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

you think so,” she shot back. “How’s the wine?” she asked, reaching for the full glass he was still holding. While she sipped, she scanned the crowd.
    He answered her anyway. “A Riesling,” he said. “Too sweet for my taste. Keep it.”
    “Ah, yes, you prefer cognac.”
    Across the lobby, Cohen watched the elevator doors open and close twice. Still no sign of Lassman. But Carey came back. “No Benny?” he asked impatiently.
    Cohen shook his head. Carey checked his watch. So did Tina.
    “Avram,” she said first, “we really have to be at Koethe on time. And Carey’s probably … “
    “I’ve got to be at the Intercontinental … ” Carey said.
    “I’ll call up to him,” suggested Cohen.
    “Avram, really, I’m sure he can find us,” Tina promised.
    “Of course,” said Carey, putting his hand on Cohen’s broad back and steering him through the crowd to an alcove where a corner of red leather chairs around a low coffee table covered with leftover cups of coffee and pastry, liquor glasses, and cigarettes, was being vacated by a party of six.
    Carey took the seat Cohen would have preferred—facing the lobby—and Tina sat on a sofa between the two men who were in chairs at opposite ends of the coffee table.
    Cohen had a view of the glass entrance to the hotel, but the weather had changed from a misty drizzle to a more intense rain that created trails of windblown water on the window. The wet glass refracted the lights of the traffic outdoors, both the cars passing the hotel and those pulling into the driveway to disgorge or collect passengers.
    “Now Avram,” Carey began, leaning forward in his chair. “As you know, we are not happy about you missing the tour. Sales are far from what we expected.”
    “I know.”
    “But it’s nothing that can’t be fixed,” Tina jumped in, with a nervous smile at the editor and a slightly pleading look when she turned to Cohen. “He’ll do a tour, of course. He knows what it says in his contract.” Carey smiled at the Jerusalemite. “I’m sure he does,” he said. “We put a lot of money into this book,” he added.
    “I’ll pay it back,” Cohen said softly.
    Neither the agent nor the editor heard him. He repeated himself.
    Tina looked at him with shock. Carey was curious.
    “What do you mean, you’ll pay it back?” Carey said.
    “Just what I said,” said Cohen. He gestured over his shoulder with a wave of his hand toward the crowded lobby, then pointed out the window toward the misty glimmer of the fair building. “I don’t belong here. I don’t.
    This really was a mistake. Maybe the book was a mistake.”
    “Now Avram, you don’t mean that. The book’s wonderful,” Tina exclaimed, so shocked her voice rose loud enough to make the nearest clutch of people break off their own discussion. She smiled uncomfortably at them and then back at Cohen. “And you’ll be wonderful on tour.” One last time she turned to Carey as she tried to convince both men that everything was under control.
    Carey ignored her, instead squinting at Cohen as if he were a particularly interesting item on display. Only a flash going off somewhere behind Cohen in the lobby made Mccloskey blink. “Let’s hope,” he said, softly, almost too softly for Cohen too hear, “that they want your picture, as well.”
    “What do you mean by that?” Tina demanded, but it seemed as if she knew the answer. Cohen didn’t.
    “Sorry I’m late,” Benny interrupted as he entered the alcove. “Frank Kaplan’s here,” he said with an exaggerated nonchalance, sitting down next to Tina, who had to pull at her briefcase to give him space, distracting her from her concentration on Carey.
    “Tell me about him,” Cohen asked, directing the question to all three of the literary professionals, surprising them all with his sudden curiosity.
    “You know him?” Tina asked.
    “Sort of,” Cohen said.
    “He practically invented the disaster genre,” Benny said enviously, reaching