Murder on a Hot Tin Roof

“No, I didn’t,” I said.

At least not while he was alive. I was astonished that Pomeroy was discussing a murder case-especially this murder case-with me. Such conversations were always reserved for Mike, since he was the one who would be getting the story assignments.

“Did you ever hear any talk about him?” Pomeroy went on. “Any gossip or anything?”

“Uh, no,” I said, reluctant to answer Pomeroy’s questions until I knew why he was asking them. “But I did see an article about him in the Saturday

Times,” I added, feeling the need to offer something. “He was an actor-an understudy-and when the star of his show was overcome by heatstroke, Gray Gordon stepped in to play the lead. He made his Broadway debut in last Friday night’s performance of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, and the Times theater critic said he was brilliant-that he was going to be a big star.”

“I saw that article, too,” Pomeroy admitted, “and all the murder reports in the papers the next day. That’s why I came in early today; I wanted to see what the new reports would say.”

“They don’t say much of anything.”

“Right,” Pomeroy replied. “The police obviously don’t want any details about their investigation getting out. They must have asked the papers to lay off the story until the killer is caught.”

“Yes, that’s probably what happened.”

“So there isn’t enough information for Mike to write a clip story.”

“No, I guess there isn’t.”

“Which is why I’m assigning the Gray Gordon story to you.”

What?! Are my ears working right? Did Pomeroy just say he was giving me the Gray Gordon assignment? He must be sick or something.

“Since you live in the Village,” Pomeroy went on-actually speaking to me in a civil tone!-“it’ll be easy for you to poke around the area, talk to the locals, listen to rumors, and gather intelligence about the murder. Perhaps you’ll even dig up some clues for the police. At the very least, you’ll be collecting details and descriptions for your story’s background.”

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Pomeroy!” I said, jumping to accept the assignment before he could change his mind. “I appreciate your confidence in me, and I’ll do the very best I can. In fact, I’ll start my investigation this evening, just as soon as I get off work.”

“See that you do,” he said, brusquely turning away from my desk and marching up to the front of the workroom. He took his linen jacket off the coat rack and put it on. “I’m going out to lunch now, Mrs. Turner. You will stay here in the office and do all the work you should have completed this morning. I expect you to be finished by the time I get back.” His civil tone had vanished completely.

“Yes, sir,” I said, wearing a frozen smile and holding my breath till he disappeared through the door. Then I spun around to face Le

Chapter 25

“ I DON’T BELIEVE IT,” LENNY SPUTTERED, scooting up to the front of the workroom and sitting down in the guest chair near my desk. His cheeks were flushed and his glasses were crooked. “The creep finally broke down and gave you a

real story-not just a lousy clip job!” He leaned closer and slapped his hand down on the desktop. “I never thought I’d live to see the day! What do you think happened to him? He must’ve had a three-martini morning.”

“I don’t think so, Le

me an important (i.e., lurid and sensational) homicide to cover, I was even more shocked that it was the Gray Gordon homicide. Did Pomeroy have some knowledge of my personal interest in the case, or was the whole thing just a crazy coincidence?

“The man must have grown a new brain,” Le

true behind-the-scenes murder stories does a person have to write before Pomeroy gets the message?

If it hadn’t been for Mr. Crockett, your three big inside stories never would have been printed in

Daring Detective. And they certainly wouldn’t have been featured on the cover! And then those three editions would have had the same lousy forty-two-percent sales all the other DD issues seem to have, instead of selling seventy-four to seventy-eight percent of a much larger print run. God, Paige! Pomeroy should be shot for keeping you down the way he does. The way he treats you is a crime.”

See why I love Le

“He probably treats all women the same way,” I mused. “I bet he hates his mother.”

Le

“Do babies burp?”

Le

“So what’s your hot new story all about?” Le

“A young actor by the name of Gray Gordon,” I told him. “He was stabbed to death in his Greenwich Village apartment, just a couple of blocks over from me. That’s why Pomeroy gave me the assignment. He figures I have a better sense of the territory than Mike does, that I’ll be able to dig up more information.” I took a huge bite of my half-a-sandwich and chomped it eagerly.

“You’d do a better job investigating and writing

any story,” Le

I giggled. “And what about Mario? What should his sentence be?”

“That’s easy,” Le

unblindfolded children pin tails on his donkey.”

We chuckled together for a few moments, enjoying the goofy images that Le

“So what’s with the clashing duds?” Le

“No, just in a hurry. I forgot to set my alarm and I woke up really late.”

“Oh, c’mon, Paige! That’s not the whole story and you know it. I took a good look at you when you came in this morning, and you had a lot more than punctuality on your mind. You looked like you were ru

(See? I

told you Le

“And later on I saw you whispering on the phone to somebody, trying to hide what you were doing. You’re up to something,” he went on. “Something dangerous. And I’ll give you five seconds to tell me what it is.”