Unhappy Hooligan Read Online Free PDF Page A

just that I was jealous—jealous of his hobbies. Mac retired too young—he was a man still full of beans and business, as the saying goes—and he seemed hell-bent to waste himself on dozens of silly enthusiasms, with little or no time left over for me. He ran off in all directions at the same time. The big difference in our ages was a factor, maybe—but that wouldn’t have mattered so much if he hadn’t always been going off on wild tangents. I’m a woman who wants all of a man, and Mac was so wrapped up in so many things that included me out. I wasn’t one for sitting quietly at home with my knitting in the evening while he read Pepys’ diaries out loud, or fiddled with what he called the modern trends in parapsychology, and stuff like that.”
    Howie Rook carefully mopped up his luscious gravy with a piece of French bread. “So you found life with him a little dull?”
    “Sometimes, yes. Though he was a dear. Worst of all was the fact that Mac was so circus-mad! He was a grown-up little boy who could never stop trying to follow the elephants. He was a member of a club called Circus Saints and Sinners and of the Clown Fans of America—it was a sort of obsession with him. But I tell you, in spite of what the police say, he would never kill himself. No, he was murdered, I’m sure of it, by somebody from the circus who brought circus dirt in on their shoes. So the logical thing for you to do is to go with the show as a clown—I’ll check on it by phone, but I’m positive that’s where he was—and try to pick up a lead. The police can’t send anybody, and the show is out of their territory anyway by now. I’ll admit I thought of hiring an operative from some private detective agency, but none of their people could pass as an important businessman or judge or something, and that’s the only type who get to be guest clowns. I see now that you could pass easily, with a haircut and some new clothes, maybe. You’ll do it for me?”
    Rook, under the magic spell of her presence and her perfume, warmed by a good meal, would have gladly turned handsprings for her at the moment. And the case interested him very much, if only because it promised to give him a chance to demonstrate some of the theories he held dear. She had taken it for granted that he would give in, because now Mavis took a fat envelope from her handbag and shoved it toward him. “Expense money,” she said. “And there’s the address of a tailor inside. Get yourself a whole new outfit, and charge it to me. You’ve got to look the part.”
    “But couldn’t I just play the eccentric who affects shabby clothes?”
    “Certainly not! Circus people take outsiders strictly at their face value, and judge them by their appearance. You can create the right impression with smart clothes.” She leaned forward. “Please help me. You must help me, Mr. Rook. Can’t you see what a terrible life I’ll lead if I have to go on under a cloud of suspicion of having murdered my husband?”
    “But I understood you have an alibi—”
    “Oh, alibis!” She passed over that rather lightly, Rook thought. “When there’s a mysterious death of anybody as well known as Mac, there’s always bound to be talk. Some people will say I drove him to suicide, probably. I’m not going through the rest of my life under a cloud. No man will ever want to marry me—”
    “You have a man all picked out, then?”
    She flushed. “Certainly not! But I’m only thirty, and I don’t intend to be a gay California widow all my life. My so-called friends are already cutting me dead on the street and noticeably few have called up to condole with me about Mac.”
    Howie Rook nodded, and sipped at his third cup of coffee. “Before we leave the subject, what about the other women in your husband’s life— since the separation? Do you happen to know about the paper napkin that he tenderly carried in his wallet, with a lipstick kiss printed on it?” He went on to describe