Read A Charm of Powerful Trouble (A Harry Reese Mystery Book 4) for Free Online Page B

job there. Someone who wanted Ernie killed. That person could have switched guns and then sent a message to Ernie summoning him to meet Carlotta.”
    “Who do you have in mind?”
    “Remember Carlotta said she’d been staying with a friend? What if this friend was also someone Ernie had toyed with?”
    “As a species, the jilted lover usually prefers something more direct, like a butcher knife to the kidneys. But I suppose that’s possible,” I admitted.
    “It’s more than possible.”
    “By the way, whatever happened to Mr. X?”
    “I’ve put him on the back burner for now.”
    “Yes, let’s keep him on a slow simmer. And in the meantime?”
    “We see if we can locate Lou Ling at the Chinese farm in Astoria.”
    “How will we know him when we do? All I saw was his back, and it was plenty dark.”
    “It certainly won’t be easy. Especially not knowing the language.”
    Aunt Nell came out and joined us and Emmie told her about our mission to Astoria.
    “I think I’d like to come along, too. I’ve never seen a Chinese farm.”
    Then a few minutes later Thibaut appeared and poured himself some coffee.
    “Thibaut!” Emmie said excitedly.
    As she and Aunt Nell helped him clean up the spilt coffee, she conversed with him in French. Her proposal was greeted with enthusiasm.
    “Thibaut’s consented to accompany us as an interpreter,” she announced.
    “ Thibaut knows Chinese?” I asked.
    “No, but he’s a master of pantomime. That will have to do.”
    Just as we were preparing to leave, Carlotta appeared in full show-girl regalia.
    “Where are you off to?” I asked.
    “To the SLAVE marKET. With Jimmy’s PLACE closed down , I NEED to find a JOB. WISH me LUCK!”
    Her final words were delivered as she headed out the door and were instantly answered by the howling of an infant in one of the neighboring apartments. A little later the four of us made our way to a car stop.
    The transport network of New York is one of the most efficient in all the world—provided one’s objective lies in lower Manhattan. But should you want to get from Prospect Park, Brooklyn, to Astoria, Queens, you must gird yourself for a long journey of ever-increasing dreariness. The trip involved three car routes and took up a good part of the afternoon. Emmie had Thibaut sit beside her so she could instruct him as to what she had in mind. Meanwhile, Aunt Nell and I took a seat a few rows back.
    I suppose it’s time I offer a fuller picture of Emmie’s aunt. At the time of the story, she must have been in her early to mid-forties. But even sitting as close as I was just then, she looked no more than thirty-five. If anything, younger than when we’d first met two years before. She wore her jet-black hair in a casual but carefully fashioned coiffure. Her attire was similarly stylish, yet never ostentatious. The fragrance she wore seemed hers alone, and she used just barely enough of it. And in conversation she was always charming, no matter what the topic.
    I know it sounds as if I’m waxing on a bit here. The infatuation may have been partly due to the fact that she compared so favorably to the Williamsburg riverfront, and her scent to that of the factories that lined it. But I suspect it mainly came down to the fact that in all the qualities I’ve enumerated, she was so unlike Emmie—who rarely endeavored to please anyone but herself.
    “Is it true a man was killed in my room, Harry?”
    “Oh, yes. Electrocuted.”
    “Emmie told me she still wonders if you were behind it. That you may have killed him in a jealous rage.”
    “I wasn’t even in town. The parrot chewed on the light cord, the poor fellow didn’t notice, and, well, that was that. Haven’t you learned not to pay too much attention to what Emmie says?”
    “I don’t remember her being quite so….”
    “Batty? Oh, she was plenty batty when we met back in Buffalo. Did she ever tell you how she suspected your late husband had been killed by the owner of a