Angel's Flight (A Mercy Allcutt Mystery) Read Free Page B

down?” I gestured to the chair beside my desk. Usually I seated clients in one of the chairs in front of my desk, but I liked Mr. Easthope a lot.
          He sat with a sigh. “Thank you.” Placing his hat on his lap and leaning his stick against my desk, he appeared pensive for a moment, as if he didn’t relish having to divulge his reason for calling. I gave him my most sympathetic smile, and he sighed again. “I need Mr. Templeton’s help,” he said at last. Then, with a quick, apprehensive glance at me, he added, “And yours.”
          “Certainly,” said I, glad he’d acknowledged my usefulness, even belatedly. After all, he knew everything about the previous cases in which I’d been involved, so he understood how helpful I could be. “What can we do for you?”
          Ernie poked his head out of his office and frowned slightly when he spotted Mr. Easthope, who turned and glanced at him. After lifting an eyebrow in surprise, Ernie said, “Mr. Easthope,” in a neutral voice.
          “Good morning, Mr. Templeton.”
          For some reason, Ernie had always been a little touchy where Francis Easthope was concerned. Perhaps he resented Mr. Easthope’s degree of handsomeness, although that didn’t sound quite like the Ernie Templeton I knew. Anyhow, I didn’t understand it, but I aimed to quash any petulance on his part before it leaked into the conversation. “Mr. Easthope is here for our help, Mr. Templeton.” I always called him Mr. Templeton when we had clients.
          “Yeah?” Ernie seemed minimally interested.
          “Indeed.” I gave him a good frown to show him he needed to shape up and treat Mr. Easthope as a gentleman and a client ought to be treated.
          I have to admit that the differences between the two men couldn’t have been much more marked. Francis Easthope was dressed in the very height of fashion, in a summer-weight tan suit and hat, crisp bronze-colored four-in-hand necktie, highly polished shoes and a lion-headed walking stick. Ernie had come to the office clad in a cheap seersucker suit, limp tie and the same old brown shoes and hat he always wore. Of course, Francis Easthope worked in the pictures and made a lot of money and Ernie . . . didn’t. Either one of those things.
          “Yeah?” He gave every appearance of not being overly delighted when he said, “Why don’t you come into my office, Mr. Easthope? You can tell me all about it.”
          Drat. I’d been hoping he’d tell me all about it. Oh, well.
          Mr. Easthope rose from his chair and said, “Thank you.” Turning to me, he said, “And thank you, too, Miss Allcutt.”
          I have a feeling my smile was wan.
          My dispirited condition didn’t last very long, thank heaven. Before I could do more than begin fretting about my mother’s looming visit, Ernie’s office door opened and his head popped out again. I looked up, ever hopeful.
          My hopes were dashed almost at once. Ernie stepped back and Mr. Easthope came through the door, looking unhappy. Ernie stood at his back, rolling his eyes. Well, pooh.
          “I’m sure sorry, Mr. Easthope,” said Ernie, sounding not at all sorry. “But that just doesn’t sound as if it’s in my line.”
          “That’s all right,” said Mr. Easthope sadly. “I feared as much.” And he walked farther into my office as Ernie shut his door and, I presume, went back to perusing the Times .
          Mr. Easthope sighed heavily, and my heart was stirred. “Do you think there’s anything I might do for you, Mr. Easthope?” I asked, not expecting much in the way of excitement to ensue.
          He gazed soulfully at me long enough for my heart to take to fluttering like a hummingbird. He was a very handsome man. “Well . . . would you mind listening to my tale of woe? Perhaps you might be able to offer an insight or two.”
          Would I