Ellipsis by Stephen Greenleaf Read Free Book Online Page A

exactly hard up.”
    â€œI invested my money wisely, mostly in real estate. I bought houses out in the avenues for fifty thousand bucks, cash, and now I rent them for three thousand a month. Also cash. Plus the French contracts provide me with thirty thousand a year in mad money. And I’ve known some generous men in my time.” She laughed dryly. “Though not lately, except for the poor addled idiot who sends all these flowers.”
    I adjusted my position. “I have to ask you something, I’m afraid,” I said with a surprising degree of embarrassment.
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œHave you been making threats against Chandelier Wells?”
    Her brow peaked like an alp. “What kind of threats are you talking about?”
    â€œBodily harm. Violent death. Murder and mayhem and assorted misfortunes.”
    She looked at me more closely. “You’re serious, I believe.”
    â€œAfraid so.”
    â€œWell, I can’t say I’m sorry that Chandelier has some terror on her plate at the moment. But, no. I’m not making threats. To her or to anyone else.”
    â€œCan you think of someone who might be?”
    â€œYou mean except the poor schmucks who pay hard-earned money to read her wretched prose?”
    I grinned. “Except them.”
    â€œWell, she’s gone through lots of men, and she’s made a ton of money, and she’s backed some fairly extreme political causes, plus she’s a sour, evil person.” She reconsidered her list and smiled. “But I suppose you were speaking specifically.”
    â€œYes, I was.”
    â€œThen no. I’m the likeliest suspect I know, but I have an alibi.”
    â€œWhich is?”
    â€œMy revenge against Chandelier is reserved for my memoirs.”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œOh, yes.”
    â€œWhich will be published when?”
    â€œWhen I’m dead and buried, Mr. Tanner. Which will be well into the next century if I have anything to say about it. And I believe I’ll have quite a bit to say, don’t you?”

Chapter 6
    The women were there when I arrived at the restaurant and had managed to commandeer the best table in the place—I guess that’s the sort of skill you develop by dining out in New York on a regular basis. Enrico’s was loud and lively as always, and chichi and clean and efficient as not often of late until the recent makeover by the new management.
    The weather had cooperated, so it was as good a day as occurs in the city in February, warm enough to dine alfresco, sunny enough to wear shades, and clear enough for the bay to sparkle like a blue bank of snow and the hills to be observed lurking on all sides like kindly chaperons. The complex smells from the kitchen and the carefree banter from the throng strolling by on the sidewalk added to the sense of perfection.
    The only one of the women I’d met previously was Lark McLaren, but even if I hadn’t seen her at Chandelier’s, I’d have known she was the one who was local. Garbed in black from head to toe not excluding lips and fingernails, sheathed in long-sleeved and floor-length dresses that flattened every contour below the jawline, draped with capes and scarves of similar tints and functions, the two New Yorkers looked as if they had just come from a funeral of someone who didn’t matter very much. My faded corduroys and threadbare tweeds looked cutting edge in comparison to the Easterners’ monochromatic garb, which made me wonder why such high-powered women would choose to dress as similarly as sheep. As for Lark, she looked swell in a bright print dress that didn’t try to erase all evidence of her gender.
    Although their outfits suggested they were twins, beneath their macabre couture the New Yorkers were distinctly different. Amber Adams, the agent, was large, buxom, and brash and wasn’t bashful about any of it. In contrast, Sally Rinehart, the editor, was slim to