The Scent of Murder
“When I woke up, George was standing by the bed staring out the window. “I may have to go down to New York tomorrow or the next day,” he told me, when I asked him if anything was wrong.
“Family stuff?”
“What else?”
I sighed. About once every three months, George would get a phone call and head off for the city. When he came back, he’d be in a bad mood for days.
I leaned on my elbow. “Who’s in trouble this time?”
“One of my cousins.”
“The one who drives a taxi?”
“No. The one who owns a funeral ho...me.”
“What happened?”
“The asshole was running a bookie service out of it.”
“So what do they want you to do?”
“Fix things up,” he growled.
“Why do you keep going down there? It just makes you crary.”
“Because it’s my family,” he snapped. “I have to go.”
And that, I knew, was going to be the end of the conversation. I got up and led him back to bed. I was rubbing his back when the phone rang.
George reached under the bed for it. “It’s for you,”MoreLess
“Family stuff?”
“What else?”
I sighed. About once every three months, George would get a phone call and head off for the city. When he came back, he’d be in a bad mood for days.
I leaned on my elbow. “Who’s in trouble this time?”
“One of my cousins.”
“The one who drives a taxi?”
“No. The one who owns a funeral ho...me.”
“What happened?”
“The asshole was running a bookie service out of it.”
“So what do they want you to do?”
“Fix things up,” he growled.
“Why do you keep going down there? It just makes you crary.”
“Because it’s my family,” he snapped. “I have to go.”
And that, I knew, was going to be the end of the conversation. I got up and led him back to bed. I was rubbing his back when the phone rang.
George reached under the bed for it. “It’s for you,”MoreLess
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