The Burglar Who Liked to Quote Kipling - By Lawrence Block Page 0,43
killed her first and started looking for the book and came up empty. Except the apartment didn’t look as though it had been searched. It looked as neat as ever, except for the body on the love seat. When I came to, I mean. There was no body there tonight.”
“How about the trunk of the Pontiac?”
I gave her a look. “They did leave chalkmarks, though. On the love seat and the floor, to outline where the body was. It was sort of spooky.” I picked up the book and took it and my drink to the chair. Archie was curled up in it. I put down the book and the drink and moved him and sat down, and he hopped onto my lap and looked on with interest as I picked up the book again and leafed through it.
“I swear he can read,” Carolyn said. “Ubi’s not much on books but Archie loves to read over my shoulder. Or under my shoulder, come to think of it.”
“A cat ought to like Kipling,” I said. “Remember the Just So Stories? ‘I am the cat who walks by himself, and all places are alike to me.’ ”
Archie purred like a handsaw.
“When I met you,” I said, “I figured you’d have dogs.”
“I’d rather go to them than have them. What made you think I was a dog person?”
“Well, the shop.”
“The Poodle Factory?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, what choice did I have, Bernie? I couldn’t open a cat-grooming salon, for Christ’s sake. Cats groom themselves.”
“That’s a point.”
I read a little more of the book. Something bothered me. I flipped back to the flyleaf and read the handwritten inscription to H. Rider Haggard. I pictured Kipling at his desk in Surrey, dipping his pen, leaning over the book, inscribing it to his closest friend. I closed the book, turned it over and over in my hands.
“Something wrong?”
I shook my head, set the book aside, dispossessed Archie, stood up. “I’m like the cats,” I announced, “and it’s time I set about grooming myself. I’m going to take a shower.”
A while later I was sitting in the chair again. I was wearing clean clothes and I’d had a nice close shave with my own razor.
“I could get a paper,” Carolyn offered. “It’s after eleven. The Times must be out by now. The first edition.”
We’d just heard the news and there wasn’t anything about the Porlock murder. I pointed out that there wouldn’t very likely be anything in the paper, either.
“Our ad’ll be in, Bern. In the Personals.”
“Where’s the nearest newsstand open at this hour?”
“There’s one on Greenwich Avenue but they don’t get the early Times because they close around one or two. There’s an all-night stand at the subway entrance at Fourteenth and Eighth.”
“That’s too far.”
“I don’t mind a walk.”
“It’s still raining and it’s too far anyway, and why do we have to look at the ad?”
“To make sure it’s there, I suppose.”
“No point. Either somebody’ll see it or they won’t, and either the phone’ll ring or it won’t, and all we can do is wait and see what happens.”
“I suppose so.” She sounded wistful. “It just seems as though there ought to be something active we can do.”
“The night’s been active enough for me already.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“I feel like a little blissful inactivity, to tell you the truth. I feel like sitting here feeling clean. I feel like having maybe one more drink in a few minutes and then getting ready for bed. I don’t even know if people really read Personal ads in the Times, but I’m fairly sure they don’t race for the bulldog edition so they can read about missing heirs and volunteers wanted for medical experiments.”
“True.”
“I’m afraid so. The phone’s not going to ring for a while, Carolyn.”
So of course it picked that minute to ring.
We looked at each other. Nobody moved and it went on ringing. “You get it,” she said.
“Why me?”
“Because it’s about the ad.”
“It’s not about the ad.”
“Of course it’s about the ad. What else would it be?”
“Maybe it’s a wrong number.”
“Bernie, for God’s sake…”
I got up and answered the phone. I didn’t say anything for a second, and then I said, “Hello.”
No answer.
I said hello a few more times, giving the word the same flat reading each time, and I’d have gotten more of a response from Archie. I stared at the receiver for a moment, said “Hello” one final time, then said “Goodbye” and hung up.
“Interesting conversation,” Carolyn said.
“It’s good I answered it. It really made a difference.”