Night Secrets (Frank Clemons, Book 3)
Thomas H. Cook
Language: English
Pages: 178
ISBN: 0446361771
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Frank Clemons, an ex-cop turned private detective, faces a pair of perplexing cases on the mean streets of New York City.
The first case is simple. A wealthy man’s wife has grown distant, and he asks Frank Clemons, a private eye hardened by his past work on Atlanta’s homicide beat, to find out why. There are a number of simple reasons why a young woman might withdraw from her older husband, but the spurned spouse rejects them all. Her jewelry is disappearing, but he insists that she doesn’t have trouble with blackmail, drugs, or gambling. The answer must be more complex, and he begs Frank to find out what it is.
Meanwhile, an old woman familiar to Frank from his nights haunting Tenth Avenue has been murdered, and a gypsy priestess claims that she killed her. But Frank is unconvinced, and unearthing these women’s secrets will force him deep into the dark side of a city that he still cannot call home.
sign that she heard him. “Who was she?” Frank asked. Silence. “The woman who was murdered,” Frank continued, “whoever she was.” He could feel himself being drawn toward her, almost physically, as if he were standing on a carpet which tiny, invisible legions were tugging gently toward her. “Was she a relative, a friend?” he asked. The Puri Dai did not reply. Frank walked behind one of the long benches a few feet away, sat down and tapped the opposite side of the table. “Why don’t you sit
the long red coat, the platinum sheen of her hair in the sunlight, the small black purse that hung from her left shoulder. “She took a cab to the Dakota,” he went on. “I talked to the guy in the guardhouse there. He told me that Mrs. Phillips comes to see a man who lives there. She comes about once every two weeks.” “What’s his name?” “Preston R. Devine,” Frank said. “Ever heard of him?” “No.” “You’re sure?” “I’ve never heard of such a person,” Mr. Phillips said. “Is that the man you think
but at what had happened between them, the desert it had left behind, and as he looked at her, took in her sleek figure, her smooth skin, the lights that seemed always to be flickering in her hair, he knew with a sudden consuming emptiness how much he missed the old passion he had once felt for her, how dry his life had become without it. “I guess you’re surprised to see me,” Karen said. Frank nodded. “How you doing?” “Fine,” Karen said. She glanced toward his office. “May I come in?” “Sure,”
unblinking eyes. “Farouk, he no come tonight.” “You mean, at all?” Toby continued to stare at him while her hand massaged a glass with a white cloth. “Farouk, he no come tonight,” she repeated. “Farouk say, he no here.” Frank nodded. “Okay, thanks.” Toby finished the glass, then returned to the bar, plucked another one from a tray and began drying it. Frank leaned back, edging his chair against the wall behind him, and closed his eyes. For a time, he saw the Puri Dai as he imagined her in
to move down the glass slowly, like a thick syrup. “Raki,” Farouk said. “Would you like one?” Frank shook his head. “The smell in the Gypsy’s house,” Farouk said. “It brought back many things.” He placed the glass on the table. “It is odd, what the mind displaces.” He smiled. “The only thing more odd is what may return to occupy its forgotten place.” Frank suddenly looked at him pointedly. “You found something, didn’t you?” Farouk nodded. “It may be of assistance.” “What?” “Three words,”