Magic Hour by Susan Isaacs (cheapest way to read ebooks .txt) 📕

an intellectual. Lindsay’s not really all that smart. But Sy was wild for her—and not for her mind. He was wild because she was so cold. I’d never worked on one of his projects before, but my guess is that women fell all over themselves trying to impress him. Lindsay couldn’t have cared less. He wasn’t one of her left-wing passion pots. He was just a rich sucker who could buy her things. She didn’t care what he thought, or what he had to say. It made him crazy about her.”

“But that stopped.”

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“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Well, I don’t know what went on in their bedroom.” She snatched a quick, happy eyeful of Gregory. “But you must have heard there was a problem with her performance. I’m sure that didn’t sit well with him. And also, she’s very boring.

She talks about her approach to a character—for hours. Or she gives you a speech on racism or on world hunger. She acts like she’s the only person in the whole world with a conscience—except her boyfriends with Viva Zapata! mustaches. That’s ridiculous. Most of us care. Some of us are charitable. But that’s not how real people talk when they’re getting a seam pinned. Lindsay does, though. She can’t talk about normal things, real life, because she’s dead inside. And in the long run, Sy Spencer was no necrophiliac.”

“That means—” Gregory began.

“I know what it means, Gregory.” I turned back to Myrna.

She was smiling, charmed by Gregory’s earnestness. “What happened after Sy kissed her?”

“Not much. He said he was off to L.A., that he hated to go and he’d miss her terribly. I didn’t believe a word of it.”

“Anything else?” Then I added: “Anything about money?”

“Yes. Right. She said she needed some cash, and he said all he had was the money he needed for the trip, but by that time she was going through his pockets—patting them, like police do—and she took out a wad of bills.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing. He let her have it. My guess is, it had happened before.”

“And then?”

“They both said, ‘I love you, darling,’ ‘I’ll miss you, angel,’

and he left.”

MAGIC HOUR / 327

“Did she seem sad? Upset?”

“Actually? Angry. She held that wad of cash like it was his balls. She squeezed as hard as she could.”

I sat in the office of the Summerview. The night manager had been more than cooperative. She’d stopped just short of curtsying when I’d asked to use the phone, and she’d begged to be allowed to bring me coffee. Either she was a cop groupie or she was running numbers out of there.

Probably numbers.

I called Carbone at home and told him that since I’d been in East Hampton anyway, checking out Bonnie’s friends, I’d dropped over at the Summerview on a hunch; I explained how I’d gotten the catalog creep to admit he’d paid Bonnie off the books, and now I had a witness who’d seen Lindsay dredging in Sy’s pocket and coming up with a bundle of cash, and another who’d taken five hundreds’ worth of twenties she gave him to pay for underwear.

“The case against Bonnie is starting to look feeble,” I remarked. He didn’t respond, which I took as agreement.

I asked if he’d left Robby at the office, still reading files.

Carbone said no, that he’d gone into the squad room right before he’d left and Robby hadn’t been there. One of the other guys had told him Robby had rushed out, as if something was up. Like what, I wanted to know. Carbone hadn’t a clue, but knowing how Robby lacked stamina, maybe he’d just had to hurry and get home and hit the sack.

I hung up feeling edgy. Robby was on a rampage; he’d been enraged enough to lie about my drinking. A guy that crazed doesn’t just go to sleep.

I drove west, toward Bridgehampton, then dipped south of the highway, past Bonnie’s house. No sign of Robby: Thighs had just come on duty and was parked across the street from her place. He was devouring a 328 / SUSAN ISAACS

bologna-and-American-cheese hero; the mayonnaise on his chin glistened in the moonlight. I asked, She turn up yet?

He shook his head.

I had him come inside with me, up to her office. Bonnie had loads of files, but I couldn’t believe it. For a writer, she had no sense of letters; it looked as though she’d never figured out how to alphabetize. Most of her papers were in folders or manila envelopes, but these were stuffed, ran-domly, into drawers or piled on an old-fashioned wooden in/out box. Eventually I found her Sea Change file. My heart started to hammer. I opened the folder as if half expecting it would blow up in my face. But there were Sy’s memo and his note: “Adore it!”

I had Thighs read over my shoulder. I told him the case against Bonnie was falling apart, and he might as well pick up a few points by helping it collapse, bringing in the file showing that although Sy hadn’t written, Sure I’ll make your movie, he hadn’t rejected her screenplay either, not by a long shot. You’re sure you don’t want the points? Thighs asked.

You found this. Hey, I told him, it’s okay, buddy. You’ll be doing me a favor. I don’t need points anymore; I’ve gone as high as I can go in the squad. And all I’ve been doing lately is sabotaging the case against Bonnie. Carbone and Shea already think I’m on some crazy crusade to clear her, and since she’s going to get cleared anyway, you might as well be the hero. I sensed Thighs was no great fan of Robby’s, so I added: I guess you’ve heard Kurz is nipping at my ass on this one. He wants to nail her. I’d appreciate it if you could help me out. Thighs said, My pleasure.

Good: I wanted a witness that the memo and Sy’s note really existed. I couldn’t believe that if Robby came back