Stone Cold Dead by James Ziskin (android e book reader txt) 📗

blocked seven shots, including one of Teddy Jurczyk’s. I didn’t mention that in my article.

I pulled the last page of my piece from the typewriter at a quarter to eleven, retrieved a folder from my desk drawer, and slipped the story inside. I filed the carbon copy for my records and stood to leave. I had an appointment with Teddy Jurczyk in fifteen minutes. But then I stopped. One of those queer sensations that something was off beam seized me just as I was buttoning my coat. Turning to look over my shoulder, I fixed my gaze on the desk drawer. I slid it open and checked the contents. Everything seemed normal. Even my story on Darleen’s bus receipt was there. But it was face down in the drawer, not the way I’d left it, I was sure. I was being paranoid. The cleaning lady, Luba, must have straightened things out. I grabbed my purse and camera and headed for Composition on my way out.

Fiorello’s was slowing down when I arrived a few minutes after eleven. Only a few straggling teenagers in the booths. In summer you could find some older patrons at this hour, stopping in for a late-night sundae or banana split. But in the dead of a January cold spell, no one was buying ice cream.

I took a seat at the counter and asked Fadge if anyone had been looking for me.

“Aren’t these boys a little young for you?”

“I’m serious,” I said as he placed a mug of vanilla ice cream and hot fudge in front of me. “And I didn’t order this.”

“That means the calories don’t count.”

“Is that your strategy for dieting?” I asked.

He called me an unflattering name then asked who was looking for me anyway. I leaned across the counter to whisper the name discreetly.

“Poor kid,” he said. “Had a bad night from what I hear.”

I nodded. “He looked spooked out on the court. But I don’t want to talk to him about basketball. I have a sneaking suspicion he knew Darleen Hicks pretty well.”

“Well, he hasn’t been in,” said Fadge, noticing a kid near the cigarette case opposite the candy display. “Hey, Zeke! Get away from those cigarettes. If I catch you stealing, you’re banned for life.”

“I wasn’t going to steal anything,” said the kid. Fadge knew most of the kids by name. “Honest, Fadge. I was just waiting for Joe. He’s in the bathroom.”

Fadge turned back to me. “Damn Joe Biggins. I didn’t see him buy anything, and now he’s using the bathroom.”

“Your office,” I said, just as the front door opened, and Pat Mahoney, the basketball coach, strolled in. He made a beeline for me.

“Hello, Miss Stone,” he said. “Can we talk for a minute?”

I exchanged a glance with Fadge, who motioned to the last booth in the back, near the pay phone. It was the only clean table. The other booths had just cleared out a minute before, and the place was empty except for Coach Mahoney, Zeke, Joe, Fadge, and me. Oh, and Bill, the retarded dishwasher. “Retarded” is perhaps not the right term, since Bill was probably closer to an idiot savant. He was busy smoking a stogie over the soapy sink in the back room. His lips were moving in some kind of private conversation with himself. Bill was sweet, but he’d pinch your behind if you weren’t careful. I always made it a point to face front when he was in the room.

“You’re probably wondering why I’m here,” said Mahoney once we’d slipped into the booth. He was about forty, a little pudgy around the waist, with a receding hairline. He had nice eyes.

“Actually, I was expecting Teddy Jurczyk,” I said. “Do you know if he’s coming?”

Mahoney made a face, as if I was putting him out. “Look, miss,” he began, “I know you got a job to do, and I want to be polite and respectful. But can I ask you to please leave Teddy out of it?”

“I beg your pardon,” I said.

“You really upset him tonight,” said the coach.

“Is this about the basketball game?” I asked, incredulous. “You’re asking me to leave him alone because I put him off his game? Are you aware a fifteen-year-old girl is missing?”

Mahoney held up his hands to stop me. “Whoa, there,” he said, his face flush. He was trying to control himself. “I wasn’t talking about the game. I was talking about what happened after the game. You ambushed him outside the locker room. The kid came to me crying.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling like a cad. “Sorry about what I said, Coach.”

“Look,” he said with a little smile, “I like to win like any other coach. Heck, I start Teddy over my own son because I know he gives us a better chance to win. I guess that’s kind of obvious. But I care about these kids, you know. Win or lose. And this investigation has upset him.”

“But I haven’t asked him anything yet,” I said in my defense. “Just if he knew Darleen.”

Mahoney looked deep into my eyes. “It’s a school of nine hundred students total. Everyone knows everyone else. And they’re in the same homeroom, so, yeah, he knows her. Can’t you leave it at that? He hasn’t done anything wrong.”

I considered his argument, all the while trying to figure out how I would get the information I needed. Coach Mahoney seemed like a decent man, and I didn’t want to lie to him. But I wanted to talk to Teddy about more than his silky jump shot.

“Will you do me this favor, miss?” asked Mahoney, his eyes saying please.

I reconsidered. In light of the bus-ticket receipt, did I really need to dig any further? I was convinced, after all, that Darleen had run off to Arizona to shack up with some buck private. Why not let it go?

“Okay, Coach,” I said. “I’ll leave him alone.”

Mahoney was relieved and gave me a broad smile. He patted my hand and thanked me. “Now you’ll