The Dark Door Read Online Free PDF Page B

and started back to the Volvo. She did not look to see if Thoreson was dismayed by the lack of hospitality she and Charlie were snowing. City man, go home, she thought, and take your problems with you.
    “Who is he?” Constance asked, in the car with Charlie driving now.
    “Hal Thoreson. He said he was supposed to come with Phil’s recommendation, but Phil never got around to it. Actually Thoreson called a week or so ago, wanted me to meet him in New York, but I knew you’d think I was trying to duck out of picking apples.” What Thoreson had done, although Charlie did not say this, was order him to a meeting.
    “I don’t like him,” she said.
    “Uh huh.”
    “He’s an insurance man!”
    Charlie laughed. “So’s Phil.”
    “That’s different, and you know it.”
    “Not where business is concerned.” He had known Phil Stern in college, and they had remained friends over the many years since then. When Charlie took an early retirement from the New York City police force, Phil had turned to him for a private investigation, then another, then several more. What Phil had bought was not so much Charlie’s expertise as a detective, although that had been important, but rather his unmatched knowledge of arson. Charlie had been a fire department investigator for years before becoming a city detective. It was Thoreson’s fault, he thought aggrievedly, that he had burned the peppers. The damn cookbook said you could do the preliminaries early and in less than ten minutes turn out the dish. Hah! He had wanted to surprise Constance, had heard a car and had gone to look out the front window; the chili peppers burned, and he ended up with the sourpuss Thoreson. It had not been a good day, he brooded, parking at Benny’s. Thoreson’s silver Mercedes was right behind him. He caught up with them before they entered the roadhouse.
    Benny’s was virtually empty that afternoon. It was not yet six. A man in a leather jacket sat at the bar talking to Ron, the spindly bartender who would leave as soon as Benny arrived. Two women were talking in low voices in a booth at the rear of the room. Charlie and Constance waved at Ron and took another booth; they sat side by side, Thoreson opposite them. Ron slouched over, took their order, and slouched away again. No one spoke as they waited for the drinks to arrive, but the moment the drinks came, Thoreson began, as if the service were his cue.
    “Two weeks ago there was a conference of underwriters in Dallas. I attended, as did Phil Stern. I have known him for many years, of course. During one of the informal meetings a startling fact was unearthed. When I mentioned the matter to Stern, he suggested that I might discuss it with you. I have been trying to do so,” he said with some bitterness. “I know that I am not an engaging man, Mr. Meiklejohn, Mrs. Meiklejohn.”
    He had rehearsed it in his silver Mercedes, Constance realized with interest. First the teaser, then his abject self-abasement, and now he would reveal the startling fact. She glanced at Charlie; he appeared engrossed in spearing an onion in his Gibson.
    “I seldom have to deal with the public, and never have had to deal with a matter of this delicacy, and, frankly, the thought of hiring a private investigator for such a… a discreet matter is abhorrent to me.”
    “You have your own investigators,” Charlie suggested.
    “Of course. However, we feel that there may be a leak somewhere. Phil thought, and I agreed ultimately, a private investigation would be more to the point.”
    Charlie got the onion and ate it with evident satisfaction. He smiled at Thoreson. “Why don’t you cut the bullshit and get to the point.”
    “That is precisely why Phil was supposed to talk to you,” Thoreson said in a plaintive voice. “He knew I would bungle it alone.”
    He actually sighed. Constance felt Charlie nudge her leg, and she looked away to keep from smiling.
    “It came to our attention that there has been a series of