Free Corpses in the Cellar by Brad Latham Page B

realized the way she was sitting, and drew the wrapper
     around her. “The slimy creep,” she shuddered.
    “He’s a rich creep,” Lockwood suggested. “Maybe rich enough to convince you to marry him.”
    She snorted derisively. “There ain’t that much gold in Fort Knox, mister!”
    “I’m thinking maybe he offered to divorce Debbie and marry you, and then went back on his word, so you got angry with him
     and burned down his club.”
    Anger flared in her eyes, and then suddenly she sank back into her chair and guffawed. “Mister, I like your style!” she told
     him. “No crappola from you—you got something to say, you just spit it out. Yeah, I like your style, all right.” She rose.
     “Wanna drink?”
    “If you’re having something.”
    “Damn right I am.” She moved over to a cabinet and drew out a bottle. “You look like a rye man.”
    He smiled and nodded, and watched as she filled two tumblers full of the whiskey, not bothering with ice cubes or soda.
    “You don’t fool around,” he said, as she handed him the glass.
    “I figure, if you’re gonna drink whiskey, drink whiskey,” she rasped.
    He took a sip, while she knocked down a third of the tumbler. “Yeah,” she said, “I spend a lot of time with Mack. But I do
     it because he pays me, and pays me good.” She took another swallow, nearly draining the glass. “But you”—she grinned at The
     Hook—“you I’d give it to for free.”
    “Thanks, Melody,” he told her. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
    She eyed him strangely. “I’m not kidding. You want it, you got it.”
    He considered her. The gown was open again, her breasts almost spilling out of the brassiere, the rest of her body firm. She
     obviously took care of herself. But—who knew what diseases were hidden inside that fine-looking frame? “Thanks, Melody,” he
     said, “but I’ve got to be moving on.”
    Her face froze, and her voice went nasty. “I’m telling you, I want to give it to you free!”
    He wondered how she looked at Grand, what she thought about him. Killing would come easily to her, he realized, as he studied
     the intensity of her glare. He rose. “Sorry, Melody. I appreciate the offer. It’s a sensational one, but not this time.” He
     turned, and opened the door, wasting no time on last-minute civilities. A moment later he was glad he’d done so, as a heavy
     object smashed against the door he’d just closed behind him.

Chapter Ten
    Mack Grand looked even more old and tired than he had during their first meeting. “What can I do for you?” he asked, after
     handing Lockwood a Canadian and soda.
    “I’ve been to see Melody O’Houlihan,” Lockwood told him, eyes riveted on his man.
    Grand seemed to turn a little grayer, but otherwise gave no sign of disturbance. “Oh?” he said, after a moment. “Who’s she?”
    “Please don’t try to stall me, Mr. Grand,” Lockwood said, pulling out a fresh pack of Camels and opening them.
    Grand looked at him, and sighed. “Melody,” he said simply. “So what’d she say?”
    “She skipped all the details, if that’s what you’re worried about,” the detective said. “Besides, that’s not what I was there
     for.”
    Grand reached into a humidor and found himself a cigar. It was a good one, obviously, and he bit off the end with relish,
     twirling it among his fingers for a few moments before lighting it, sucking in and blowing out the smoke, one, two, three
     times, before he was satisfied it was lit. “All right, Mr. Lockwood,” he said, finally, “what was it you were there for?”
    “She said there’s bad blood between you and your wife.”
    “That’s nonsense.”
    “Mr. Grand,” Lockwood said, his voice cold, “I don’t have time to waste. Sooner or later I’m going to get at the truth, anyway.
     It would save us both a lot of trouble if you gave it to me now.”
    Grand’s eyes froze for a moment, and then thawed almost as quickly. “Mr. Lockwood,” he said,