A Handy Death Read Free Page B

does seem strange, as you pointed out, that when Billy Dupaul represented a large investment on their part, they made no attempt to help him, but now that he doesn’t represent anything to them, they suddenly seem so anxious to get him out of trouble.”
    â€œHe doesn’t represent anything to them that we know of,” Ross said.
    â€œStill,” Sharon said, “other than simple goodheartedness, what other reason could Mr. Quirt have? I’m sure it wasn’t for the baseball left in the man, because if he’s a second-offender, even getting out of the murder charge won’t affect his remaining in prison on his present sentence.”
    â€œThough Charley said he kept track of the man in prison,” Ross said, and frowned. “What was even more puzzling, though, was when he said that eight years ago he couldn’t do anything to help Dupaul, and now he can. I wonder what happened to change the picture?”
    â€œJust a change of heart?”
    Ross shrugged.
    â€œMaybe. Anway, we’ll worry about that later. Right now we’ve got a job to do. Let me know when Steve gets back from Court. I’ve got a real job for him. I want a complete abstract of the entire Dupaul court transcripts. Both trials—the one that sent him up for assault and battery—the Neeley case—as well as the one that made him a second-offender.”
    Sharon nodded, her fingers relaying the information to her desk pad with lightning pothooks.
    â€œI’ll also want as much background material on Billy Dupaul as possible, but Steve can have Mike Gunnerson’s office work on that.”
    Sharon nodded and added the instruction to her pad.
    Ross grinned and rose from his chair.
    â€œAnd here’s the catch,” he said. “I want it by Monday, which gives him exactly two and a half days. On second thought, let Molly give him the good news; I hate to see a grown man cry. And besides, you and I are going out for lunch.” His smile broadened. “It’s been a long time since I’ve taken anybody to a meal except a trout.”

CHAPTER
    2
    Jeannot, maître d’ of the Sign of the Dove at sixty-fifth and Third Avenue, smiled happily at Ross and Sharon as he ushered them to a corner table. He flicked his hand majestically, waving aside the waiter who had appeared, making it quite evident that he considered it an honor to handle the requirements of these favored customers himself.
    â€œIt has been a long time, M’sieu Ross!” Jeannot’s heavy French accent did not obscure his meaning as he chided Ross for his extended absence. “And Miss McCloud! And we have had your favorite dish every day this week, too.” He raised his head dramatically, daring Ross to challenge his statement. “Trout!”
    Ross laughed.
    â€œNot today, Jeannot. I’ve eaten enough trout the past two weeks to last me a lifetime. Or, anyway, for at least several months. The next mistake I make in court, the District Attorney’s office will have to scale me instead of skinning me.”
    He saw the hurt look that crossed Jeannot’s plump, handsome face and hurried to explain that he had not been unfaithful to his favorite restaurant.
    â€œNot in New York, Jeannot. In Maine. Over a campfire.”
    â€œAh!” Jeannot understood and was satisfied. He raised a finger in the direction of the bar; the waiting bartender had been expecting it. He instantly began to prepare a very cold, extra-dry martini for Sharon; in the refrigerator beneath the bar he had, for Mr. Ross, a particularly chilled bottle of Cerveza Schneider, Argentinian beer, and the world’s best.
    â€œBut I haven’t,” Sharon said calmly. She laid aside her menu and smiled at Jeannot. “So I will.”
    The maître d’ was puzzled. “Ma’am’selle?”
    â€œI haven’t been eating trout over a campfire in Maine,” Sharon explained, “so I’ll