Obit Delayed by Helen Nielsen Read Free Book Online Page A

Alger with modern alterations, and it was difficult to imagine that Dave could ever be anywhere that Costro didn’t know about.
    It was like walking into a pocket to come in out of the sunshine, except that this pocket had a hole in it where a few dim lights outlined the bar. Making his way toward the lights Mitch picked up some knife-and-fork noises and the tag end of the noonday news from some radio he couldn’t see. And then somebody switched off the radio and said, “Had lunch, Mr. Gorman?”
    By this time Mitch could make out a few shadows and shapes, and finally the big man who sat on the end stool of the bar. There was nothing formal about Vince Costro. If he wanted to eat at the bar, he ate at the bar. Just now he was tearing into a salad big enough for a ladies’ canasta club and washing it down with a quart of milk.
    “I’ve got a French chef in the kitchen that costs me like blackmail,” he explained between mouthfuls, “but he turns out the best salad you ever ate. Have some?”
    “Thanks,” Mitch said, “but I’m not hungry.”
    “Thirsty, then? The bartender ain’t come on duty yet, but I can mix up anything you want. Used to be a bartender myself you know, but I never touch the stuff now. It’s murder on my stomach.”
    Vince Costro, the genial host. The back slapper, the glad-hander, the man with the ready checkbook for charity drives, benefits, and certain campaign funds. Mitch knew all about Vince Costro and looked the other way. But now he waited for him to wipe off the milk mustache from his rugged face and then tried a question just for response.
    “Where’s Dave Singer?” he asked.
    Vince patted his mouth with the napkin and grew thoughtful. “Dave Singer—” he repeated.
    “You remember Dave—your social secretary.”
    That brought a laugh from Vince’s beltline. “I was only trying to remember,” he explained. “Dave said something about going to Vegas—or was it Tahoe? With Dave you never know. He likes to travel.”
    “For his health?” Mitch suggested.
    Even without looking he could feel Vince’s heavy eyebrows drawing together and his smile tightening up. “I think you’re making a big thing out of nothing,” he answered. “Take it easy, Mr. Gorman. It’s too hot to be getting your blood pressure up.”
    “Then you know why I’m looking for Dave.”
    “I heard about what happened here last night. That’s the trouble with this business, you’ve always got trouble with drunks.”
    “Meaning me?”
    “You?” Vince’s laugh came back again. “I wasn’t thinking about you, only Dave. Dave was in a bad way.”
    “So he went to Vegas to sober up.”
    “Or Tahoe. I’m not sure which.”
    “Or maybe he went to Carmel to do some water colors. What’s he running for, Vince?”
    Vince had resumed work on that salad bowl, and it required his full attention for several minutes. When he looked up again Mitch was still standing beside the bar waiting for an answer.
    “It’s a funny thing,” Vince mused, “how people sometimes get peculiar ideas. Take me, for instance. I always figured doing something important like running a newspaper would take a lot of time. Don’t let me keep you from your work.”
    “You aren’t,” Mitch said.
    “It must be pretty exciting at that. Big stories breaking, like this Wales fellow killing his ex-wife and hiding out. Crazy thing to do, wasn’t it? But some guys are like that. A woman gets under his skin and he can’t forget about her. But I guess that side of the business doesn’t interest you so much, does it? You’ve got to consider the practical angles, like boosting circulation and getting more advertising.”
    The blow was coming and Mitch didn’t even have time to duck.
    “Come to think of it,” Vince said slowly, “I’ve been wanting to see you about that very thing. I’ve got a couple of new acts coming in next month. Maybe you could work up something special in the way of publicity. You know, good taste