Fletch and the Widow Bradley Read Online Free PDF Page B

assignment. Mostly he held court, passed rumor and gossip in the city room.
    They had grinned broadly at each other when Fletch had entered the city room from the library.
    “Mornin’, Irwin,” Al sang to Fletch. “Don’t remember ever seeing you here this early on a Saturday morning before. What happened? You get thrown out of bed, too?”
    “Telephone,” Moxie said. “I mean, hello?”
    “Good morning, sunshine,” Fletch turned his back on the reporters.
    “Fletch? Why are you always waking me up in the morning?”
    “Because that’s the time of day people get up. Bounce out of bed. Do their breathing exercises.”
    “I didn’t sleep well last night.”
    “You were asleep when I left.”
    Moxie yawned into the phone. “I lay awake a long time after you went to sleep. Thinking about the play. Watching you sleep. Thinking about how much trouble you’re in. I mean, Fletch, you’re ruined.”
    “Down but not out, old thing.”
    “Those people last night, your managing editor, Frank, and that dreadful woman, what’s her name—”
    “Clara Snow.”
    “They wouldn’t have let you into the house, if I hadn’t been there. Frank would have thrown you through the door and that Clara person would have stomped on your head with a high-heeled shoe.”
    “If that’s a question, the answer is: yes—I was using you. Do you object?”
    “ ’Course not.”
    “Frank has an eye for beauty. His left one, I think.”
    “By the way, I was right.”
    “ ’Bout what?”
    “You know those wooden beams on the outside of his house? They’re plastic.”
    “No! And here he’s supposed to be some kind of a tastemaker. Stylesetter. Trendspotter. Managing editor.”
    “Some kind of synthetic. A hollow synthetic at that. I knockedagainst them.”
    “You have the makings of a reporter, Moxie. Wish I had.”
    “Courage, Fletch.”
    “Listen, I have to do a lot of driving around today. Want to come?”
    “Where?”
    “No place interesting. The suburbs. Got to see people.”
    “Just spent two days in a car with you. Two days in a car and one night on a beach. Six peanut butter sandwiches, three quarts of orange juice, and home to your apartment for wet spaghetti made wetter by a can of tomato soup.”
    “Candlelit dinner.”
    “Yeah. Thanks for dragging out your hurricane lamp. Real romantic. Like being on a sinking ship. At least I got a shower. Had a hell of a time not scratching myself at Frank’s house.”
    “You did very well. Hardly twitched.”
    “Wasn’t going to scratch in front of that Clara person.”
    “You don’t want to come with me?”
    “No. I’ll go back to sleep for another few minutes. Should study the playscript.”
    “I might not be back until late.”
    “I’ll take a walk, if I get bored.”
    “Right. Give the neighborhood a treat. See you.”
    “Hey. Is there any food in this house?”
    “See you.”
    Fletch turned around and found the group of reporters watching him. Naturally, they had been trying to listen.
    “Just trying to locate a
hara-kiri
sword,” Fletch said. “With a booklet of instructions as to how to use it.”
    “Hey, Fletch?” Al drawled.
    “Yes, Al?”
    “Do me a favor, Fletch?”
    “Sure, Al. Anything, for you. Want me to use my influence with Frank? Get you a raise?”
    “I wish you’d interview someone for me.” Al winked at the men sitting around his desk.
    “Sure, Al. Who?”
    “Dwight Eisenhower. I think ol’ Ike still might have a few things to say.”
    “Sure, Al. I’ll do it before lunch.”
    “Napoleon?” the photographer asked.
    “Did him last month,” Fletch said. “Thanks for reading the
News-Tribune
.”
    “Did you get any good hard quotes out of Napoleon?” Al asked.
    “He really opened up on Josephine.”
    “Yeah? What did he say about Josephine?”
    “Said she wore hair curlers in bed. That’s why he spent so much time in the field.”
    “Really, Fletch,” said a reporter named Terry. “You could get a job with one