Tales From the Black Chamber Read Online Free Page B

when her cell phone rang again. Another 202 area code.
    â€œHi, is this Anne Wilkinson of Hathaway & Edgecombe?” Anne was relieved that it sounded like business. She needed a distraction.
    â€œYes, who’s this?”
    â€œSorry to bother you, Ms. Wilkinson, but my name is John Ashton and I work for the Coolidge Foundation for Rare and Intriguing Books.”
    Oh, damn , thought Anne. “Hello, Mr. Ashton, I’m so sorry about your colleague, Mrs. Garrett.”
    â€œThank you. And my condolences to you. I know Mildred considered you a friend. And I’m told you … found her. That must have been awful.”
    You have no idea . “Thank you. What can I do for you?”
    â€œWell, I just had a few questions about Mildred’s purchases from Hathaway & Edgecombe, and I was hoping I might sit down with you before you return to New York. Are you leaving tonight?”
    â€œNo, the police have asked me to stay around for a little while. I’m staying in Friendship Heights.”
    â€œWell, then, can I take you to dinner tonight? On the Foundation. You’ve been such a great help to us and a good friend to Mildred, it’s the least we can do.”
    Anne’s first inclination was to stay holed up in her hotel room, but she thought for a moment. Going out would be less morbid and might even be interesting . She had always wondered about the Coolidge Foundation. And my appetite’s starting to come back. Food sounds good.
    â€œYes, thank you, Mr. Ashton. That would be nice.”
    â€œOh, good. You said Friendship Heights, right?”
    â€œYes, the Embassy Suites.”
    â€œOkay, I’ll pick you up out front at the corner of Wisconsin and Military at seven thirty. I’ll be driving a red Honda Accord. Not exactly limo service, but it’ll get us there.”
    â€œSounds just fine, Mr. Ashton. I look forward to it.”
    â€œMe too, Ms. Wilkinson. Talk to you then!”
    Anne hung up, feeling a bit better. She did, after all, have to consider retaining the Coolidge Foundation; and, she had to admit, this John Ashton sounded fairly young, bright, and nice. Two birds with one bourguignon? she thought and giggled.

    The thought of a pleasant dinner with a guy got Anne dressed and downstairs to the mall for some makeup and toiletries. By the time she met the FBI man, in the lobby of the hotel, she was looking and feeling great.
    Hunter was a tall blond with a neat haircut and the athletic stride of a wide receiver; Anne was put in mind of a leopard she’d seen in the Bronx Zoo. He wasn’t unattractive, either, with intelligent blue eyes and solid features. However, Anne’s incipient attraction evaporated as soon as he opened his mouth; his persona was pure Joe Friday, to the point that she wondered if he was putting her on.
    Without any apparent regard for her ordeal, he ran her through the facts of her discovery of the body, her relationship with Mrs. Garrett, and why she’d come looking for her. He then returned to the mysterious man, prodding her on details of his appearance, clothing, and asking a variety of other questions, some of which seemed to Anne to be a bit out of left field, and to all of which she had to confess she had no answers. Ordinarily, she’d have chatted with him a little and tried to glean what he was getting at, but he was such a drip to talk to and her dinner with Ashton so on her mind, she really had no desire to spend any more time in his presence than necessary. They exchanged business cards, and she watched him slink across the lobby. Too bad the prose is so awful , she thought, scowling, because that’s one hell of a cover.

    Anne hadn’t been standing on the corner for more than three minutes when, as promised, a red Honda Accord pulled up to the curb. The driver’s door opened, and Anne quickly appraised the man who got out: six feet or so, dark hair, large greenish-brown eyes, and decent dress