An Accidental Murder: An Avram Cohen Mystery Read Online Free PDF

president of TMC. He was finally going to meet the voice from the other end of the planet.
    Around him now in the hotel lobby, men and women air kissed and embraced, shook hands and stood in small circles, briefcases and handbags in hand, talking. A few held drinks— wineglasses or whiskey glasses. Behind the reception desk, four uniformed clerks overseen by a worsted-suited manager were handling a crush of guests.
    Through the plate glass window to the street, Cohen could see the busy traffic of a boulevard divided by a large park. A waitress walked by carrying a tray of drinks. He stopped and pointed to one of the tall glasses with white wine. She smiled at him. He took a glass, and then, before she could move on, he took another glass. He drained one, turning slowly as he drank, looking for Tina.
    “Avram?” said a voice behind him. The voice was familiar.
    He turned.
    “Avram Cohen?” asked the young man in the blue suit with a yellow and red polka-dotted bow tie hanging under a sharp Adam’s apple. His pinched features included a narrow nose, squinty eyes, and an almost lipless mouth.
    “Carey?” Cohen guessed.
    “You’re just what I thought you would be,” the editor exclaimed, grabbing Cohen’s arms with both hands and pulling him forward to air-kiss. With a glass in each hand, Cohen took the embrace passively, careful not to spill the full, second glass he had taken from the waitress.
    Mccloskey backed away from Cohen as if to inspect him, and then clucked his tongue and shook his head.
    “You’re gorgeous. Just what I expected. Fantastic.” Suddenly, his tone changed to disappointment, “If only you had agreed to go on tour,” he said. “We would have had a hit, a real hit on our hands. Now we have to play catch up.”
    “Now Carey,” Tina’s buzz saw voice interrupted, coming from behind Cohen, “don’t get bitchy.”
    She was not a pretty or even handsome woman. But she carried herself with a low-key but constant sexual energy that Cohen figured probably played a part in her success as an agent—though with Mccloskey, Cohen suspected, the voice was more persuasive than a peek at her cleavage.
    “What’s done is done. We’re here to fix things, aren’t we, Avram?” she said.
    “Tina, darling,” said Carey, welcoming her effusively with the same air-kissing with which he greeted Cohen.
    “I’m so glad to hear that.” He suddenly smiled to someone beyond the circle and waved a few fingers, not far from Cohen’s face. The detective noticed a large gold ring, inscribed with a florid script and studded with a dark stone. Then just as suddenly, Carey was smiling at Cohen.
    “Good,” the editor continued. “Can I be frank?” he suddenly asked, lowering his voice.
    “Please,” said Tina, icily.
    “The truth is,” Carey said, “Mr. Wang is not very happy, and asked me to find out just what’s going on before he meets with you, Avram. So, shall we go find a quiet corner?” he suggested. “And find out?”
    “What about Benny?” Cohen asked.
    Carey looked at Tina. “Do we need him, you think?”
    She shrugged.
    “I’d prefer to wait for him,” said Cohen. “After all, if not for him, there would be no book.”
    “Yes, yes,” Carey relented, making no effort to hide his impatience, “you’re right.” He pursed his lips for a moment, thinking, and then excused himself to say hello to a friend. “You know, I’ll be right back,” he promised, “or you come get me when Benny shows up,” he offered, and without waiting for a response, joined a short fat man in a tailored suit. Arm and arm, the two went off to huddle in a corner, the little fat man looking over his shoulder once at Cohen and then laughing at something Carey said.
    “You are, you know,” Tina said when they were gone.
    “What?” he asked.
    “Well, maybe not gorgeous,” she admitted, “but definitely attractive.”
    “I’m an old man,” he protested, not wanting to explain Ahuva.
    “I’m sorry