Cold Morning by Ed Ifkovic Read Free Book Online Page B

the young prosecuting attorney, Attorney General David Wilentz, who looked spiffy with slicked-back hair and a broad smile. A short history of the storied Herndon County Courthouse, where the drama was being played out. The brutal death of Annabel Biggs was a random footnote, noted but dismissed.
    That rankled.
    Aleck nudged me. “Edna, the testimony begins shortly. We have our coveted seats.” He withdrew a card from a breast pocket, waved it at me. I noticed it was food-stained, tattered at the corner. He glowed. “Official Pass. Hauptmann Trial. Signed by John H. Curtiss, Sheriff of Hunterdon County.” He pointed to a line of boxes at the bottom. An X was checked next to “Press.”
    â€œDid you lose yours, dear? These slips of paper are worth their weight in gold.”
    I scarcely listened to him. “I have something to do, Aleck. You head back into the courtroom. I’ll be there shortly.”
    â€œYour seat will be taken by—maybe James Cagney. Or Jack Benny or Jack Dempsey. I heard they’re all here today.”
    â€œThey’ll stand for a lady.”
    â€œI would, too—if I ever chance to meet one.” A suppressed belch. “I’ll send you a wire when I do.”
    I hurried to the café, which, at this time of day was filled with folks, every table occupied. A group of men waited to be seated. Standing in the doorway, I searched for a familiar face, but the young waiters rushing about were men I hadn’t seen before. I waved, and one approached me, looking irritated.
    â€œA table’ll be free shortly, ma’am.” He pointed at the waiting men, but didn’t look into my face, turning away quickly, headed to the kitchen.
    I put my hand out to stop him. “A minute, young man.”
    He turned back, his voice brusque. “We’re very busy.”
    â€œI see that. Business as usual.”
    Perplexed, he waited. “Yes?”
    â€œMay I please speak with the manager, Mr. Horace—” I hesitated. “—Tripp, I believe.”
    â€œHe’s in back.”
    â€œI can wait.”
    But within seconds Horace Tripp flew out of the kitchen, hurled orders as he moved through tables, and approached me. “Miss Ferber?” He bit his lip. “A problem?”
    But before I could say anything, the kitchen door swung open, and his wife, Martha, wiping her hands on an apron, joined him, standing so close her shoulder touched his. Her hand reached out and grazed his, though involuntarily he pulled his away. A warning, I thought—she is telling him something.
    â€œI just learned about the sad end of one of your waitresses,” I began, watching both of their faces close up. When Horace cleared his throat, ready to say something, Martha cast a sidelong glance at him, then stared directly into my face.
    â€œWe’ve been told by management not to alarm the guests,” Horace whispered.
    â€œI’m a guest and I’m already alarmed.”
    â€œBut why?” Horace wondered. “Did you know…?”
    â€œNo, not at all. But we had a brief talk in here, and I…well, I remembered her.” I breathed in. “Such a gruesome end. Sad.” I waited.
    Husband and wife looked at each other. “We only know what the cops told us.” Horace’s voice was hesitant, scratchy.
    â€œWhich is?”
    Again the furtive glance, one to the other. Horace stepped closer, and I noticed a bead of sweat on his brow, an imperfection on the nightclub gigolo. But Martha spoke up. “Sorry, Miss Ferber. We don’t know much. This Cody Lee Thomas—a man who’d stopped in before, a big man, crude, rough—interrupted her service, though she shrugged him off. They had a brief argument with Annabel finally shoving him away. He made threats—you know how angry people do that.” Martha locked eyes with mine. “Men get carried away.”
    â€œBut what