Murder at Ford's Theatre by Margaret Truman Read Free Book Online

sure. Annabel accepted it and said, “We were just talking about what happened this morning.”
    “There’s nothing else to talk about,” he said, leaning against file cabinets. “Or think about. That’s all I’ve been doing.” He shifted his oversized body against the cabinets and flicked a drop of perspiration from the side of his nose with a finger. “I must tell you, Clarise, that I knew she was working here.”
    “You knew, and didn’t tell me?”
    “I didn’t want to hurt you, Clarise. She helped me out a few times on some of the large fund-raising mailings we’ve been doing lately. She seemed like a really nice girl, willing to pitch in, not like some of the others who hang around here. All they want is the creative end of the theatre. Don’t even mention the business side. But she was always willing to give me a hand when I got backed up. You know, add columns of figures, get fund-raising letters ready to go out, things like that.” Tears formed in his eyes and he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. “I’m sorry. I’ve never been close to a murder before. And somebody I know.”
    “You knew who she was, Bernard?” Clarise asked, incredulous.
    “Not at first. When someone mentioned to me that she was the girl who—well, you know, was rumored to have had some sort of relationship with Senator Lerner, I told her to leave. I told her that it was insensitive and even foolish to come here to Ford’s Theatre, knowing you were in charge. I’m afraid I was pretty harsh with her.”
    “Well,” said Clarise, “at least you did the right thing. The gall, the arrogance of her, wanting to work here. It’s inconceivable, but judging from what I read about her, it shouldn’t be a surprise.”
    The phone, which had rung almost continuously while Annabel was with Clarise, was picked up by someone else in the small building. That someone else came up the stairs and handed Clarise a sheaf of phone message slips. She perused them and said, “Just about all from media wanting interviews. The ghouls are on the prowl. I’d opt for a secluded, sunny island right about now.”
    “I can’t offer that,” said Annabel, “but sunsets from our terrace are pretty nice. How about getting out of here early? Like now, for instance?”
    “Good idea,” Clarise said.
    Crowley said, “Sunny islands don’t appeal to me, not with my fair skin. I’ve already had a dozen skin cancers burned or cut off. For me, I’d like a quiet, dark bar where they pour big drinks.”
    “I can offer that, too,” Annabel said brightly. “You’ll have to put up with a big dog—we have Rufus, a blue Great Dane—but he doesn’t drink much.”
    Crowley laughed.
    “I mean it,” said Annabel. “Clarise is coming for dinner, and you should, too.”
    “I wouldn’t want to—”
    “You work for me, Bernard,” Clarise said, “and I say you join me at the Smiths’ for dinner. That’s an order.”
    “Yes, ma’am. Give me five minutes to close up my office.”
    “Oh, and take these,” Clarise said, handing him a dozen checks she’d signed while talking with Annabel.
    “He’s been a godsend,” Clarise said once Crowley was out of earshot. “Finances were in disarray when I got here. He arrived and quickly put everything in order. He’s like a human computer. Every cent accounted for, bottom line solid for the first time in ages.”
    “How did you find him?”
    “A search firm. He was controller for a string of movie theatres in the Midwest. He took a pay cut to come here, which concerned me. But he said he wanted to work in a place where things mattered, where money was put to good use, like this theatre. I suppose being single helped in his decision. Less overhead and obligations. He seems to spend his life here, sometimes all night, and weekends. At any rate, Annabel, having him here has certainly made my life easier. Whoever replaces me will inherit a top-notch controller.”
    “Once you’re confirmed to head