Winter at Death's Hotel by Kenneth Cameron Read Free Book Online Page A

had thought she might walk to Broadway (and beyond?) and have a peek at it: she was after all a married woman and so entitled to a little independence. Ethel had walked about; why couldn’t she? She got, however, no farther than the newsstand at the corner of the hotel.
    The afternoon newspapers were lying in piles in front of the stand, which was only a small wooden structure with a front that opened outward to make two wings that were festooned with magazines. Inside, a wizened man was watching as people threw down coins and snatched up newspapers. He grabbed the coins and dumped them into a shallow canvas apron. If he had to make change, a hand dove into one of the apron’s pockets and distributed pennies as if he were planting seeds.
    Louisa found that she was hoping to see another “extra” of the Police Gazette , but she didn’t see its pink newsprint anywhere. She had a bad feeling that in fact she would have to ask for it, and the wizened man would produce it from somewhere under the stand’s narrow counter. Is that what the boy had done that morning? Gimme a Gazette , will ya, Jimmy? With a wink? How sordid. And yet, how thrilling.
    She tried to stand in the middle of the pavement to look at the various newspapers, but she immediately became an obstacle to the city’s foot traffic. She moved closer and got in the way of the newspaper buyers. She tried to stand at one end of the piles of newspapers, and the wizened man looked at her between wary glances at the coins the customers were tossing down—a sidelong look at her, a glance at the newspapers; a look at her, a look toward the piles. After some seconds, he said, “Djou want somet’ing er dontcha?”
    â€œI was…looking for a newspaper.”
    â€œJeez Cripes, whyntcha try a newsstand?” He was interrupted by somebody who was making off with a newspaper of great value: “Hey, dat dere’s fi’ cents not t’ree. Hey, you—!”
    The man had got only a step away. He looked a perfectly respectable businessman to Louisa, but the newsstand operator talked to him as if he were a criminal. “Djou want me to call a cop? You t’ink ya can steal da bread off my plate? Dat’s two more cents, Alfonse, or it’s da Tombs fer yous!”
    â€œI’m sorry!”
    â€œHey, sorry don’t bring my two cents back! Fork it over!”
    â€œI thought it was a three-cent paper!” Both men were shouting now.
    â€œWhere ya from, Cleveland? Go on!”
    Two more pennies were thrown down on the counter; the wizened man shouted another insult; but Louisa missed all this. She had just seen a newspaper lifted from a pile, already falling half open in a practiced hand that was swinging it up to read as he walked. She saw “murder” and “horrible” and a sketch of a woman’s face. Was it the same crime? Would it tell her exactly what had happened to this woman? (And did she want to know exactly ?)
    â€œI’d like this one, please.”
    â€œSo take it. Gimme t’ree cents—dey’re da little ones, not like da big pennies you got back home, right, Limey? Am I right?” He laughed, showing desperate teeth. She opened the paper and tried to read and he shouted, “Get outta the way, lady—where djou t’ink you are, Bucking-ham Castle?”
    Blushing, she moved quickly toward the shelter of the hotel, feeling embarrassed and bruised. How Arthur would have scolded the man if he’d been there! But better he wasn’t, better by far; bad enough that she’d gone out into the street alone, and then to be scolded in public! And yet there was something about it…like seeing the hotel detective…something— vibrant.
    She slowed as she approached the hotel’s awning. She held the newspaper so she could read. There were the sketch and the article. “Woman’s Mutilated Corpse Found.”
    Her attention was caught