Free The Fifth Script: The Lacey Lockington Series - Book One by Ross H. Spencer Page A

lived in Wilmette where the long green grows.”
    “So this afternoon I was talking to Information Brown.You know of a fella they call Information Brown?”
    “ Everybody knows Information Brown—little guy—looks like somebody’s first husband—runs the newsstand at State and Randolph—spends most of his time in the Squirrel’s Cage—knows everything and everybody.”
    “Check.Well, Information Brown was telling me that Eleanor Fisher was divorced and playing the field—however, until a year and a half ago, she’d been married to Gordon Fisher. Whaddaya think of that ?”
    Lockington said, “Not a helluva lot—if she’d been married and divorced, you’d get even money that it’d been to and from a guy named Fisher. Who’s Gordon Fisher?”
    “You’ve never heard of him?”
    “The name fails to send little jingles up my spine.”
    “Why, Gordon Fisher’s one of Chicago’s top-flight corporation attorneys! He’s filthy-rich, and his clients’ list is topped by the Chicago Morning Sentinel !”
    “All right, Eleanor married money—that ain’t happenstance. She just might have done that on purpose. ”
    “Oh, sure, but that isn’t the coincidence, that’s just a sidelight. The coincidence is that Eleanor Fisher used to write the Stella on State Street column!”

16
    Lockington worked on his vodka martini for a few moments. Denny was right, it was an excellent cocktail but, being a skeptic, Lockington charged that to accident. The next one would probably blow their socks off. He said, “Duke, I think you’re seeing rats in your woodpile when you got no woodpile.”
    Denny said, “Well, hell, Lacey, stand back and look at it! Stella Starbright spooks Netherby into suspending you, then a woman who once wrote the column gets herself murdered, and it turns out that she’d been hitched to the chief attorney for the newspaper that publishes the damned thing! You don’t see a coincidence in that ?”
    “If it’s there, it’s like getting two parking tickets in one day—a trifle unlikely, but no big deal. Where’s the connection—what does it hook to what ?”
    Denny’s face was beet-red. “Lacey, God damn it, I didn’t say that there was a connection, I didn’t say that anything was hooked to any thing—all I said was that it was a fucking coincidence —Jesus Christ, I—shit, forget it, will you? Just forget the whole fucking business!”
    Lockington grinned. “Okay.” He’d popped Duke’s cork.
    They finished their martinis in stony silence, Denny glaring at Lockington before waving to Laura and pointing to their glasses for refills. Lockington said, “On the other hand, and for whatever it’s worth, the current Stella Starbright has been receiving death threats in the mail.”
    Denny hoisted an inquisitive eyebrow. “That right?”
    “That’s what she told me.”
    “Recent threats?”
    “Tail end of last week, and several times before that—it dates back to cold weather.”
    Denny made no comment, and Lockington listened to the Ristoranté Italia’s piped-in music—lush, swirling strings, muted brasses, throbbing basses—“Begin the Beguine”—“elevator music,” according to the kids—if it didn’t blast your eardrums halfway through your cerebellum, the kids called it “elevator music.” “The kids”—a generation that could not read, neither could it write. Laura had pranced into view, bearing their fresh vodka martinis. She said, “Gotcha couple extra anchovy-stuffed olives this time!”
    Denny reached to squeeze her leg, quite high on the thigh. “Good girl!”
    Laura wiggled the tip of her tongue at Denny. “ Good girl— me ?” She giggled wildly, sounding like a jackhammer gone out of control, Lockington thought.
    Denny said, “Busy later?”
    Laura’s smile for Duke Denny was the smile of a puma for a lamb chop with the lamb still attached. She said, “Not so’s you could notice.”
    Denny said, “Still living on Damen