“Anyway,” said Kingman, who didn’t like being interrupted when he was telling one of his tall tales. “So Brad Pitt walks into the store, and he’s wearing one of those long smelly raggedy overcoats. As if he picked it straight out of a dumpster. His hair is a mess, he’s got this unruly beard, and generally he’s looking like a bum. And he starts taking stuff from the racks, and stuffing it into his pockets. So Wilbur figures he actually is a bum, and he grabs him and throws him out!”
“He didn’t recognize him?”
“No, sir, he did not. Wilbur is probably the only shop owner who’s ever kicked a movie star out of his shop after mistaking him for a bum. So ten minutes later a big limo pulls to a stop in front of the store, and Brad Pitt steps out and walks up to Wilbur. He takes a hundred-dollar bill out ofhis wallet and stuffs it into Wilbur’s shirt pocket. Wilbur, too stunned for speech, just goggles at the man. ‘Just a small token of my appreciation,’ says Pitt. Turns out he’s playing the role of a hobo in his next movie, and he was doing research. Wilbur kicking him out gave him exactly the experience he needed to capture the essence of the part. He’s even giving Wilbur a credit in the movie. As a consultant! And even after all of that, Wilbur still didn’t recognize the guy! It was only when several customers came up to him and asked him about it, that the penny finally dropped.And now he’s kicking himself. Says he should have asked for a selfie, which he could have used as free publicity for the shop. The silly ass.”
As Kingman was telling the story, a penny dropped inside my own noggin. And now it was me goggling at Kingman, before thanking him profusely.
“You’re welcome!” Kingman yelled after me as I hurried off. “Can you at least tell me what you’re thanking me for! Max? Come back here, buddy! I’ll tell you Harriet’s big secret!”
CHAPTER 41
[Êàðòèíêà: img_2]
That night, Bereng?ria was pottering about her apartment. The police had finally decided to let her go, since apparently they didn’t have anything on her to keep her locked up. She would have to face charges on the blackmail business she was engaged in, but she was free pending a trial, the police figuring she wasn’t a flight risk. And she wasn’t. Where would she go? Her home was here, in Hampton Cove, even though she was now going to have a difficult time of it.
The apartment was a mess, but then the police had searched it thoroughly, looking high and low for evidence of the murder they had assumed she committed. Drawers had been pulled out, clothes strewn on the floor, her mattress had been cut open, her precious books were all over the place. It was terrible. Just such a big, big mess. It would take her days to clean it all up. Not to mention she would have to buy a new mattress. She wondered if the police would pay for the damage. She didn’t think they would.
The story of her arrest had spread throughout the community like crazy, of course, and now that she was released, that particular piece of news had probably spread just as fast, the entire neighborhood now being aware of a criminal in their midst. She would have to move to a different part of town maybe, her landlord probably not happy that the apartment had been trashed, and that her tenant was a criminal.
She’d cleaned up a little, had prepared herself some dinner, and was now sitting in her living room, her feet tucked underneath her, watching television and sipping from a cup of hot cocoa and nibbling from a chocolate chip cookie. The light in the room was subdued, with only a small lamp next to the TV set providing illumination, and shadows played across the wall behind her, like a pantomime in black and white.
Her eyes slowly drooped closed. It had been a long and eventful day, with the arrest, and the subsequent interrogations, and finally being brought home in a police car, which was enough to telegraph to the neighborhood that she was in legal trouble—if the story of her arrest wasn’t enough for that. The whole thing would be in the papers tomorrow, no doubt, splashed across the front page. And on social media. Maybe she would even have to delete her Facebook page.
And as she slowly nodded off, suddenly she thought she heard a squeaking sound. As if a window was being opened. She glanced in the direction of the kitchen, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. After a while, the hot cocoa did its soothing work, and she was drifting off again.
And that’s when her head was suddenly yanked back violently, and her breath was caught in her throat! She wanted to yell out, but her larynx was being squeezed shut by whoever was behind her, strangling her! She tried to insert her fingers between the piece of string or cord and her neck, but it was no use.
Whoever the killer was, she was no match for the powerful arms and hands. Almost as if her neck was caught in a vise!