The Hydrogen Murder Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: Camille Minichino
about how Frank
"worked on" his clients. When I first moved in, Frank gave me a tour,
taking me down in the rickety old elevator used to transport the bodies between
the floors. Most unforgettable was the prep room where Frank and his staff,
headed by his older son Robert, did the embalming. The shiny facility, looking
as clean as an operating room, which in a sense it was, was at the back of the
building, in the basement. Often when I was home during the day I'd hear the
sound of the pumping machines. Thanks to Frank's excellent presentation, I
could envision pint after pint of human blood being drained from a body and
replaced with embalming fluids.
The washer and dryer were also in the basement, and so far I
had managed to arrange my laundry chores so they coincided with a lack of
activity in the prep room.
I dropped the curtain as the taillights of the Galigani
hearse disappeared around a bend in the street.
"Thanks for telling me," I said to Rose. "By
the way, you didn't seem surprised to find Peter here tonight."
"He told me not to warn you. I knew he was going to
drop in on you unannounced, but not necessarily tonight. I hope I didn't spoil
a twosome."
"I'm very glad you did."
"I gathered as much," Rose said, with a laugh.
"Thanks to your bickering I ate more than I needed to."
"Really? I didn't."
"Have you heard from your detective?"
"Yes. I'm going to have lunch with him tomorrow."
I expected something like "aha" from Rose, and
wasn't disappointed.
"Yeah," she said. "Let's invite
him—"
"No, no," I said, interrupting her. "It's
just business."
"We'll see," Rose said as we hung up, making me
regret telling her about lunch. Ever since I'd been back, Rose's pace in the
matter of my personal life had more acceleration than I was comfortable with.
She'd dragged out every unattached man over fifty that she knew in an attempt
to make me part of a pair. She was also after me to "do something about my
appearance," telling me she saw more make-up on the nuns who taught
catechism at Saint Anthony's.
"And just a little rinse to soften the gray,"
she'd say to me, reaching for the wiry curls around my face.
"I love you dearly," I'd tell her. "I envy
your figure and your family, but not your auburn highlights."
I settled back in my bed, feeling very fortunate to have a
friend to talk to that way. As I drifted off to sleep, three questions paraded
in front of my brain. Was Eric Bensen's body going to be worked on that night
in the prep room downstairs? Should his wife, Janice, be on my suspect list?
What should I wear to lunch with Matt Gennaro?
I couldn't quite remember if we were still at the
Doctor-Sergeant stage or if we'd gotten as far as Gloria and Matt.
CHAPTER 4
I woke up to Columbus Day, October 12.
Besides the changing seasons, another thing about the East
Coast that I'd missed were holidays like Patriot's Day on April 19 and Bunker
Hill Day on June 17. Berkeley parking meters called October 12 'Indigenous
Peoples Day,' and California residents in general emphasized a different set of
holidays, like a Mexican battle victory, Cinco de Mayo on May 5.
The most curious to me was Admission Day on September 9.
"Is that some holiday for school registration?"
I'd asked when I was new on the West Coast. My greatly amused friends informed
me that the holiday was to commemorate California's admission into the union.
To recover some dignity, I reminded them that I was from
Massachusetts, one of the states that was on the admissions committee.
"You ought to thank me," I'd said, and we called a
truce.
I looked at my wardrobe choices. I had clothes in several
sizes, some for my thinner times and others, more often used, for my fuller
figure phases. My resolution to get to the smaller sizes by fall hadn't worked
out so I put on my mid-range dark gray suit and a white cotton shell. I added a
necklace of hematite beads and pinned a small replica of crossed Italian and
American flags to my
"worked on" his clients. When I first moved in, Frank gave me a tour,
taking me down in the rickety old elevator used to transport the bodies between
the floors. Most unforgettable was the prep room where Frank and his staff,
headed by his older son Robert, did the embalming. The shiny facility, looking
as clean as an operating room, which in a sense it was, was at the back of the
building, in the basement. Often when I was home during the day I'd hear the
sound of the pumping machines. Thanks to Frank's excellent presentation, I
could envision pint after pint of human blood being drained from a body and
replaced with embalming fluids.
The washer and dryer were also in the basement, and so far I
had managed to arrange my laundry chores so they coincided with a lack of
activity in the prep room.
I dropped the curtain as the taillights of the Galigani
hearse disappeared around a bend in the street.
"Thanks for telling me," I said to Rose. "By
the way, you didn't seem surprised to find Peter here tonight."
"He told me not to warn you. I knew he was going to
drop in on you unannounced, but not necessarily tonight. I hope I didn't spoil
a twosome."
"I'm very glad you did."
"I gathered as much," Rose said, with a laugh.
"Thanks to your bickering I ate more than I needed to."
"Really? I didn't."
"Have you heard from your detective?"
"Yes. I'm going to have lunch with him tomorrow."
I expected something like "aha" from Rose, and
wasn't disappointed.
"Yeah," she said. "Let's invite
him—"
"No, no," I said, interrupting her. "It's
just business."
"We'll see," Rose said as we hung up, making me
regret telling her about lunch. Ever since I'd been back, Rose's pace in the
matter of my personal life had more acceleration than I was comfortable with.
She'd dragged out every unattached man over fifty that she knew in an attempt
to make me part of a pair. She was also after me to "do something about my
appearance," telling me she saw more make-up on the nuns who taught
catechism at Saint Anthony's.
"And just a little rinse to soften the gray,"
she'd say to me, reaching for the wiry curls around my face.
"I love you dearly," I'd tell her. "I envy
your figure and your family, but not your auburn highlights."
I settled back in my bed, feeling very fortunate to have a
friend to talk to that way. As I drifted off to sleep, three questions paraded
in front of my brain. Was Eric Bensen's body going to be worked on that night
in the prep room downstairs? Should his wife, Janice, be on my suspect list?
What should I wear to lunch with Matt Gennaro?
I couldn't quite remember if we were still at the
Doctor-Sergeant stage or if we'd gotten as far as Gloria and Matt.
CHAPTER 4
I woke up to Columbus Day, October 12.
Besides the changing seasons, another thing about the East
Coast that I'd missed were holidays like Patriot's Day on April 19 and Bunker
Hill Day on June 17. Berkeley parking meters called October 12 'Indigenous
Peoples Day,' and California residents in general emphasized a different set of
holidays, like a Mexican battle victory, Cinco de Mayo on May 5.
The most curious to me was Admission Day on September 9.
"Is that some holiday for school registration?"
I'd asked when I was new on the West Coast. My greatly amused friends informed
me that the holiday was to commemorate California's admission into the union.
To recover some dignity, I reminded them that I was from
Massachusetts, one of the states that was on the admissions committee.
"You ought to thank me," I'd said, and we called a
truce.
I looked at my wardrobe choices. I had clothes in several
sizes, some for my thinner times and others, more often used, for my fuller
figure phases. My resolution to get to the smaller sizes by fall hadn't worked
out so I put on my mid-range dark gray suit and a white cotton shell. I added a
necklace of hematite beads and pinned a small replica of crossed Italian and
American flags to my
Similar Books
Feast
Jeremiah Knight
Guys Like Me
Dominique Fabre
Uncovered
Linda Winfree
His Dark Bond
Anne Marsh
Deceived
Camilla Isles
Tom Clancy Under Fire
Grant Blackwood
The Secret Cookie Club
Martha Freeman
Days of Infamy
Harry Turtledove
Bad Bitch
Christina Saunders
