Never Street by Loren D. Estleman Read Free Book Online Page B

solid marble of a small curly-haired boy pouring water from an urn and lifted it one-handed. “It’s all right if you don’t like the place. My first two wives pronounced it hideous.”
    “It’s different.”
    “That’s the diplomatic answer. It’s a sure-fire litmus test for detecting phonies. They get all wet over it. One of them asked me for the name of my decorator.” He laughed; a short, hard sound, like metal striking concrete.
    “If they fail the test, do you refuse to do business?”
    “Not really. As a matter of fact, in this business the straight shooters are the hardest to handle. Are you a straight shooter, Mr. Walker?”
    “I miss four times out of ten.”
    “In baseball you’d be batting six hundred. In business—” He shrugged the shrug morticians shrug when the conversation turns to death.
    At his invitation, I sat in a wingback chair covered in imitation zebra skin. This put me an inch or two below him when he took his throne. That was okay. I wouldn’t recognize equal footing if I had it.
    “What can you tell me about the meeting Catalin walked out on?” I asked.
    A gilt Diana stood on one foot on a corner of the big desk, notching an arrow into her bow. Webb stroked the point with a fingertip. “It was just Neil and me. I don’t remember what we were talking about specifically, just the usual Tuesday bull session: future projects, old business, how to avoid paying Michigan’s chickenshit single-business tax and stay out of court. Nothing for either one of us to get our shorts into a wad over.”
    “That’s what you were talking about when he walked out?”
    “You’ve used that phrase twice, ‘walked out.’ It’s a poor fit for someone like Neil. If he were standing on the edge of a cliff and you pushed him, he’d just go ahead and fall. Grabbing your arm would be rude. As I recall he excused himself to get something from his office. When he didn’t come back I went looking for him. Ms. Yin said he’d left. I called his home, but Gay said she hadn’t seen him since that morning.”
    “Ms. Yin is the receptionist?”
    “Also our secretary. We downsized the staff when the cable companies pulled in their horns.”
    “Did Catalin take his car?”
    “He must have. It wasn’t in the lot when I went home later. Last year’s LeBaron—gray, naturally. He could afford to drive better, but cars don’t mean much to Neil. His sense of style matches his color preference.”
    “Where does Vesta Mannering fit in that picture?”
    The glass shards dulled. It was as if a transparent membrane had slid down over them, like a salamander’s. “Well, well. Gay made a clean breast.”
    “Were you the one who told her about her husband’s affair?”
    “Christ, no. That would be a violation of the male code.”
    “You knew about it, then?”
    “You can’t keep that kind of thing secret in an office. We cast Vesta as the seductress in a PSA about AIDS, and I’m here to tell you there was never a better example of casting according to type. She auditioned here and shot in Southfield. Neil spends a lot of time at the studio, which is his real bent. He was making student films at Michigan, you know, when I was getting my MB. That’s where we met.”
    “I didn’t know.”
    “Oh, yeah. He was Orson Welles to my Bill Gates. I said he was the creative half. Anyway he spent a lot of time on the set, and by the time Vesta came back here to collect her paycheck, those two were striking sparks like a Zippo. Even the kid who delivers sandwiches had to know there was something going on.”
    “Gay Catalin says she made Neil fire her.”
    “She may have told him to, and maybe he canceled any plans he had to cast her in other projects. It was a ten-day shoot. She finished and went on her way.”
    I made a note. “Do you know where Miss Mannering is working? I haven’t been able to get her at home.”
    “I’ll ask Judy to look her up in the file.” He glanced at a heavy gold watch strapped