The Third Victim Read Online Free PDF Page B

rang a second time.
    Was it Dick Wagner, the producer? Was Wagner ready to—
    “Kevin, it’s for you.”
    Wagner. It had to be Wagner.
    But in Cathy’s face he saw the icy truth.
    “It’s Joanna, I think.” She turned away abruptly, walking toward the kitchen.
    He sighed. “Hello?”
    “It’s Joanna, Kevin.”
    He turned his back on the sudden obstreperous clatter of cooking utensils. “How are you?”
    “I’m fine,” came her businesslike rejoinder. “But something’s wrong with the car. I couldn’t get it started this morning, and Mrs. Ferguson had to take Josh to day care. So I was wondering…” She let it go unfinished.
    “Sure, I can get him. At least—” He hesitated. What if Wagner wanted to talk all afternoon? What if lightning finally struck? “At least, I should be able to get him. I—”
    “If you can’t,” she interrupted quickly, “I can borrow Sally Mathewson’s car. I can’t take the bus, though. I’d never make it by six, unless I left Gorlick’s early. But I thought you’d have…” Again, she allowed her voice to trail off.
    But he could finish it for her: I thought you’d have time to take the bus. Since you probably aren’t working.
    He could visualize her as she said it: eyes averted, head demurely angled away, movements carefully controlled. All calculated not to offend. But in sparing him so ostentatiously, she indicted him. And she knew it. She must know it.
    “I’ll get Josh,” he said shortly. “Don’t worry about it.” Then, seeking to return the conversation to neutral ground: “What’s wrong with the car, anyhow?”
    As he listened to the car’s symptoms, he saw Cathy framed in the kitchen doorway. She was holding up two eggs inquiringly. Impatiently he shook his head. Finally he turned away, still listening carefully.
    “If I have time,” he said finally, “I’ll take a look at the car—if you want me to.”
    “Yes. Thank you.” The reply was noncommittal: perfectly polite, completely uninfected. Then, after a moment’s hesitation: “You—if you want to—you can have dinner with us. Josh would—” She cleared her throat. “Josh would like to have you.”
    “Well, I…” He frowned down at the phone. “Well, I’m not sure. Not right now. I mean, there’s someone in town. Dick Wagner. Do you remember Dick Wagner?”
    “Yes.”
    “Well, he’s got a deal going with N.E.T., I understand. They’re going to do an ecology series. And he’s supposed to be in town, getting it together, as I understand it. But—” He hesitated. “But could I call you later? Is that all right?”
    “Yes. Certainly. And thanks for picking Josh up.”
    “You’re welcome.”
    Strangers, they said good-bye.
    He’d gotten halfway to the kitchen when the phone rang again. What now? Another problem? Had she remembered a malfunctioning toaster perhaps?
    Fighting a sudden urge of irrational anger, he quickly retraced his steps.
    “Yes. Hello?”
    “Kevin? Kevin Rossiter?”
    “Yes. Who’s this?”
    “This is Dick Wagner. How’ve you been?”
    “Oh. Hi. How are you? I—” He was forced to swallow. “I’m fine, thanks. I—was just on the phone. I mean, I—” Again he was forced to swallow.
    Goddamn her, Joanna had done it to him again. Screwed him. With her goddamn meek, mild troubles, she’d screwed him again. Maybe for good, this time. Maybe, this time, she’d finally—
    “…wonder if you could come by the Golden Calf about, say, one thirty. Can you make it?”
    “Y—yes. Certainly. I—that’s fine. One thirty?”
    “Right. I’m on a bitch of a schedule. I just got in this morning, about two hours ago, and I’ve got to leave this evening. But I got your letter, Kevin, and I’d like to talk to you, even if it’s only for a little while.”
    The Golden Calf…
    Dinners from twenty dollars. Lunches from ten.
    “Yes. Th—that’s fine, Dick. One thirty will be just fine.”
    “Great. I’ll see you then, Kevin. Looking forward to it.