Free The Cliff House Strangler by Shirley Tallman Page A

nothing about the man himself.”
    He smiled. “I’ve already started. As soon as George told me what happened last night, I did a quick search through the newspapers files. I didn’t find much, but then, I haven’t dug very far yet. I do know that Moss moved here from New Jersey about fifteen years ago. I’ll make a better job of it next week. If I have time, I’ll also see what I can find out about the other people who were at the séance.”
    “Good. In the meantime, I’ll do a little snooping myself, especially about Madame Karpova and her brother. Someone must know where—”
    I was interrupted mid-sentence by the door banging open and Eddie Cooper charging headlong into the room. His bright, lively eyes immediately fastened on my brother. The lad had taken quite a fancy to Samuel when he’d discovered, quite by accident, that my youngest sibling was the popular crime writer Ian Fearless. Since then, Eddie’s ambition to become a private-inquiry agent had waned considerably, and he’d begun to lean more toward a career in crime journalism. The fact that the lad had never attended school, or learned to read and write, was an obstacle he refused to let daunt him, and which Samuel and I were determined to rectify.
    “Mr. Samuel!” the boy exclaimed, skidding to a halt in front of my desk. “I just heard you was here. Are you workin’ on a new story, then?”
    “A good newspaperman is always working on a new story, Eddie,” Samuel told him, clearly enjoying his newfound celebrity, at least as seen through the worshiping eyes of a fifteen-year-old boy.“Speaking of which, it’s high time I was about my business. Thanks to you, little sister, Ian Fearless’s latest submission may make tomorrow’s front page.”
    As he gathered up his things, he picked a children’s storybook off the desk. “By the way, Sarah, where did you find this old copy of
Rollo Learning to Read
? I thought I got rid of all those old Rollo books when I was ten.”
    “I’m using it to teach Eddie his letters,” I explained. “Mama found it stored in a box in the attic, along with some of your old toys and copybooks from school. It seemed a logical choice.”
    “It is if you want to bore the lad to death. Sarah, have you ever actually read any of the Rollo books? They may be fine for a five- or six-year-old, but for a boy of fifteen?” He chuckled as he opened the book. “ ‘Tick, tick, tick, I wonder what o’clock it is?’ ” he read. Then: “ ‘Oh it is a fine thing to be a cow.’ ” With a “What were you thinking?” look, he tossed the book back onto the desk.
    Eddie, a foolish grin on his thin face, was nodding his head in joyful agreement. Then, catching my expression, he muttered, “I’m sure Miss Sarah was just tryin’ to help me, Mr. Samuel. And the story about that Rollo fellow climbin’ up the mountain weren’t so bad.”
    “Yes, that does sound exciting,” Samuel replied, not bothering to hide his sarcasm. He picked up his copy of the
Police Gazette
and, before I could object, handed it to Eddie. “See if you don’t find this a bit more interesting than little Rollo Holiday wondering what it’s like to be a cow.”
    “Samuel, he can’t read well enough yet to attempt a newspaper,” I protested. “Even a rag like the
Police Gazette.
”
    “You’ll be surprised by how fast he’ll learn,” my brother countered with a chuckle.
    Eddie beamed, as if he’d been given all the ice cream he could eat. It wasn’t just the reading challenge the paper presented that concerned me; it was also its content. Aware that the
Police Gazette
spent far more time covering brutal murders, boxing matches, andhouses of ill repute—including coarse engravings and photographs of barely clad women—than it did on everyday police affairs, I felt obliged to object. Which, of course, did not the slightest good.
    As if deaf to my protestations, the boy settled himself in the straight chair by the window, buried his