The Howard Hughes Affair: A Toby Peters Mystery (Book Four) Read Online Free PDF Page A

ventured out again into the late afternoon. The thunder rumbled a threat, and the little girls were back outside jumping rope and practicing to be witches under the protection of Mrs. Plaut’s porch.
    The toothless kid was turning the rope this time, and a new girl was jumping. One of her dark pigtails flopped on her shoulder; the other was held tightly in her mouth. Toothless chanted merrily:
     
    Last night and the night before
    Twenty-four robbers came to my door,
    And this is what they said:
    “Buster, Buster, hands on head;
    Buster, Buster, go to bed;
    Buster, Buster, if you don’t,
    I’m afraid they’ll find you dead.”
    My faith in the future generation restored, I ambled to the Buick, patted the list of names and numbers in my pocket, and headed for Culver City and a freshly built, elongated two-story white antiseptic building with cheap but pleasant-smelling carpets. Anne Peters, née Anne Mitzenmacher, lived there. Well, she used it as an address. It didn’t look lived in. If I put my clothes down in a place for twenty minutes, it looked lived in. If Anne spent five years in a single room, it would never look lived in. I found a parking place next to a dripping frond that bounced with joy at the moisture on its fat-ass leaves. I straightened my tie, pushed the bell and listened for the soft bong far away. It was after five and if she was coming home, she would be there. If not, I was on my way to the office, if a twenty-minute detour can be considered on the way.
    The buzzer sounded, and I leaped for the inner door, I hurried up the stairs and to the hall. She was waiting and, as usual, not at all happy to see me. At least she didn’t slam the door in my face. One time when she did that I had stumbled around the hall pretending to be drunk and singing “Annie, Annie was the miller’s daughter, far she wandered from the singing water.” She didn’t like attention called to her, and she didn’t like to be called Annie. She had opened the door that time, but the victory had been a hollow one. She had refused to talk to me when she let me in and actually called the police after giving me ten minutes.
    I waited through five years of marriage for Anne to get fat like her mother. She didn’t. Anne had remained full, dark and beautiful. Her hair was long and when she opened the door this time she wore a happy white dress with puffy shoulders and a not-too-happy look on her face.
    “Business visit,” I said, holding up both of my palms as I moved forward. She backed away to let me into her apartment. Her arms were folded, which was not a hopeful sign.
    I stepped past her into the apartment. She hadn’t changed a thing in the living room since I had last seen it. It was furnished with a modern brown chair and sofa, a light-brown carpet and tasteful brown wallpaper. On the wall was a painting of two factory workers shaking hands. Anne had always been a realist.
    “Annie, don’t you ever feel like throwing your bra on the floor and just leaving it there for a week or two?” I said in greeting.
    “Never,” she said closing the door behind me. “Business.”
    “You’re looking great,” I said, sitting on the uncomfortable-looking chair. “What happened to the executive you were going to marry?”
    “I never said I was going to marry Ralph, you assumed that. Toby, I’m not going to let you goad me into battle. I’ve had a tough day at work and I want to be left alone.”
    On the sofa was a copy of The Keys of the Kingdom by A. J. Cronin with a golden bookmark about one-third of the way in.
    “I saw Hughes today,” I tried, my eyes watching her for that glint of interest. I caught it before she could cover up, and she knew it. She sighed and sat down.
    “Toby, that doesn’t buy your way into my life again.” She sat stiffly, but her body quivered, and I smiled politely. She talked fast, “Ralph mentioned that Mr. Hughes had a problem and I mentioned your name.”
    “Annie…” I leaned