Even the Butler Was Poor by Ron Goulart Read Free Book Online

since. Although my room is next to his, I didn't hear what they chatted about. I'm not above eavesdropping, but this time they spoke in very low tones. Even a water glass against the wall didn't help." He bowed again to H.J., deftly taking back his bouquet and hiding it away again. "Now I must go inside and catch my favorite soap opera. Nice to meet you in person, sir." Nodding at Ben, he started up the path to the house.
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    "P izza," commented H.J. as she shifted impatiently on her side of the green booth, "never before struck me as the sort of food one savored."
    "We've only been sitting in this place about eleven minutes and they only served us six minutes ago." He returned to slicing his wedge of mushroom pizza with knife and fork. "Relax."
    "You're also the only person I know who eats pizza with a fork." She wiped at her palm with her crumpled checkered napkin. "Everyone else on the face of the Earth grabs it with their hand."
    "I had a real high-class upbringing, sister," he said in his Dead End Kid voice.
    "Could you perhaps speed it up? I'm all finished and I would like to get over to the Little Chapel in the Ditch before sundown. We shouldn't even have stopped for lunch now."
    "Missing meals isn't good for you." He chewed a bite of pizza, slowly. "And eating too fast causes stress."
    "Eating fast doesn't hurt anybody. The whole damn country is devoted to wolfing down their food as rapidly as they can. My Man Chumley, for whom you'll be prostituting your talent tomorrow, boasts that they'll serve you in under two minutes or refund your—"
    "Let me change the subject." He cut himself another small bite of pizza. "What do you say to our heading back to Port Jeff and hopping aboard the first available ferry for home?"
    "What I say is no."
    "Suppose—despite what Mrs. Farber says Dr. Weinberg told her— suppose McAuliffe was murdered, too?"
    "At first, when she told us he was dead, I suspected that's what did happen," admitted H.J. "But then I used my powers of reason. See, McAuliffe died way before Rick did. And there is no reason to believe anybody knew two or three days ago that he was hiding something valuable for Rick. They probably still don't know that."
    "Be that as it may, the idea of stealing Buggsy out of the coffin makes me uneasy."
    "Ben, it isn't even, technically, stealing at all. Because Rick wanted me to have whatever it is he stashed in Buggsy's hollow leg. I mean, his reciting all that clop clop stuff in the Eastport Mall is practically a living will."
    Ben said, "Things look to be getting increasingly complicated and dangerous."
    "Finish your damn pizza," she advised.

Chapter 8
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    T he foyer of the funeral parlor smelled of flowers and furniture polish. The pink fountain at the center of the small oval room wasn't functioning properly and every few seconds a spurt of scented water shot up almost to the domed, pale green ceiling. Weak, forlorn, organ music was drifting out of two small dangling speakers.
    A very old man in a wrinkled black suit was slumped, arms dangling and eyes shut, in one of the three straight back chairs that lined the far wall. A net shopping bag beside his chair had slumped, too, and spilled three oranges and a tin of deviled ham onto the hardwood flooring.
    Tugging at Ben's arm, H.J. led him over to the announcement board on the wall to their right. "C'mon, kick up your pace," she urged in an exasperated whisper. "We're almost to our goal."
    "We're almost into the hoosegow for violating a tomb."
    "That only applies to Egypt, when you go break into a pyramid." She scanned the listings in white plastic lettering on the board. "There he is—McAuliffe, Reposing Room 3. They didn't give Buggsy any billing."
    He leaned closer to her. "Let's go home. I can loan you the $5000."
    "It's always a bad mistake to borrow money from a former mate." She shook her head. "Besides, Ben, I really am caught up in the mystery now."
    Saying nothing further, he accompanied her