First Kill by Lawrence Kelter Read Free Book Online Page B

I just want to eat and go to bed.”
    “Jean Paul will fix you up something nice and hot. You’ll feel better with a belly full of good food.”
    “Excellent, and the quicker the better. The drive up from the city was horrendous. I’m completely frazzled.”
    A busboy was setting a table for two. Brigitte snapped her fingers. The busboy looked up and cleared one of the place settings. Brigitte offered Hartley the menu after he had been seated. “Not necessary,” he said. “I know what I want.”
    “Yes, of course. What would you like?”
    “Spinach salad and the organic salmon.”
    “Yes, very good. Can I bring you something to drink?”
    “Just bubbly water.”
    “Done. Your first course will be right out.” As she raced off, she pointed at the nearest waiter. “Perrier for Mr. Hartley, right away.”
    Hartley pressed his back against the chair and felt the tension release from his spine. The couple that Brigitte had abruptly disregarded in order to seat him was staring at him in a manner that made him feel odd. He looked away when the waiter approached to fill his water glass. “Good evening, Mr. Hartley. Is there anything I can get for you?”
    “His dinner, Kevin,” said the chef, Jean Paul, who had just stepped up behind the waiter. “His salad is up. Don’t keep our guest waiting.” Kevin withdrew to the kitchen, and Hartley stood as Jean Paul approached the table. “Cronan, my friend, where is your lovely wife, Claire?”
    “She’s in West Palm Beach for the winter.”
    He nodded to express his understanding. “While you work like a dog. But tell me … spinach salad and salmon? Lovely choices, but where is your appetite? No oysters? No fire-roasted lamb?”
    “That was the old Cronan,” he replied self-effacingly. “Doctor’s orders.”
    “How about some scotch? I just opened a bottle of Lagavulin? That will set you right.”
    Hartley met the offer with bloodshot eyes and a defeated sigh. “Gout.”
    ~~~
    The valet brought Hartley’s Rolls Royce around to the restaurant entrance. Hartley tipped him a twenty and pulled the door closed on his own. “Call Claire,” he said aloud. His instructions were met with the actuation of the cabin speaker system. He could hear the phone dialing as he sped down Chapel Street.
    “Cronan, love, how was dinner at Union Circle?”
    “Ha! Are you having me followed?”
    Claire Hartley laughed. “No, Darling, no one is following you. Phoenicia Cortland called me. She said you barged into the restaurant and went right to your table, ignoring her and her husband completely.”
    “The Cortlands? Do I know them?”
    “You should. You met them at the yacht club this summer.” Claire gave it a moment to sink in. “They were the ones speaking to Brigitte when you confiscated the table that was being set for them.”
    “ Oh my. I was almost out on my feet. I honestly didn’t remember their faces. That’s why I’m calling you now. I’m going to bed the moment I get in.”
    “Then sweet dreams, love. I’m off to play mahjong with the girls. Kisses .” A pop emanated from the speaker as the call disconnected.
    Hartley drove the rest of the trip in silence. He was weary and needed his full concentration to navigate the winding roads in the dark. He had just cleared the estate entrance gates when he felt a cold, steel edge against his throat and heard the mocking voice coming from the rear seat. “I’m glad you enjoyed your last meal, Cronan … Kisses! ”

Chapter Twelve
    A light snow had fallen overnight leaving a thin, white blanket on the Central Park lawn . It had snowed just enough to be pretty but not heavily enough to make a mess—the snow on the paths had already melted. Saturday morning in Manhattan: the day had that right-with-the-world feeling. Crisp air pinched my cheeks as I lifted a cup of coffee to my lips. “So tell me all about yourself.”
    Steve Farrell looked decidedly more casual in his jeans and corduroy jacket. He kicked a