Down for the Count: A Toby Peters Mystery (Book Ten) Read Online Free PDF Page A

door to my room.
    I went in, closed the door behind me, and in the darkness imagined Joe Louis throwing a short right-left-right combination to Ralph’s face and following it with solid punches, probably when Ralph was lying on his back unconscious. It wasn’t right. I wasn’t sure the police would see that it didn’t make sense, especially Meara, who was ready to nail Ralph’s murder on anyone who had a wooden chest and no good alibi. When I had left, Meara had begun seriously working on Paitch as a suspect. He hadn’t given up on Anne and me being in some kind of conspiracy, but it was Paitch’s turn. I had told Anne I wanted to stay, but she insisted that I go. I didn’t like leaving her with Meara. He was the kind of methodical plodder who would simply go through everyone in Ralph’s life one person at a time, suspecting them all. Meara was a thorough son of a bitch.
    I didn’t turn on the light. There was no reason to. I knew where the sofa was with the two doilies. I knew where the alcove was with my wooden table and two chairs, where the small refrigerator stood, where the Beech-Nut Gum clock looked down from the wall, humming through the night, and where my mattress lay waiting. I didn’t grope for the closet, just took off my jacket and shirt, massaged my chest through my undershirt, and took off my pants, checking to be sure that the notebook I had taken from Ralph’s pocket and the photograph of Ralph that Anne had given me were still there. They were. I tossed my pants, jacket, and shirt in the general direction of the sofa, sat on the mattress and took off my socks. My mouth and teeth felt fuzzy and the black stubble on my chin was hard and bristly with more gray hairs than I wanted to see. I should have found my toothbrush and Dr. Lyon’s powder and made my way down the hall to the community bathroom, but I didn’t. I’d scrub myself in the morning. Right now I wanted to sleep. I found the blanket crumpled at the top of the mattress, spread it out, located the first pillow for the back of my head and the extra pillow to hold onto to keep from rolling over on my stomach and destroying my back. I tried not to imagine that the pillow was Anne as I fell asleep.
    A gentle knock on the door woke me up, and I rolled over on my back to look up at the Beech-Nut Gum clock on the wall. It was ten on the nose.
    “Come in, Gunther,” I said over a sandy tongue, and in he came balancing a tray on his right hand and opening the door with his left.
    “I have awakened you,” he said.
    “It’s time for awakening,” I said, sitting up and rubbing my scratchy chin. “I’ve got a client.”
    “That is good,” Gunther said, closing the door and carrying the tray to my table. Gunther was dressed, as always, as if he were the president of UCLA. He wore a three-piece tan suit with a white shirt and tie. The tie was light brown with vertical tan stripes. His key chain, tastefully silver, dangled from his watch pocket. He reminded me of Alice’s white rabbit.
    “What’s all that?” I said, getting to a sitting position.
    “Breakfast,” he answered. “Toast lightly buttered with orange marmalade, coffee, and a newspaper.”
    I got up, allowing the smell of coffee to get through to me.
    “The coffee will remain hot,” Gunther said. “Why do you not freshen up for the morning while I find you a clean cereal bowl?”
    I could take the hint. If my odor matched the way I knew I looked, only a Main Street bum would be willing to look at me across the table. I staggered out of the room and down the hall, trying to get used to the sunlight. That was easier than what I faced in the mirror. There were a few more gray wiry strands in my wild hair and stubble. My thrice-broken nose looked even more like a carelessly discarded piece of bubble gum than it had the last time I had looked. Lava soap, a shave with what was left of my Molle shaving cream and Gillette blade, which had lost the sharpest edge ever honed a few