Deadline for Lenny Stern by Peter Marabell (beautiful books to read TXT) 📕

Sandy leaned on the doorjamb.

“Where’s Henri?” I said.

Sandy jerked her thumb, hitchhiker style, toward the outer office.

“Henri,” I said loud enough, “what are you doing?”

“Hold on a minute,” he said.

Sandy looked back. “Be careful with my computer, if you know what’s good for you.”

We heard the printer come to life and start its dedicated task. Henri came in the office and sat down.

“What were you doing?”

“Looking up Petoskey’s Carnegie Library,” Henri said. “Interesting history. Never been inside.”

“I have,” Sandy said. “A couple of times.”

“So have I,” I said, “for a community event or a fundraiser. Never as a bodyguard.”

“Where will Lenny do his book thing?”

“In the main room,” I said, “his talk and the book signing. That’s the way I’ve seen it done before.”

“How many ways in?” Henri said.

“Two,” I said. “The front door on Mitchell and a door on the side, where the library connects to the Arts Center.”

“We should be able to cover both doors,” Henri said.

“Lenny’s talk will be easier,” I said. “It’s invitation only. That helps.”

“But the doors are wide open for the signing, aren’t they?” Sandy said.

I nodded. “Harder to cover depending on where they set up the table for Lenny. We’ll figure out the best place to watch.”

I thought for a minute, then leaned over and tapped a few keys.

“Let’s see … the library … should be an event schedule. Here it is.” I sat back and pointed at the screen. “How about that? We have an author presentation tonight,” I said. “Woman’s got a new book on gardening …” I looked back at the screen. “Taking care of flowers, shrubs, that kind of thing. I could swing by tonight, get a lay of the room.”

My phone buzzed. The screen read, “Yes.”

“It’s AJ,” I smiled. “Maybe she’d like to tag along.”

I tapped her number.

“Michael,” she said, “a real phone call? What’s up?”

“You interested in a brief detour before dinner?”

“Would you like to be more specific? Not that I’m suspicious, or anything.”

“I’m going to listen to an expert gardener who has a new book out. Thought I might learn a thing or two. Want to come along?”

Silence.

“AJ?”

“No, really, Michael, what do you want?”

“I’m serious, AJ. All about gardening. At the Carnegie Library.”

“I was thinking we’d share a glass of wine, something romantic at my house.”

“We can still do that,” I said. “It wouldn’t take more than a few minutes. We could stop at City Park Grill for a drink.”

“I was thinking … are you on speaker?”

“No.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of wine in the bathtub.”

Sandy and Henri were watching me. I tried to keep a straight face.

“Oh … I think I get it.”

“It’s a damn good thing you’re a detective, Russo. I shouldn’t have to spell it out for you.” She paused. “Wait a minute. Your interest in gardening is limited to watching me work in the garden. So this has to be about something else.”

“Uh-huh.”

“The Carnegie?”

“Uh-huh.”

Silence again. She was thinking.

“That’s Lenny’s first stop on the book tour, isn’t it? You want inside the building, don’t you? To check out how they set it up for authors.”

“You’d make a terrific reporter. Want to come along? Then some wine.”

“In my bathtub?”

“Absolutely.”

“I may rip your clothes off between the front door and the tub.”

I tried hard to look nonchalant, edging toward blasé.

“I certainly hope so,” I said.

AJ laughed. “Okay, I’ll meet you at the library. What time?”

I told her and clicked off.

My office companions waited patiently for my next words.

“She loves to garden,” I said, and smiled.

“If you say so, boss. I have a few things to do before I go home.”

Sandy went out to her desk.

Henri looked at his watch. “Time to keep Lenny company on his ride home.”

6

I walked up the steps and through the double-front door at the Carnegie Library. The large rotunda was beautifully restored, with high ceilings, wood beams and tall windows. Folding chairs, in neat rows, filled most of the floor space. They were aimed at a podium at the back of the room. People milled about, talking and laughing and waiting for the evening’s presentation to begin.

Off to one side, AJ leaned against the wall. She smiled and waved when I looked over. She wore a two-piece navy linen suit over a soft pink blouse. I walked over and gave her a quick kiss.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hi, yourself,” she said.

I stood next to AJ and took in the room.

“Would you like my two cents worth?” she said.

“Always. About what?”

“About what? Some Philip Marlowe you are.”

“I’m not Sam Spade anymore?”

“Oh, hush, darling,” she said. “If they set up the room this way for Lenny, you have four problems.”

I moved back a half step and gave the rotunda another look. “Is that right?”

AJ nodded slowly, but her attention was focused on the room.

“First off, the door you came in,” she said, “and then that one, over there.”

AJ pointed to a side door, several feet in front of us, near the middle of the rotunda.

“That one connects to the Arts Center, right?” I said.

“It does, through a narrow hallway.”

“Back in a second.” I walked to the other side of the room, opposite the side door. I watched for a couple of minutes as some visitors entered the library using both doors. I walked across the room and down the narrow hallway to have a look, then I went back to AJ.

“What do you think?” she said.

“Clear view of the front door,” I said, “but I need to watch that hallway more carefully. Maybe they’ll only use the front entrance.”

“Don’t count on it,” AJ said, “the side door leads to a parking lot and the restrooms. That’s the third problem.”

Two women, one taller, thinner and younger than the other, came straight out of an Ann Taylor catalog and walked to the front of the room. Both women smiled, but they didn’t really look all that happy. The younger one placed a folder on the podium and began chatting with women in the first row.

AJ looked at her watch. “Think they’re ready to start?”

“Looks