Goodnight, Irene Read Online Free PDF

help.
    “Oh, no, you just relax, kiddo. You’ve had a terrible day. You leave everything to me.”
    The room was soon redolent with the aroma of honest-to-God Italian cooking. She still went by her ex-husband’s last name, but Lydia’s maiden name had been Pastorini. Mr. Ames had not left her because of her cooking.
    I downed the drink a little faster than was probably advisable, and soon was feeling a slight buzz, my empty stomach transporting the good news straight to my brain.
    Lydia paused in her salad-making dervish and looked up at me. “You know, Irene, this is the first time in a long time that you’ve let me do anything for you. I mean, I’ve done things for you, but you never turn to me when you need somebody. It makes me feel good that you called.”
    I thought about this. It was probably true. O’Connor had long been my refuge.
    “Well, Lydia, then I just didn’t know what I was missing. You’re the first friend who came to mind.”
    She seemed immensely pleased by this. She cheerfully put a place setting before me and served the salad. It was a great mixture of vegetables — cucumbers, carrots, radishes, sprouts, romaine lettuce, tomatoes, green peppers and more. Once again I was reminded that Lydia never did anything halfway. She poured a couple of glasses of a wonderful dry red wine and then pulled up a chair next to me and sat down.
    “Glad to see you settle for a minute.”
    She laughed. “Oh, I’m turning into my mother. You hardly get Cody out of his cat carrier and I’m telling you,
‘Mangia!’”
    “No complaints here.”
    We clinked wineglasses in an unspoken toast to one another and drank a few sips in silence.
    A few minutes later I was eating as if I still thought I’d grow taller. I paused just long enough between mouthfuls to ask Lydia how her own day had been.
    “Well, I didn’t think it was so great until I talked to you about yours.” She stopped smiling for a moment, and I knew she was thinking about O’Connor. “Of course, you know how it began.”
    I nodded.
    “That creep Wrigley had no sympathy for anyone. We were all upset. His only concern was getting it into the headlines. Then he began to moan and groan about what was going to happen to ‘
his
story’ — can you believe it? He was running around yelling, ‘What about
my
mayor’s race story?’ I loved old man Wrigley, but some days I wish to God that some outsider had bought the paper when he died. His son is such a loser.”
    “So Wrigley’s worried about O’Connor’s stories?”
    “Yeah. He’s going nuts about it.”
    “Great!” I said. “Look, Lydia — I’ve got another favor to ask of you. I need you to drop a lot of hints to Wrigley about how I knew all about what O’Connor was working on. Then tell him I’m thinking about going to work for the
Sacramento Bee
. It’s all bullshit, but he won’t figure that out. If he gets nosy, I’ve got a friend at the
Bee
who’ll make it sound good. Anyway, don’t let him know I’m staying at your place, just tell him you might be seeing me tomorrow night. Make it sound like I’m dying to get back to reporting, but that I didn’t think I’d be welcomed at the
Express,
after our little, er, misunderstanding.”
    At this Lydia hooted. “Misunderstanding!” She refilled our glasses, then asked, “You’re not seriously thinking of coming back to the
Express,
are you? I’d love it, but I figured you’d never come back. Not after the way he treated you.”
    “Lydia, for a good enough reason, I’ll chew a little crow now and again.”
    She studied me. “This is about O’Connor, isn’t it? You’re going to look through his papers and try to figure out who killed him.”
    “Guilty,” I said. “But nobody can know.”
    “It seems to me somebody already knows, Irene. That somebody who blasted out your window this afternoon.”
    “Maybe. But my only chance of not living with the sensation that somebody is following me everywhere I go, or to