Donald E. Westlake
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The Mystery Writers of America's 1993 Grand Master offers an off-the-wall, delightfully funny mystery about the tobacco industry's attempt to catch a particularly elusive spy before he goes up in smoke. National ad/promo. Tour.
coming out of that building to make the signal and nobody around to receive the signal, and at last she decided enough was enough. Bladder-wise, enough was too much. Leaving the area, Peg drove past the fur building and noticed that across the street from it was a parking lot with a sign that read AFFILIATED FUR STORAGE PARKING ONLY. The lot was better than half full. Employee cars, they must be. If they’re gone when I get back, Peg told herself, then Freddie will be ready for me. So there is a
Mr. Leethe,” Barney said, “I’d like you to just cast an eye over our new wine list. I’m not trying to tempt you—” “You couldn’t, Barney,” Leethe said, chuckling at his underling, who chuckled back. “I’m sure I couldn’t. But for your future reference, I’d just like you to see some of the Italians we got in. Okay?” “Be happy to look at it, Barney,” Leethe agreed. “Be right back.” Barney went into the kitchen, took the sheet of paper he’d earlier worked up on the restaurant’s computer—the same
delay? Or is there too much danger? “At four,” Mordon agreed. 24 Rhinebeck. What was the damn woman doing in Rhinebeck? Meeting three trains so far, and so what? Yesterday, after tossing Peg Briscoe’s apartment and reassuring himself that Freddie Noon actually did live there, Barney had sent lawyer Leethe on his way and had then driven slowly and purposefully around the neighborhood. He had earlier collected, from Motor Vehicle, the make, model, color, and tag number of a van registered to
more.” “Precision,” Leethe said, with another brief faux smile. “How much will all this cost?” “Under a grand.” Leethe considered. He finished his Perrier. He said, “And how much of that will be paid by my partner?” Barney stared at him. He couldn’t believe this guy. “Are you feelin all right?” he demanded. “Maybe it’s past your bedtime. Lemme make it easy on you. Just nod your head if I got the okay to spend the grand.” 28 Sunday evening, they had a fire. They didn’t need a fire, the
and listen when I’m not around. I know they’re lying, I know it!” “Then why do you need the invisible man’s confirmation?” Mordon asked, blessing the multitudes. Jack the Fourth turned his melting iceberg eyes on Mordon. “I want to know,” he rasped, “if they’re laughing.” 32 Sometimes it seemed to Peg she’d been born in the wrong century. Sometimes it seemed to her she should have been born back in the Middle Ages, when people liked their white women white, when alabaster was a word that