The Paper Detective. E. Joan Sims

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      Mother waved me off with, “Have fun, dear. And put on some lipstick!”

      The little “hole in the wall” tavern he’d described was closing when I got there. I had driven faster than the law allowed and actually arrived early, but it looked like I was too late. I cursed my luck once again as I slowly circled the block looking for Bert’s old beat-up jeep. When I couldn’t see it anywhere, I decided to park across the street on the off chance that he was still inside. I pointed Watson’s nose in the direction of the bar and turned off the engine. I watched the door as stragglers came out. I hadn’t been waiting long when suddenly Watson’s back door opened and a man climbed inside.

      “Start the car and head back out of town,” he barked.

      After my heart came back out of my throat, I recognized Bert’s voice and hurried to obey.

      “You scared me to death! Did you have to scare me to death? Couldn’t you think of another way to shorten my life, like give me the plague, or something? My heart’s still pounding.”

      “I can’t hear you, Paisley. I left my hearing aid at home.”

      “How very convenient. How absolutely and astonishingly handy to have a hearing aid you can put on only when you’re ready to participate in a relationship. Meanwhile, I have to swallow your crap because you left your ears at home.”

      “Turn here,” he said quietly. It was obvious he hadn’t heard a word of my diatribe.

      I took the turn much too fast and was gratified to see him disappear from sight in the rearview mirror while he fought to keep his balance. I yearned for another corner, but he directed me to a narrow driveway on a dark side street. I pulled in and drove slowly all the way to the back. The drive ended in front of a small white bungalow that had seen better days. There was no light inside or outside. Only the pale reflection of the quarter moon kept the night from being pitch black.

      I turned around and faced him so he could read my lips in the moonlight. I was still somewhat miffed. After all, I thought, just who did he think he was? I opened my mouth to ask him that, when he cut me off for the second time that night.

      “Someone tried to kill me yesterday,” he said matter-of-factly.

      “Wha…what?”

      “You heard me, Paisley. There’s nothing wrong with your hearing.”

      “Yes, but…”

      “But what?” he spat. “You can’t believe it? Why not? You set me up. You paid me five thousand dollars to become a target. Now every unbalanced maniac who’s read one of your books and wants to go mano a mano with Leonard is gunning for me. And thanks to your fancy dressed little buddy, they know what I look like and where I live.”

      “But Pam wouldn’t…”

      “Oh, yes, she would. She did. Now I’m ‘www.leonardmurder.com’ and every nutcase online can look me up on the Internet and find a picture of my cabin. Hell, they can even see my poor old dog up close and personal!”

      Bert slammed his right fist into the palm of his left hand and cursed loudly and colorfully. I was impressed.

      “You must have some seafaring friends,” I remarked.

      He looked intently at me for a long moment and then burst out laughing. Soon we were both cackling like two old hens. It wasn’t long before my laughter turned to tears. I bit on my mittened thumbs and tried to stop. It seemed that all I ever did around this man was cry. He was tired of it, too.

      “For heaven’s sake, Paisley, quit sniveling. The bullet missed me by a mile. Murphy warned me at the last minute.”

      He was silent for a moment as he let that sink in. I stopped sniffing and wiped my eyes on my coat sleeve.

      “The nutcase didn’t fare so well,” he added tersely. “I got him right between the eyes.”

      “Oh,” I said in a very small voice. “Who was he?”

      “Not much of his face left to identify.”

      I fought to keep my dinner down while I pondered that information.

      “Then how do you know he was a Leonard fan? Don’t you have enemies coming out of the woodwork? Death threats for breakfast? Weren’t you expecting something like this?”

      “Not quite like this. I expected trouble, but from the family of a kid I put away for bank robbery. The one who shot me last year. His drunken dad and four big brothers swore they’d get even. But I suspect that life is so much more pleasant with their little juvenile delinquent behind bars they’ve forgiven me. Anyway, this guy was a professional. He had no identification in his pockets, no driver’s license, no credit cards, and the labels were cut out of all his clothes. He didn’t want anybody to be able to trace him.”

      “Then how do you know he was after Leonard and not you?”

      “This was in his jacket.”

      Bert handed me a dog-eared piece of paper. I turned on the map light and opened it out. It was a page from Pen and Ink with a color photograph of Bert looking handsome and sleuthlike in his black turtleneck and tweed jacket.

      Chapter Ten

      Bert offered to buy me a cup of coffee, but I could tell he was only being polite. We both had our reasons for wanting to part company and get home as soon as possible. He was clearly still angry, and I was desperate to talk to Pam. I couldn’t believe that she would be so careless as to allow personal information on Leonard’s Web page. She had always been very careful about my privacy; why wasn’t she that concerned about Bert’s?

      I drove him back to the outskirts of town where he had left his car. We said a very dry and sterile farewell to each other. He got in his Jeep and drove away without a backward glance.

      All the way home I puzzled over our conversation. I had to agree that having your dog splashed all over the information superhighway would be very disturbing. It invited the unhealthy attention of unstable fans or worse. But to be fair, I couldn’t remember the article saying anything remotely specific. My memory was that it only referred to his vacation abode being a log cabin on a lake. Anybody who found him from that sparse a description would have to be a better detective than Leonard himself.

      Even though it was after midnight when I got home, I called Pam right away.

      “Paisley? Wha…what in the world? Is Cassie all right?”

      “Yes, Cassie is fine,” I answered dryly.

      “You’re not still mad about Helga are you?”

      “Helga? Oh, Blondie. No, well, I don’t know. It depends. Was she the idiot who put Bert’s cabin on the Web page?”

      Pam groaned loudly. “I was afraid you would be angry about that. I tried to talk the editor out of it, but he was so gung ho after reading the article, he said he wanted to capitalize on Leonard’s interview. Atkins showed that picture to Helga at the hotel. I guess he forgot to get it back when he left. Is Bert really mad?”

      “Only because someone went out to his cabin СКАЧАТЬ