Death in Donegal Bay Read Online Free PDF Page A

Wind. But now she’s found an even bigger all-frame colonial in San Luis Obispo.”
    The lady of the house had red hair. Any resemblance to Scarlett O’Hara ended there. She was tall and angular and bony, a woman of about sixty trying to look thirty.
    “Duane, darling!” she said. “I missed you at the Ellers’ party last night.”
    “I was out of town,” he explained. “This is Greg Hudson, Marilyn. He might be interested in your house.
    She smiled at me. “This way, Mr. Hudson.”
    Cutesy, chintzy rooms, crowded with maple furniture and too many oval rugs and oval-framed pictures. There were four-poster beds in two of the bedrooms. I was glad Jan wasn’t here. It was the kind of house she would ache to do over—with an axe.
    I told Marilyn, “It’s a charming place. But I can’t make an offer until my wife sees it. Will you be home this weekend?”
    She nodded. “But you’d better hurry. A buy like this doesn’t stay on the market long.”
    Outside, Duane chuckled. “Not very long. I’ve only had the listing for ten months.”
    He still seemed amused as we headed down the steep road. About halfway down, he started to chuckle again.
    “What’s so funny?” I asked him.
    “You are, Callahan,” he told me. “What’s the scam?”

Chapter Four
    I SAID NOTHING, STARING straight ahead.
    “Greg Hudson!” he said. “What hat did you pick that name out of?”
    “I was thinking of calling myself Duane Detterwald,” I explained, “but I was afraid people would laugh.”
    “Some people have. A few learned to regret it.”
    “Midgets?”
    “You’re really nasty, aren’t you? I went along with your gag to find out what your pitch was. Hell, man, I must have seen you dozens of times when the Rams were still playing in the Coliseum. Mike was never a football fan. Is he having husband trouble again? You’re a peeper now, right?”
    “Wrong,” I said.
    “You were afraid to go up against Mike,” he went on, “so you thought you might get some dirt from me. Well, you won’t. Mike is my friend.”
    I said nothing.
    “A twenty-eight-hundred-square-foot house in Brentwood and driving a seventeen-year-old Ford? How dumb do you think I am?”
    “Dumb enough. That Ford has six thousand dollars’ worth of Spelke conversion on it in 1966 dollars. I turned down thirteen thousand for it just last month. How about a guy with a Cad DeVille and a 280-Z sharing an office with a bait store?”
    He laughed. “You got a point there. What married woman is Mike messing with now?”
    “I don’t know. I came to town to look for a friend who is missing. He was least heard of up here. I didn’t find him. I saw the Einlicher sign just before I was about to start for home, so I dropped in. I didn’t know Anthony owned the place. He didn’t recognize me, and I didn’t want to be recognized by the owner of the only bar in town. My friend could still be here, and word gets around in a town this size. That could mean trouble for him.”
    “Okay, you’re beginning to make sense. You are still a peeper then?”
    “Not on this. As for being afraid to go up against Mike Anthony, you and he can round up all the friends you both have and I’ll take you on en masse or one at a time.”
    He smiled. “I hit a nerve, didn’t I? Look, I believe you. And I won’t tell Mike who you are. He’s got too much mouth. What does your friend look like?”
    “Tall and skinny. He’s twenty-one years old and he’s driving a nine-year-old Plymouth, a gray two-door sedan. His father is worried about him, so I came here. I’ll give you my phone number, and if you spot the kid, you can call me—collect. I live in San Valdesto now.”
    “Fair enough. Now about me. The Datsun is mine, the Cad is leased. I don’t need a bigger office. I make a very satisfactory income out of the office I have. I sold two ranches so far this year. You know what the commission was on that?”
    “Plenty, with the prices in this area.”
    “The package