive.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because you told me.”

“I didn't say I was the last person to see him alive,” Allenargued. “I just said I was here yesterday. His killer was obviously the lastperson to see him alive.”

“Obviously,” Rose said. “But for now, that's you.”

“Why would I kill Bobby Jordan?”

“I don't know. Why would you get into an argument with himlast week that sent him to the hospital?”

“And why would you know a young boy whose body was found outbehind the elementary school?” Tucker asked.

Allen turned to see Tucker standing in the doorway. “Youcan't be serious.”

“Is it just a coincidence that you knew both victims?”Tucker asked.

Allen ignored the question, and returned his attention toRose.

“Why were you here yesterday?” Rose asked.

“I just needed to speak with Jordan.”

“Why would a writer need to speak with a gangster?”

“Jordan asked me to stop over. He wanted to speak with meabout the possibility of writing his biography.”

Rose and Tucker exchanged glances.

“Biography?” Rose asked.

“Yes,” Allen replied. “Jordan was toying with the idea ofhaving his biography published.”

“Why?” Tucker asked. “I don't think his brother or hismother would want him writing a biography. Gangsters usually frown on that sortof thing.”

“He thought it would make an interesting story,” Allenanswered. “And he thought it would be something for his children to read afterhe was gone.”

“He didn't have any children,” Tucker said.

“But he hoped to someday,” said Allen. “I'd think you'd knowthat.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Tucker asked.

“Well, you're a cop. He's a criminal. I figure it's probablyyour job to know things about local thugs.”

Allen knew that Bobby Jordan