If Dying Was All by Ron Goulart Read Free Book Online Page B

no.”
    The girl smiled a narrow, quick smile. “You don’t even look like a show business person at all. You have a non-rat aura.”
    “I’m John Easy. I’m a private investigator,” he told her. “I’d like to talk to you.”
    “Wait. Private detectives come perilously close to the rat category.”
    Tm working for Frederic McCleary.”
    Judy Teller brought her glass down from in front of her face and half turned to him. “You mean Jackie McCleary’s father?”
    “Yes. I understand you were a friend of hers.”
    Judy smiled another quick smile. “My God, back when I was some tough, little broad from Queens named Adrienne Grossman. I didn’t do anything right then. I didn’t talk right. I didn’t walk right. I didn’t look right.”
    “Jackie’s father has received a letter from her.”
    The slim redhead’s hands tightened on her glass. She inclined her head toward an alcove where a narrow sofa was unoccupied. “A letter from Jackie? What did she say?” She moved to the striped sofa and sat down.
    “Have you heard from her?” Easy joined her.
    “From Jackie?” Judy finished her drink and hailed a passing serving boy for another. When she had it, she said, “My God, that would be impossible. Jackie McCleary is dead. Five years dead. As dead as poor dumb Adrienne Grossman from Rego Park, Queens.”
    “Is she?”
    “Yes, of course.”
    “Who wrote the letter to McCleary then?”
    The pretty girl shook her head. “Ask me about show biz, about who’s doing what to whom. I haven’t any idea about who’d write letters to Jackie’s father.”
    “Can you think of a reason why?”
    “No.” Judy drank half of her new gin and tonic. “McCleary wasn’t especially nice to Jackie. She hated him. Maybe one of her old friends decided to pay him back.”
    “Pay him back for what?”
    “He gave Jackie a rough time as a father,” said Judy. “Tried to make her feel she was free, but kept a tight grip on her at the same time. She had a terrific fight with him before she got her own place down in San Amaro. He’d call her up and tell her she was killing him, being away from home. He’d get lushed up and tell her he was dying. He was something of a rat to her.”
    “You were on the rented yacht,” said Easy.
    Judy finished this drink. “That I don’t want to talk about. That was one of the many unhappy events in Adrienne Grossman’s dumb life, and I’m not Adrienne Grossman anymore. I don’t have to relive all that anymore. For anyone.” She rested one slender hand on his leg. “Look, I’m good at quick judging people. I think you’re a non-rat. Stay that way, please.”
    Easy asked, “Did you know Booth Graither?”
    “Who?”
    “Booth Graither.”
    “He’s not show business, is he?”
    “He’s five years dead,” said Easy. “Just like Jackie.”
    The pretty redhead’s hand tightened on his leg. “Easy,” she said. “Easy, you keep walking the fine line between rat and non-rat. No, I don’t know any Booth Graither, living or dead.”
    Easy took the beach photo from his coat. “There’s Graither. The one to the right of Jackie. That’s you, to her left.”
    The red-haired girl caught the eye of a starving boy and pointed to her empty glass. She didn’t take notice of the picture until she held a fresh drink. “Hold it up closer.” She kept one hand on Easy, sliding it nervously up and down the inner side of his leg. “Yes, there’s poor, pigeon-toed Adrienne Grossman. Look at her, nearly twenty-five there and she’s still got a touch of acne. Which one did you say was supposed to be Booth Graither?”
    “Smiling guy on the other side of Jackie.”
    “Yes,” said Judy. “I read about his being found on San Obito Island. He must be some boy Jackie was dating then. You know, most of the men in the world are neither rats nor non-rats. They’re nebbishes who fall between the two schools. Them I never pay attention to.”
    “No idea why he was on San