Murder At The Tindari

Chapter 5

For a time—seconds or minutes, Claire couldn"t figure out—the only sounds she heard were her own ragged breathing and Jimmy"s low voice over the phone. Just then, the shrill sound of a police whistle broke the quiet. She scrambled out from under the table just as Jimmy hung up the phone and hurried to the door to see what was going on out on the street.

Quickly, Claire grabbed her reporter"s notebook and pencil from the floor where they had fallen in the scramble and rushed to one of the windows that overlooked the street. The man who had exited the chauffeured automobile lay on the pavement in the center of a spreading pool of blood. Claire gasped and felt her stomach roil. She had never seen a dead person, but judging by his stillness, and half-opened eyes, this man was surely dead. And the blood, so much blood.

The car"s back door had been opened on the street side, opposite the dead man. Claire could see Anthony, kneeling on the seat, assisting a police officer who was pulling a person out. It was the lady in the ermine cape, Claire realized when she saw glimpses of white and red as they worked to ease her out.

Claire started to sketch the scene, but her hands shook, and the lines of the drawing were jagged. She stopped, took a deep breath, and clenched and unclenched her writing hand in an effort to steady her nerves. Calmer, she began again, grateful that her mother had insisted on her taking art lessons.

"Miss, Miss, I need to get you away before the nosey coppers come in and start asking questions."

Engrossed in the sketch, Claire flinched, startled. She turned away from the window and found Jimmy at her side.

"Here," he told her, pointing past the bar. "There"s a back way out. You have a driver waiting for you?"

"Yes. I mean, I don"t know." She had told Clyde to pick her up in forty-five minutes. How long had it been? Would the cautious Clyde even venture down the street if he saw all the police activity?

"I"d better. Well…" Claire straightened her spine. "I"d better call my editor, tell him I"m all right so he won"t worry." Call the story into Mr. Dudley she meant, but she wasn"t going to tell Jimmy that.

"Be quick," Jimmy hissed, going over to look out the other window.

Claire rushed to the phone, picked up the receiver, and asked the operator to place a call to the newspaper.

"Number, please," the operator said.

The number. What was the number? The fog cleared, and Claire gave the operator the number.

"Dudley, here," the editor said when the call was answered. Claire practically swooned with relief at the sound of his raspy voice. She turned so her back was to Jimmy. No need for him to overhear their conversation.

"Mr. Dudley, this is Claire. I was at the Tindari talking to the proprietor, and there was a shooting outside in the street."

She listened, heart still racing.

"No, no, I"m fine but I need to call in the story. If there"s time before the deadline." She told him what happened, only leaving out the part about Anthony shoving her under the table.

Hearing the phone receiver bang back into its cradle, Jimmy moved toward her, ready to escort her out the back door.

The escape came too late.

The club door opened, and a policeman stepped inside.

"Halt right there," he commanded.

"Rats!" Jimmy hissed.