Read Online Nightcrawlers: A Nameless Detective Novel (Nameless Detective Mystery) by Bill Pronzini - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Bill Pronzini
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to know.”
“Why wouldn’t she want us to know?”
“I’m not saying she wouldn’t. But whatever’s in the envelope is obviously private, at least from Dancer’s point of view. For her eyes only.”
“I wasn’t thinking of opening it, for heaven’s sake.”
“I know that.”
Kerry kept staring at the envelope. “One of us should call her.”
“What, you mean tonight?”
“Right now. It’s only a little after nine. She’ll still be up.”
“Why should we?”
“To let her know about Dancer and the envelope.”
“I told you, he doesn’t want her to know he’s dying. Doesn’t want her to see him all wasted.”
“She won’t want to go down there.”
“Probably not, but—”
“She can’t stand him, you know that. All the crap he used togive her, coming on to her all the time . . . he could be a real bastard.”
“No argument there.”
“I can’t stand him myself. I never could.”
“Kerry, he’s dying.”
“That doesn’t change how you’ve felt about somebody all your life.”
“Granted. But it’s also no reason not to respect his dying wishes. He doesn’t want Cybil to open the package until after he’s gone.”
“She has a right to know.”
“Right to know what?”
“That’s he’s dying. About this . . . legacy of his.”
“I don’t understand that. What gives her that right? And what difference does it make if she knows about it ahead of time?”
“I’d want to know,” Kerry said.
“Why?”
“Wouldn’t you? If it was somebody you’d known for fifty years?”
“Not if he specifically asked that I not be told until afterward. Why bother her with this now?”
“She has a right to know.”
“You keep saying that,” I said, and then made the mistake of trying to lighten things up. “How about a new career in media public relations? You’d be good at giving out the old ‘the public has a right to know’ line.”
Big scowl. “Oh, so now I’m spouting crap.”
“I didn’t say that . . .”
“This is different and you know it.”
“Why is it different?”
“Because it’s personal.”
“Personal to Cybil, not to you. Why’re you getting so worked up?”
“I’m not worked up. I’m just trying to make you understand how I feel.”
“Babe,” I said gently, “how you feel isn’t relevant.”
“That’s a lousy thing to say. I’ve had to deal with Russ Dancer off and on most of my life, dammit.”
“But you’re not involved in this last wish thing. He didn’t say anything about you, the envelope isn’t addressed to you.”
“You think Cybil won’t feel the same as I do? She will.” Kerry fingered the package again, as if it had some kind of magnetic lure for her. “She’ll be upset if we don’t call her tonight.”
I didn’t say anything.
“You don’t believe me,” she said.
“That’s not the issue—”
“Don’t you suppose I know my own mother?”
“Sure, of course, and if she gets upset I’m sorry, but—”
“But you’re not going to call her.”
“We’re
not going to call her,” I said.
“Just because you say so.”
“No, because Russ Dancer said so. He put me in a position of trust, and like it or not, I won’t violate it. Neither will you.”
“Mr. Macho.”
“Kerry, come on, be reasonable . . .”
She got up without looking at me or saying anything else and stomped off into the kitchen.
What just happened here? I thought.
We’d had one of our infrequent fights and I didn’t evenknow what the hell we’d been fighting about. Cut and dried issue, as far as I could see. Simple, basic. I tried to look at it from her point of view, still couldn’t find anything to get exercised over. How had I got to be the bad guy in this business?
A t ten-thirty I took a couple of Dancer’s pseudonymous paperbacks to bed with me. Alone. Kerry was still shut up inside her home office. Working, she said—the only thing she’d said to me since the living room. Avoiding me was more like it.
“Why wouldn’t she want us to know?”
“I’m not saying she wouldn’t. But whatever’s in the envelope is obviously private, at least from Dancer’s point of view. For her eyes only.”
“I wasn’t thinking of opening it, for heaven’s sake.”
“I know that.”
Kerry kept staring at the envelope. “One of us should call her.”
“What, you mean tonight?”
“Right now. It’s only a little after nine. She’ll still be up.”
“Why should we?”
“To let her know about Dancer and the envelope.”
“I told you, he doesn’t want her to know he’s dying. Doesn’t want her to see him all wasted.”
“She won’t want to go down there.”
“Probably not, but—”
“She can’t stand him, you know that. All the crap he used togive her, coming on to her all the time . . . he could be a real bastard.”
“No argument there.”
“I can’t stand him myself. I never could.”
“Kerry, he’s dying.”
“That doesn’t change how you’ve felt about somebody all your life.”
“Granted. But it’s also no reason not to respect his dying wishes. He doesn’t want Cybil to open the package until after he’s gone.”
“She has a right to know.”
“Right to know what?”
“That’s he’s dying. About this . . . legacy of his.”
“I don’t understand that. What gives her that right? And what difference does it make if she knows about it ahead of time?”
“I’d want to know,” Kerry said.
“Why?”
“Wouldn’t you? If it was somebody you’d known for fifty years?”
“Not if he specifically asked that I not be told until afterward. Why bother her with this now?”
“She has a right to know.”
“You keep saying that,” I said, and then made the mistake of trying to lighten things up. “How about a new career in media public relations? You’d be good at giving out the old ‘the public has a right to know’ line.”
Big scowl. “Oh, so now I’m spouting crap.”
“I didn’t say that . . .”
“This is different and you know it.”
“Why is it different?”
“Because it’s personal.”
“Personal to Cybil, not to you. Why’re you getting so worked up?”
“I’m not worked up. I’m just trying to make you understand how I feel.”
“Babe,” I said gently, “how you feel isn’t relevant.”
“That’s a lousy thing to say. I’ve had to deal with Russ Dancer off and on most of my life, dammit.”
“But you’re not involved in this last wish thing. He didn’t say anything about you, the envelope isn’t addressed to you.”
“You think Cybil won’t feel the same as I do? She will.” Kerry fingered the package again, as if it had some kind of magnetic lure for her. “She’ll be upset if we don’t call her tonight.”
I didn’t say anything.
“You don’t believe me,” she said.
“That’s not the issue—”
“Don’t you suppose I know my own mother?”
“Sure, of course, and if she gets upset I’m sorry, but—”
“But you’re not going to call her.”
“We’re
not going to call her,” I said.
“Just because you say so.”
“No, because Russ Dancer said so. He put me in a position of trust, and like it or not, I won’t violate it. Neither will you.”
“Mr. Macho.”
“Kerry, come on, be reasonable . . .”
She got up without looking at me or saying anything else and stomped off into the kitchen.
What just happened here? I thought.
We’d had one of our infrequent fights and I didn’t evenknow what the hell we’d been fighting about. Cut and dried issue, as far as I could see. Simple, basic. I tried to look at it from her point of view, still couldn’t find anything to get exercised over. How had I got to be the bad guy in this business?
A t ten-thirty I took a couple of Dancer’s pseudonymous paperbacks to bed with me. Alone. Kerry was still shut up inside her home office. Working, she said—the only thing she’d said to me since the living room. Avoiding me was more like it.
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