The Hammett Hex Read Free

position was the most important part of my plan to get back to grad school. With built-in food and accommodations and that chance to sell a few books on my own, I was able to save almost everything I made.
    Vera was spoiled and demanding; that must be obvious. She could have remembered that I had saved her life, her reputation and her books more than once. Maybe she thought she was being funny. She wasn’t always clear on the finer points of humor.
    I glanced at Kev and then back to Vera, but they were both gawking at the signora.
    Signora Panetone is tiny, round and black-clad with an unlikely ebony bun that looks like it’s been painted on her scalp. She will never see eighty again. At this moment she was hovering with a pale green platter and was just about to transfer a piece of French toast onto Vera’s plate. Getting food to our boss usually takes planning as Vera never willingly eats anything. The signora jerked back the platter, pivoted and walked away. Vera, Kev and I regarded her broad, black-garbed body lumbering toward the kitchen.
    Time ticked by as we sat there openmouthed. Such a thing had never happened in my time with Vera. The signora has worked at Van Alst House since Vera was a child. She is devoted. The door to the kitchen swung closed behind the wide black behind.
    We may have still been staring two minutes later. The signora emerged with two little red spots glowing on her wrinkled cheeks. Her hands were on her hips.
    â€œ
Ragazza viziata!
” She turned and the door swung closedbehind her again. I’d picked up a fair amount of Italian in my time at Van Alst House, but this was a new one. I thought it meant “spoiled brat.”
    A hush fell over the conservatory. I could hear Uncle Kev’s breathing. I’m pretty sure he was worried about losing his four or possibly five square meals a day if I got fired. Maybe he’d have to go too, losing out on all the food and the endless supply of Jolly Ranchers that Vera kept in the house for him.
    Still, I was thrilled by this unlikely ally. Unless I had misunderstood what had upset the signora, Vera had crossed a line. And, in fact, she
had
crossed a line. Not only was I a loyal employee, but I had
also
put my life on the line for Vera more than once and I deserved reasonable treatment. And I needed to seize the moment.
    â€œSo,” I said, “back to my question. I’ll take the week off with no pay, if you’d like, or I’ll make up the time before or after the trip and take the pay. What will it be?”
    But Vera was watching the door. Could she have been nervous? Not possible. No history of that whatsoever.
    â€œThe Hammett item takes precedence over everything, Miss Bingham.” Obviously, she was prepared to stick to her guns although I thought I heard a wobble in that gravelly voice. But I was also sticking to my guns. Smiley had bought nonrefundable tickets, which might not have been the most practical plan as he’d done it before I’d agreed. It was a big deal for him. San Francisco might have been a romantic city, but Smiley was such a fan of Sam Spade and the Continental Op that—oh, what was the matter with me?
    â€œExactly,” I said, smiling triumphantly.
    â€œWhat are you jabbering about, Miss Bingham?” Vera said. She’d lost a bit of her fire when the signora stormed out.
    From the kitchen came a one-sided conversation in Italian.
    â€œ
Cattiva! Schifosa! Bruta!
” What? Ugly? Wicked? Bad? Wow.
    The kitchen door swung open and the signora emerged, empty handed, arms crossing her round body. She gave Vera what is known around here as
malocchio
, the evil eye. I’d just never expected to see that directed at Vera. It suddenly occurred to me that Vera had learned her scowling from this unexpected teacher.
    They glared each other down. The musical score from
High Noon
hummed in my brain. Walter whimpered and pushed up against my leg. Good Cat and Bad Cat,