| We have to check these things — obscene anagrams, bad puns, scatology, codewords for kiddie porn. There’s no end to what some of Terry’s readers try to put over on us.” “Then you’ll accept our notice?” Abigail smiled. “Yes, of course. I’ve enjoyed meeting you, but you really might have done all this by mail.” “Which brings me to my second problem,” Trosper said softly. “It is essential that this notice appear in your upcoming issue.” Abigail shook her head. “Oh, Lordy, I’m afraid that’s just not going to be possible. We’ve just closed and we print tomorrow.” “This is really important …” “I’m just as sorry as I can be, but there’s nothing I can do — even our printer is up north in Dayton.” “It’s such a small notice — couldn’t it just be squeezed in, boldface?” “I do wish I could help you, but for the life of me, I can’t see …” “In the circumstances, I’m sure Mr. Peach would be willing to make some special arrangement,” Trosper said. Abigail pushed her glasses up and leaned forward. “What sort of arrangement?” “He might authorize my picking up the cost of any replating, or whatever might be involved …” “Like about how much?” “Will two hundred cover it?” “No, but five hundred should do the trick …” Trosper nodded agreement. “Now just sit still for a moment, Mr … your name is Paul, isn’t it? Do you mind if I call you Paul? I’m Abigail. Terry prefers first names, and I’ve come to think he’s |
we drive her back …” From the bathroom, the muffled whap of a pistol shot. Then a plop, like a full teapot dropped onto a tile floor. Grogan leaped toward the bathroom. A choked, unarticulated shriek came from the bathroom. A second muffled, but louder, pistol report. Trosper jumped to his feet, two steps behind Grogan. There was a second of silence before Grogan, reeling back from the open bathroom door, cried, “Oh Christ, Christ Almighty.” Trosper pushed Grogan aside and stepped through the door. He retched and vomited into the bidet, and stumbled back into the living room. Grogan stood leaning against the wall beside the bathroom door. He took several deep breaths, turned, and stepped back into the tile-walled room. Trosper picked up his drink and walked slowly to the small sink beside the minibar. He splashed cold water on his face and took a mouthful of the scotch. He rinsed his mouth, and spewed into the sink. He repeated the process, and spilled the remains of the drink into the sink. He tossed the glass into a wastebasket, and slumped into a chair beside the coffee table. In the soft light, he could just make out the spots left by the champagne on Pickett’s red blazer, carefully hung on a chair beside the chaise longue. Grogan stepped back into the living room, wiping his hands on a heavy, blue bath towel. “I’ll take that drink now.” Trosper added another tot of scotch to the untouched drink and handed |
