Yesterday's News Read Online Free Page B

A.M.
    â€œHello?”
    â€œJohn?”
    â€œWho is this?”
    â€œJohn, it’s Mo, Mo Katzen.”
    â€œMo. What the hell is it?”
    â€œI’m in the newsroom, John. At the Herald. One of the guys here just heard from somebody he knows down near Nasharbor.”
    â€œWhat happened?”
    â€œIt’s the Rust girl. Jane Rust, the reporter. They found her dead in her apartment. Suicide, looks like.”
    â€œShit.”
    â€œI thought you oughta know,” he said, and hung up.

Three
    H OW DID she die?
    â€œI don’t know, Beth.” Bending down, I arranged the mums longways to her. There were a few sport fishing boats in the harbor below her hillside, but the people on them looked more involved in basking than baiting and casting. “Preliminary indication is suicide, but I don’t have any details.”
    Were you going to take her case?
    â€œI don’t know that, either. Mo Katzen really couldn’t vouch for her. She’d just been a student of his years ago. And she struck me as a little … high-strung.”
    High-strung or strung out?
    â€œGood question.”
    I mean, do you think she was suicidal?
    â€œNo.” I was surprised to hear myself say that, but it was true. “No, when she left me, I thought she was getting a grip on herself, like talking with me had settled her down. She even gave me a check, which she figured would force me to get back to her.”
    Which you wouldn’t have been able to do if she’d killed herself in the meantime.
    â€œExactly. Of course, that doesn’t mean that something couldn’t have pushed her over the edge after she left me yesterday afternoon.”
    Is it legal to keep her check?
    â€œGetting mercenary?”
    You know what I mean. Is it legal for you to go on after she’s dead?
    â€œThere’s nothing in the licensing statute, so Nancy couldn’t say for sure. And it’s tough for her to advise me when she’s technically a government lawyer who’s not supposed to be handling private clients.”
    So what are you going to do?
    â€œFirst, I’m going to pick up my new car.”
    What happened to the Fiat?
    â€œForced retirement. The new one—or at least the newer one—is a Honda Prelude.”
    From Renault to Fiat to Honda. Does that mean you’re moving up in the world?
    â€œAt least moving.”
    What are you going to do about the reporter?
    â€œI’m going to drive down to Nasharbor, stay a few days, and see if I can convince myself that Jane Rust was both wrong and suicidal.”
    Stay well.
    I turned to go.
    And John?
    â€œYes?”
    Give Nancy my best.
    â€œI will.”
    The trip to Nasharbor was almost a pleasure. After paying for the Prelude at Arnie’s and waiting in line at both the Registry of Motor Vehicles and my insurance agency, I took Route 3 to Route 128, and then Route 24 south toward the Narragansett coast. The Fiat had been one of the last cars imported before the catalytic converter-unleaded gas requirements and was a rocketship in its prime. However, the pressure of aging and the demise of leaded premium gas had reduced its acceleration mightily, and the gearshift, despite synchromesh, required double clutching half the time. By comparison, the Honda was smooth as silk and quick as a cat, the fifth gear allowing me to cruise near sixty at only 2,400 rpms. The car also sported a moon roof, retractable electrically, which created the illusion of a convertible provided I didn’t turn my head too much.
    Nasharbor itself, however, was an end that didn’t justify the means. Patch-paved roads with gravel to fill the potholes. Dense, two-decker neighborhoods on hillsides overlooking abandoned mills. Adjacent, vacant lots in moonscape, strewn with washers missing lids, grocery carts without wheels, Ford Falcons and other ancients in random pieces.
    Main Street was dominated by old structures of red and yellow