Carter & Lovecraft by Jonathan L. Howard Read Free Book Online

boyfriend to buy it for you , thought Carter.
    “Emily, we need to get moving,” said Rothwell. “One of the donors can’t stay for the fund-raiser, so I need to talk to her before it starts. That’s why I’m here early.”
    “Okay. Okay. I’ll lock up.”
    Carter had been intending to drive back to Red Hook the same evening, but the idea seemed less appealing now. “What time are you in tomorrow?” he asked Emily. “We can plan what to do with this place.”
    “Plan?”
    “You’re invested in this store, I’m not. You have to get a say in what happens to it; it’s only right.”
    “Oh.” The thought that the store wasn’t just going to be taken away from her had clearly not crossed her mind. This small revelation seemed to put some heart back into her. “I’ll be in by half past eight.”
    “Great, I’ll see you then. Are there any good hotels around here?”
    “Not really. You’d have to drive a ways.” She considered. “There’s a sports shop across the street. If you get yourself a sleeping bag, you could sleep here. In the apartment. There’s a bed, so you wouldn’t be on the floor, but the bedding’s been in the cupboard all this time. Sleeping bag would be best. Yeah, I’d need to see your papers before I can let you do that, though.”
    Carter nodded. He wanted to look the place over anyway, and there was still some daylight. He couldn’t imagine wanting to sleep in a musty apartment, but he was curious to see what was up there. If it was all spiders and Miss Havisham’s wedding feast, he’d go to a hotel.
    “ You need to get ready,” warned Rothwell. “You go, I’ll check Mr. Carter’s papers.” Emily looked like she was going to protest, but he was having none of it. “C’mon! Grab your stuff and go. I’ll pick you up in half an hour. Can you be ready by then?”
    “My hair—”
    “Looks great. Go!”
    She allowed herself to be cajoled to the door, where he relieved her of the store’s keys, kissed her, and shooed her out into the street.
    The door closed, and she was gone.
    Rothwell came back, and Carter made a guess from his body language that they were heading into all guys together territory.
    “Okay,” said Ken, smiling a smile he’d gotten out of a can, “let’s get this cleared up. You’ve got the documentation on you, yeah?”
    He leaned on the counter as he spoke and grazed Carter’s personal space without intruding into it. It was the sort of trick they taught at half-assed “being a people person” workshops. Carter knew the next move would be to attempt to form intimacy by finding common ground. He wasn’t sure why Rothwell cared so much about being in Carter’s good books. He probably could have bought Carter a dozen times over without scratching his fortune.
    At times like this, Carter felt a small and brutal comfort in the weight of his Glock 19 sitting in its Blackhawk paddle holster at his waist. It was a stupid source of confidence, he knew. He could hardly draw on somebody just for being a dick—the gun would hardly ever be holstered if that were the case—but just having the option kept him calm at times like this, because he didn’t want to be the guy who drew on somebody just for being a dick.
    Instead, he took the wad of documents from his inside pocket and spread them on the countertop. He even managed to smile while doing it.
    Rothwell didn’t spend very long going through them. He had already decided Carter’s claim was probably legitimate, it was plain. He was just going through them for appearances, and to cull a few facts.
    “Came up from Red Hook, huh? How were the roads?”
    Carter considered saying he had no idea; he’d come in his personal Learjet. Instead he said the drive was uneventful.
    “What do you do, Mr. Carter?”
    “Private investigator” was one of those job titles people hesitate before saying. It carries baggage, and both sides of a conversation know it. The only thing the PI doesn’t know is whether