Digging Up the Dead Read Online Free PDF Page B

man back then. He was in no condition to travel. He died only two months later.”
    Sally glared at the editor and gulped down her cocktail, then tipped the glass upside down toward Karma as if to say, “Look, my glass is empty.” Karma broke the impasse by announcing she’d better help her guests mix up some more White Russians and went over to join them. Swenson followed but stopped when he heard his name called. He turned to the front door, where a tall man, his gray hair tied back in a short, neat queue, had entered followed by an elegant fiftyish blonde. Despite his height and muscular build the man moved like a cat, softly and surely.
    “All’s well, right?” he asked Swenson, slapping him on the back. Aware of Tosca’s gaze, the newcomer turned to her and extended his hand. To her surprise his fingers were sweaty. They barely touched her own and were quickly withdrawn.
    “Graydon Blair,” he said. “I am Fuller Sanderson’s agent of record and continue to be, despite his death.” His pompous tone set Tosca’s antennae vibrating. “And this is Cynthia Turner,” he added.
    The blonde, her smooth shoulder-length hair falling across one side of her face, shook hands. Tosca was impressed with the woman’s old Hollywood glamour, noting the Lauren Bacall hairstyle and slinky white satin dress that clung to her body and fell in folds to the floor.
    After shaking hands with Cynthia, Tosca turned back to the agent, wondering if the man always pronounced his occupation in capital letters.
    “I’m Tosca Trevant,” she said. “I am very familiar with your name, Mr. Blair. I’m a huge Sanderson enthusiast and a keen student of his life. I’ve been hearing about a lost manuscript. Is it true?”
    “Perhaps more than one manuscript, dear lady, more than one, we believe. Karma was telling me last week you are a gossip columnist. Do you write anything literary that would be considered worth reading?” he said.
    “Occasionally Kernewek, penn bras ,” said Tosca, smiling sweetly.
    “Hmm. A foreign language. Not one I’ve heard before, and I’m sorry to tell you that it fails to pique my interest.”
    Blair stepped away, gripping Cynthia’s arm as he guided her toward the bar.
    “Good gracious, Tosca,” said Arlene who’d been hovering nearby. ”He was kind of rude. Just out of curiosity, what did you say to him?” said Arlene.
    “I simply told him ‘occasionally the Cornish, you fathead.’ It’s true. I have written several articles about the Cornish and our language.”
    They grinned at each other.
    “For a bookish man Mr. Blair looks very fit,” said Tosca.
    “He is. He run marathons all the time and wins quite a few.”
    “Tell me about his bit of totty,” said Tosca. “I’m interested in a woman who doesn’t appear to mind being outshone by her partner’s flamboyance.”
    “Totty?” said Arlene.
    “Yes, you know, bit of skirt. It’s English, dear, plain English.” Tosca shook her head in exasperation.
    “Oh. Okay. I don’t know a lot about Cynthia. I do know she tells people she was once engaged to a Saudi prince, but every blonde in Newport Beach claims that. They all hang out at the Greenways Hotel’s penthouse nightclub.”
    “She’s wearing some beautiful jewelry.”
    “Cynthia owns a jewelry store,” said Arlene, “and has a second store, a boutique, really, at the Barracuda Bay Club, which does very good business. I heard she’s an expert with diamonds. Did you see her sneering expression when she saw that big old fake jewel our hostess is wearing? I’m surprised she didn’t tease Karma about it. She’s been known to insult people for wearing costume jewelry.”
    Tosca’s attention swung over to Blair at Cynthia’s side as he stood drinking and twirling a stubby, white enameled cigar holder. Despite its thickness, Tosca admired its elegant Art Deco 1920s design and the silver band but wondered why a plastic cap covered the opening for a cigar, and a piece of tape