Down for the Count: A Toby Peters Mystery (Book Ten) Read Free Page A

and very old, in a corner. The floor was finely polished dark wood with a white and brown checkered rug, a big plush checkerboard in the center.
    “No, thanks,” I said.
    “Right,” she went on, still walking. “I’ll have something.”
    “You want me to get it for you?”
    “No,” she said. “I want something to do.
    “How about crying?” I asked softly.
    “Maybe later,” she said. “Definitely later. But we’ve got business now before the police come.”
    I shut up, was careful not to step on the rug, and stood patiently while she slowly made herself a drink, took a sip, shuddered, and turned back toward me across the long room. The light from two lamps was dim, and her face was hidden in darkness, but her voice had a sob in it and I was sure her eyes were more than usually moist.
    “I’m not much of a drinker,” she said, tossing her dark hair back and looking into the amber liquid in her glass as if it held some secret.
    “I know,” I answered. “Anne …”
    “I know,” she said with a sigh, looking up at me. “About a week ago someone tried to kill Ralph. I saw it, Toby, I was there. We were crossing Melrose on a Saturday. We had just come out of Marko’s after dinner. A car came right at us, no other traffic, nothing. Right at us. Ralph pushed me back and the car missed him by inches. Ralph was shaken, but he said something about a drunk driver. I saw the driver’s face. He wasn’t drunk.”
    “What did he look like?” I asked.
    Anne swirled her drink and continued to avoid my eyes. “A man. I don’t know. He looked tough, dark. I don’t remember, Toby, and before you ask, I don’t think I would recognize him again. The next day, Ralph hired Paitch.”
    Ralph could have done a hell of a lot better than Paitch, I thought, but there was no point in saying it now.
    “And everything was fine till today, which is why you called me?” I said, wanting to sit on the harder arm of one of the chairs. The cushion I was on was too soft, and my bad back gave me a very small warning. I shifted my weight.
    “No,” she said, dragging out the word. “There were signs all the time since that car tried to hit him. He was nervous, his mind, memory couldn’t stay in the room. And he began to have some problems at work.”
    Ralph worked for Trans World Airlines, a vice president or something like it. He had been with the company since it started and was greatly respected by Howard Hughes, though I had only Anne’s word for that. She too had worked for TWA, where she had met Ralph. I had met husband number two a few times.
    “What kind of problems?” I prompted, realizing that Anne had paused, her own thoughts wandering. But she came back strong.
    “Nothing terrible,” she said. “Just a drop in his attention. A contract he was handling for replacement parts was delayed and resulted in a cost rise. Costs are rocketing since the war. He spent more and more time on his new hobby.”
    “Which was?” I asked, forcing myself not to look at my watch, which wasn’t very difficult. The watch had belonged to my father. It was accidentally right about twice during a normal day. I wanted to prompt her again, get something more before the police arrived or Paitch decided to walk in, but I played the role of patient listener.
    “Boxing,” she sighed, looking up at me defiantly, expecting some wise-ass comment.
    “Ralph was boxing?” I said.
    “Ralph had bought contracts or parts of contracts of some professional boxers. I think he had quite a bit of money invested.”
    I couldn’t sit a second longer or my back would have locked. I pushed myself up and kept my voice low, stepping toward her.
    “That doesn’t sound like Ralph,” I said. “Not that I knew Ralph very well mind you, but it doesn’t—”
    “It wasn’t” she agreed, finishing off her drink in two quick gulps. Then she laughed, a small laugh. “I haven’t drunk in years, Toby. Do you know why? Because drinking makes you fat.”
    I