Stardust by Robert B. Parker Read Free Book Online Page A

standing.
    â€œExcuse me,” someone said, “coming through.”
    â€œWe’ll get my coat in wardrobe,” Jill said.
    â€œSure.”
    I followed her off the soundstage and down the corridor past the carpenter shop to the wardrobe office. Jill went in and came out in a moment wearing a silver-tipped mink.
    â€œKathleen,” she spoke back through the open door, “did Ernie get me that white sable we talked about?”
    A woman’s voice from the wardrobe office said, “Got it right here, Jilly.”
    â€œExcellent,” Jill said. “I’ll come in tomorrow for a fitting.”
    â€œGive us a little notice if you can,” the woman’s voice said.
    Jill didn’t answer, nor did she appear to have heard the request for notice. We went on out through the production office and into the front parking lot where I had my car.
    â€œYou need to tell anybody, drivers, anyone like that?” I said.
    Jill made a dismissive motion with her hand.
    â€œWhich car is yours?” she said.
    â€œThe glorious black Cherokee,” I said. “Ideal for all-weather surveillance.”
    â€œWell, it’s better than I expected,” she said.
    I held the door, she got in, ran a hand over the leather upholstery, and nodded approvingly.
    â€œThe Charles Hotel?” I said.
    â€œIn Cambridge. You know where it is?”
    I did my Bogart impression with the flattened upper lip. “I know where everything is, sweetheart.”
    She got out a cigarette, pressed in my lighter and waited for it to pop. When it did she put it against the cigarette and the pleasing smell of tobacco lit with a car lighter filled the front seat. She put the lighter back and leaned her head against the back of the seat with the cigarette glowing in her mouth and closed her eyes. Her face was very white and still, nestled in the big collar of her fur coat. Without raising her hand to the cigarette, she took a big drag and let the smoke out slowly from the corners of her mouth. The early winter evening had settled around us, and the automobile headlights on Soldiers Field Road had a pale cold look to them. I let the motor idle while I looked at her, her hands plunged deep into the pockets of her mink, her body tucked well inside it, a little shivery from the cold as we waited for the heater. In the faint light she looked about twelve, except for the glowing cigarette, a tired child, not yet pubescent, the apple unbitten on the tree, the serpent yet to tempt her.
    â€œI need a drink,” she said.
    I didn’t say anything. Across the river lights were popping on as people came home from work. The mercury lamp streetlights on our side of the river had the weak orange look they get before it’s fully dark and they turn blue-white. Wind whipped a small dervish of powdery snow off the frozen river and spun it west where the river turned toward Watertown.
    â€œI said I need a drink.” Jill spoke around a slow drift of smoke.
    â€œYes, you did,” I said.
    â€œWell for Christ’s sake, do something about it.”
    â€œMaybe I could siphon off a little gasoline?”
    â€œDon’t be cute with me, stupid. Just get this thing in gear and get us to the hotel.”
    â€œI saw Gene Tierney do that once,” I said. “Smoked a cigarette just like that. Head back, eyes closed. And Sterling Hayden was her boyfriend . . .”
    â€œWill you drive this fucking car?” she said.
    I did.

8
    T HE doorman at the Charles Hotel was a young guy with a go-to-hell Irish face made red by the cold. He wore a fur-collared greatcoat and the kind of hat Russian ministers wear. He said he’d hold my car for me.
    â€œNo problem,” he said, and started the revolving door turning for Jill Joyce as she preceded me into the lobby.
    â€œCome up for a drink,” she said.
    â€œLast time I came to your place for a drink you attempted to molest me,” I