A Superior Death Read Online Free PDF

at odds with the cold telephone persona—was the ideal receptionist, Molly said. A woman with an imagination wouldn’t have lasted a week in the position.
    “Will you hold?” pierced through the static.
    “I’ll hold.” Music, Yo Yo Ma on cello, drifted down the wires through the white noise.
    A young man came and sat down on the waiting bench. He had dark thick hair that seemed both wild and well coiffured, the envy of any girl. His eyes were wide-set above chiseled cheekbones. Anna prepared herself to ignore him. Her rare phone calls were too precious to be spoiled by the pressuring eyes of a too-pretty boy. Before she had time to edit him out of her world, he flashed her a smile and she recognized him: Tinker’s husband, sans cape.
    “Can’t talk long. Give me the news.”
    Molly’s voice, sudden and startling, seemed to speak from inside Anna’s head. It sounded so faint, so rushed, her isolation felt more complete. A heaviness grew in her chest. She had no news. She was just making contact, drilling a long-distance hole in her loneliness. “You’re at the office late,” she said.
    “My four o’clock had a lot on her mind today. Still afraid her husband will leave her. Been coming to me twice a week for eleven years about it. I must be one hell of a shrink.”
    “You do her good.”
    “Maybe. If not for my fees, her husband could’ve afforded a divorce in 1986. This connection is bloody awful, Anna. Have you found someplace even more godforsaken than West Texas? Tell me you’ve got flush toilets.”
    Anna laughed. “Sorry.”
    “Seven minutes, Anna.” There was a short sucking silence; Molly lighting a cigarette.
    “Those things’ll kill you,” Anna said.
    “This from a woman who carries a gun,” Molly returned.
    “Not anymore. It would be more likely to drown you here than save you from the bad guys. I carry it in a briefcase like any self-respecting Manhattan drug dealer.”
    Molly laughed, almost a cackle. “Six minutes . . . nope. Four.”
    “Why? What’s up?” Anna forced herself to ask, though suddenly she knew she didn’t want to hear of any glittering social event, any cozy gathering.
    “Promised to go to a function up in Westchester. A political wine tasting.”
    “Wine’s not your drink.”
    “Not like it’s yours.”
    Anna ignored that.
    “Two reasons: A client of mine is obsessing on it. Can’t name names but you’ll find his byline in the Girls’ Sports section of Sunday’s Times. ” Anna laughed—that was how Molly always referred to the Style section. Molly continued: “A rediscovered batch of very pricey long-lost stuff. Supposedly made during Prohibition, the year of the perfect weather in California. When the sun, the grapes, the soil, had reached the mythical moment. Twenty cases were bottled, then mysteriously vanished. Last month a couple of the prodigal bottles returned. My client is most distraught. Swears it’s a hoax. As you may have guessed, he wasn’t the one to rediscover it.
    “Secondly: It’s in Westchester County. I haven’t been there for a while. I thought I’d stop by Valhalla—” Molly interrupted herself with a snort of laughter. “Valhalla. A good Christian cemetery, no doubt. Look up Zachary. See if the eternal flame still burns or whatever.”
    “My mother-in-law takes care of that,” Anna said.
    “Does Edith still think his ashes are under that god-awful marble slab? Speaking of mental health,” Molly went on without giving Anna time to answer, “do you still have them? Sprinkle them, Anna. Do it. ‘Lake Superior, it is said, never gives up her dead.’ Do it.”
    “Don’t you have someplace to go?” Anna asked irritably.
    “Right. Stay out of Davey Jones’s locker.”
    And the line went dead.
    Anna settled the receiver back in the cradle. The heaviness in her chest had grown more oppressive. Maybe she’d been hiding in the wilderness long enough. Maybe it was time to go back to civilization. It would be good to