From Herring to Eternity Read Online Free PDF

head.”
    “Ms. Katz, there is more than just the research at stake here,” he said. “Lives and careers hang on it. The doctoral dissertation of one of my students, Kamala Moon, depends on completing this research.”
    “Your concern is touching,” I said. “Are you shtupping her?”
    “What?”
    “You’re not even bothered by any of this, are you?” I went on.
    “Given the historical importance of the site and the relocation we are offering? Frankly, Ms. Katz, not very much.”
    I was willing to bet that if someone discovered a diary saying that my bubbe had camped here, they wouldn’t bother moving a dog house.
    “Listen,” he said, “I didn’t want to start our association this way—”
    “We aren’t ‘associated.’ I’m being bullied and manhandled.”
    “Fine. If you are, belligerence is only going to make it worse.”
    “How can it be worse? Patrol dogs? Land mines?”
    “Be serious,” he said.
    “I’m very serious, Mr. Sterne—”
    “Doctor.”
    It took me a moment. When the left-field word filtered through my anger, revealed itself to me, I literally came to a complete stop—verbally, emotionally, physically. That was all he had to do just then—interrupt my very important concern with something trivial and self-centered. When my momentary paralysis ended, I cracked down the phone. If I’d been on my cell phone, it would have been in at least two useless pieces.
    I got up, because I didn’t want to remain seated. I looked down at the man’s photo-face, which was still up on the computer. I was calm now, as I said to that arrogant digger of long-lost latrines: “The earth is not happy, Doctor Sterne, and neither am I.” I looked at the ketchup-inscribed card lying on my desk, the one Ginnifer had given me.
    I absolutely would be calling at seven-thirty. I went back to the dining room.
    One of the last people I wanted to see just now, apart from Dr. Sterne, was Detective-no-snide-emphasis Grant Daniels. But there he was, my former lover, overdoing the “I’m here strictly on business” thing by not asking for me. He was talking to Thom.
    “What’s up?” I said, strolling over, doing my own version of the we’re-platonic dance.
    Our eyes met but neither of us greeted the other by name. I thought first names would be a little too informal and surnames would have been too formal.
    “I’m here about Mr. Montgomery,” he said. “There was a receipt in his pocket. He had breakfast here.”
    “Herring platter,” I said. “What does that have to do with what happened?”
    “I don’t know,” Grant replied. “That’s why this part is called ‘an investigation.’”
    Ouch . There was the first I-was-dumped-by-you-so-I’m-responding-with-sarcasm barb.
    “Did he talk to anyone that either of you can recall?” Grant went on.
    “Lippy wasn’t very sociable,” Thom said. “His music was his only real voice. Did you ever hear him play?”
    “Occasionally, in the street,” Grant said. “Did you notice anyone watching him?”
    That got my attention. “Why? I heard someone hit him—a random thing.”
    “I’ll ask the questions,” he said.
    Ouch again. Barb two.
    “I wasn’t really paying attention,” Thom said.
    I just shook my head once. That was all he was getting from me: bobblehead.
    “Did he seem unusually anxious?” Grant asked.
    Thom shrugged. I shook my head once.
    “Do you remember who else was here at the time?”
    “It was breakfast rush,” Thom said. “The usual crowd plus Mad Ozenne. The Wiccan.”
    Grant wrote the name in his notepad.
    “Robert Barron, the hunky ex-Marine,” I contributed.
    Grant wrote that down, too. He did not react to my description and I was instantly sorry I gave it. I was taking the bullying of Doctor Sterne out on him.
    “Did you notice anyone eyeballing the trumpet case or happen to see anyone with it after the incident?” Grant asked.
    Ah . That was the reason for the third degree. Someone must have made off with it