Magic Hour by Susan Isaacs (i want to read a book TXT) 📗

the person he as a practicing nonf-aggot seems to have humped in the guest room. Now, there was Bonnie Spencer-type hair on the pillow in the guest room—okay, we have to wait till Lifecodes finishes the DNA analysis, but I’ll bet you anything it’s hers.”

“Why are you fixating on her?” Ray asked.

“Because this is an intelligent murder, and she’s very intelligent. Because he used her—twice—and I don’t think this is a broad who allows three strikes. I think she’s got a tough streak in her. And because

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she’s been hiding something from me from the minute she opened the door Saturday morning. And because she was there Friday, at his house. Motive and opportunity, Ray.”

“You know what I can’t figure out? He was cheating on Lindsay Keefe with his ex-wife,” Charlie said. “What was he?

Nuts?”

“Keep your eye on the missing thousand bucks,” I reminded them. “Ask yourselves: Where was the wallet we found that did have some money in it?”

“In the inside pocket of his blazer,” Ray said.

“Where?”

“In his and Lindsay’s bedroom, on a hanger outside the closet door. Stuff for his trip was all set out—a packed carry-on, a leather envelope with a couple of scripts.”

“Right,” I said. “But the pockets of the pants he was wearing that day were empty except for some change and his car keys, and those pants were in the guest room. My guess is, he packs, then has an hour or so, decides he wants to get laid and calls Bonnie to get over. He sneaks her past the cook, upstairs, into the guest room. He throws his pants over a chair, fucks her, then…”

“Then what?” Ray asked. “This is the first serious specula-tion I’m hearing about this person—other than the fact that she was his ex who lived nearby. What do you think went on?”

“My best guess? They had words. He tells her to get dressed and get out. Or he doesn’t have to say it; she figures it out for herself. Whatever. But he grabs a robe and leaves her there while he goes for a fast swim before the plane ride.

In any case, she feels she’s been had. She goes through his pants, takes the thou.”

“And then she goes outside, finds a .22 and shoots MAGIC HOUR / 165

him?” Charlie asked. “A lady writer is able to score two bull’seyes from fifty feet?”

“Could you do it, Charlie, if you had the rifle?”

“From fifty feet? Why not?”

“Yeah, well, why not her too?” I said. I told him what I’d learned about Bernstein’s inventory from Ogden’s finest.

“Well, I can’t buy Bonnie as a serious suspect,” Robby said. He shifted, and his rayon pants rubbed against the plastic of the chair and gave off a squeaky fart sound. “Even if she has long dark hair, even if she was sleeping with him, even if she can shoot that well, which I seriously doubt, why would she kill him?”

“Lots of reasons.” I was starting to like this, the explaining, the persuading, the idea that things were coming together.

But most of all, I was liking the realization that I had no trouble making a case against Bonnie, that finally, where she was concerned, my head was harder than my dick. “First of all, she’s living hand-to-mouth.” I explained. “She got shafted in the divorce. She’s gotten a look at Sy’s way of life, sees how he’s given up the humble Farmer Spencer bit he was doing when he was married to her, the denim overalls and butter-churn crap. Now he’s living like an out-and-out multimillionaire, which he is. She sees the richness of his life, compares it to the poorness of hers. Probably has already told him how rough things are, asked him for help. And expects it too, what with her probably giving him a blow job and soup and sandwiches every goddamn day that last week.

Except he says no.”

“Why didn’t she just keep at it?” Ray asked. “Play on his sympathy? Or make him feel guilty?”

“Maybe she’s already given it everything she has—which isn’t that much. She fucks and she’s nice. What else does someone like her have to offer? And 166 / SUSAN ISAACS

anyway, it wasn’t just money. She could have been in love with him and really believed she could get him back. But no matter what she wanted from him, Sy said, No way.”

“He just turned off on her, so she kills him?” Robby asked.

He didn’t sound convinced, but then again, he had his twenty on Mikey LoTriglio.

I pushed harder. “All she’s been doing is covering up, lying to us. Why? So we don’t think she’s a fast girl who lets a man put his thing into her you-know-what? No. Because she has something important to hide. A murder.”

Robby turned that over for a minute. Then he asked: “But why would she shoot him? Revenge?”

“Revenge. Plus desperation, plus greed.”

“Where would she get the .22?” Charlie asked.

“She lives alone. Probably had it for years, a present from Daddy Bernstein. Could be she sensed this was the final fuck and brought it along in her car. Or maybe she left, went home, got it and came back. Come on, guys. Sy was wearing his pants at the movie set, so no one took the thousand off of him there. Then he gets home, sticks it to the as-yet-unknown brunette we know has to be Bonnie, goes for a swim and bang. He’s gonzo—and so is the money.”

“Even if she was there, it could have been someone else who shot him,” Carbone said.

“It could have been. But who? Why? We already know about Bonnie.”

“So she killed him for a thousand bucks?” Robby asked.

“I’ve got to tell you, Steve, that still doesn’t compute. Not with the way you described her. She doesn’t sound like a really bad person. Except for the screwing around, and what the hell, she’s lonely.”

“But why is she lonely?” Naturally, I didn’t look at Ray Carbone, even though I was playing to him, trying