Death Was in the Picture by Linda L. Richards Read Free Book Online Page A

a flour-dipped baby. “Well,” I reminded him hesitatingly, “there wasmaybe a lot you didn’t see. You said the bedroom door was closed.”
    “Still, I saw a lot of Wyndham through the evening. And he didn’t look like he was fixing to snuff out anyone’s lights.”
    “So what do we do?” I asked.
    “What makes you think we have to do anything?”
    I shrugged. “Dunno, really. It just seems like you know more than most of the people that were there. And you’re a professional. You know what to look for.”
    Dex smiled. “You’re a sweet kid, Kitty. I like having you around. I don’t tell you that enough. You brighten the place up. But, in this thing? I just don’t know that there’s anything that can be done. Least of all by us.”
    I squirmed a bit under the unexpected compliment. “Thanks,” I sort of stammered. But I could tell Dex wasn’t listening. He seemed to have gone away somewhere quiet where he could think deeply. I read while he pondered. Finally, he spoke again. “You know, this thing with the papers. It’s all a bit too pat.”
    I had no idea what he was talking about. I said so. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” is what I said.
    “Well, how is it that the newspapers loved Wyndham yesterday. And they loved him all this time. Then, suddenly, he’s got horns and a tail?”
    “He’s accused of a pretty horrible thing, Dex.”
    “Still. That ain’t enough. The studios care for their own, Kitty. There’s lots of things we don’t read about in the papers. Things that’d curl your hair. The studios fix it. They hush things up. Happens all the time.”
    I was skeptical. “How do you know that?”
    “Hell: lookit what I do for a living. And I talk to other P.I.s. It’s even a job I’ve had on occasion: making things go away.”
    “So what are you saying?”
    He stroked what would become a full beard if he didn’t seeto it soon. “What am I saying? Good question. I’m not sure yet. I’ll have to give it some more thought. Meanwhile, do you think it’s possible Wyndham got on the wrong side of someone?”
    I was aware of looking at Dex carefully. Of cocking my head to one side like a dog listening. Something must have resonated. “What do you mean?” was what I said.
    He pulled the newspaper toward him, read the lurid headline, slapped it back down on the desk. “Well, lookit, Kitty: they’re calling him a murderer. No pussfootin’ around.”
    “So you’re saying … what? That someone at the paper has it out for him?” There must have been a skeptical note in my voice.
    “I’m just sayin’ it’s a possibility, is all.”
    “Anyway,” I pointed out, aiming for a reasonable tone, “it was your job to follow him and you did that. With him in jail, I guess your job is done.”
    “What does it say in the paper about evidence?”
    “What evidence?”
    “That’s what I mean. If the cops bundled him off to the can, they must have had some reason for thinking it was him.”
    I bent back to the paper for a bit. Scanned here and there through the stories about Wyndham. “No,” I said after a while. “Nothing specific. I mean, the cops arrested him, right? You know they’ve got some kind of evidence. But they’re not saying what it is here.”
    Dex looked thoughtful but didn’t say anything. Everything that needed saying between us had been said.
    “Guess I’ll get back to work, Dex. Holler if you need anything?”
    “Well you could try Xander Dean again,” he said. “Other than that, I’m OK.”
    The second time I tried Dean’s number brought the same response: a lot of ringing. I would maybe have tried again, justto make sure I hadn’t misdialed, but I heard the sound of flat-foots snuffling toward the office and I replaced the receiver.
    In fairness, there is probably no way I could have known it was flatfoots. But it seems to me I could hear a certain bold incompetence in those footsteps and a certain confidence combined with weakness of