Stranger Things Have Happened: An Adrien English Write Your Own Damn Story (The Adrien English Mysteries) by Josh Lanyon Read Free Book Online

right?
    “Good night,” he says finally.
    “Good night. And thank you again for believing me.”
    He nods, but…is that a flicker of disappointment in his gaze? If he leaves now, you probably won’t see him again. Or at least, you won’t get this chance again.
    “Detective,” you say quickly, as he turns away.
    Riordan glances back.
    “I was just wondering…you know how I write murder mysteries?”
    He nods, looking slightly pained.
    “Well, the thing is, I don’t have any kind of background or resource for police procedure.”
    “I’ll say,” he says, abruptly energized. “I talked to your publisher, got a good look over that manuscript of yours.” He shakes his head. “Christ. Where do you come up with this stuff?”
    You ignore that, forging stubbornly on. “And I was wondering if, seeing that you are an expert, I could maybe…I don’t know. Maybe call you sometime and, er, interview you?”
    His expression lightens. “Yeah. Sure.”
    “We could get together and talk. Or maybe I could take you to dinner in payment. Or something. I don’t know.”
    He looks thoughtful. He’s not smiling exactly, but he does look sort of pleased. Cautiously pleased. “Yeah. Give me a call. I’ll be happy to set you straight.”
    “Oh, I don’t know if I want that exactly,” pops out of your mouth.
    He gives you a long look. He grins. “Call me Jake,” he says.
     
    The End

I t rains the next morning. The rain drums down on the roof and beats against the windows. The narrow, one-way streets flood, as per usual, and customers are few and far between, which is fine, given the state of the bookstore after yesterday’s break-in.
    Your neighbors at the Thai restaurant helped you raise the fallen bookshelves, and you managed to carry out most of the broken glass, smashed bric-a-brac, and ruined books last night, but you can’t help but feel depressed and worried. Regardless of what the police think, you know that burglary was no coincidence.
    But what could the burglar have been looking for? You remember the strange behavior of the tour group members — okay, the stranger than usual behavior of the tour group members. The lady with the frizzy dark hair and that old guy. What was his name? Henry Harrison. Could there be some connection between their wandering around your private rooms and the break-in? Could there be some connection to Rob’s death?
    It seems so unlikely. But more unlikely than Rob being murdered?
    Your gloomy thoughts are interrupted by the arrival of Angus Gordon, a temp sent over by the employment agency. Angus is slim and slight, with John Lennon specs and a wispy goatee. He tells you he likes to be called “Gus,” but you can’t imagine anyone calls him Gus. You can’t imagine anyone calls him much of anything.
    You put him to work reshelving books.
    A locksmith arrives before lunch to change all the locks, inside and out. The police did reluctantly admit that they did not find any keys on Rob’s body or in his home, but you suspect they think you carried the keys off yourself after committing murder.
    As hard as it is to believe, the police really do seem to believe you’re a killer — and it’s pretty clear to you that they are going to do their best to find enough evidence to build their case and arrest you.
    After Angus leaves for lunch, the reporter from Boytimes phones again.
    “You’d better talk to somebody, Mr. English. Tell your story,” advises Bruce Green. “Your next interview with Riordan and Chan will be downtown, take my word for it. They plan to have an arrest by the end of the week.”
    You try to speak calmly, but with every word he’s confirming your own fears. “What is it you think you can do for me?”
    “I can get the support of the gay community behind you. Just talk to me, Mr. English. Five minutes. That’s all. Off the record.”
    __________
    If you decide to continue speaking to Bruce Green, click here
    If you decide to keep your own counsel, click