Read A Far Gone Night for Free Online

put them there. Shame on you.”
    “I said I was sorry, and I am.”
    “Why do you suppose I don’t believe you?”
    “History. Which is just that—history. I really do think we could work together, but I can let that go. For now,” she said.
    “I am not one bit interested in working with you. Reporters ,” I muttered, tossing in a little contempt in my tone.
    “I’m not a reporter anymore. I’m not even an investigative journalist, Thomas. I’m a writer . Nothing more, nothing less.”
    “I saw your book on display in Bednarik’s Books. I think everyone in town bought one.”
    A smile broke brightly across her face. “What did you think?”
    “I didn’t read it.”
    Her smile drifted away. “Did you buy it?”
    “No.”
    I looked out the window. A rich, vivid, red and orange sunset was showing off, its vibrant colors a backdrop for the trees denuded of foliage, their stark outlines against the burning sky like a Japanese print. I looked back at her face and saw the disappointment there and understood once again despite her hurt feelings, maybe because of hurt feelings, that she was a beautiful woman.
    “If you buy a copy I’ll sign it for you,” she said, the hurt lingering in her eyes. I was suddenly ashamed of myself. No need to be mean.
    “Okay,” I said. “I’ll go down to Bednarik’s Books in the morning and pick up a copy, if there are any left.”
    “Thank you, Thomas. I do hope you’ll enjoy it. Read for yourself, then, if you must, condemn me, but not from second-hand knowledge.”
    “How long are you going to stick around looking for a sensational story to write a book about?” I said, shifting away from the personal, which is unreliable.
    “Until I find out, for sure, what happened to that poor girl. Maybe get a look at the Medical Examiner’s report. You do have a coroner in this town, don’t you?”
    I smiled at her thin condescension.
    “May I count on you for some help with this story?” Suzanne has beautiful eyes, I noticed again as she pinned me down with her question.
    “You may not. You’re on your own, ma’am,” I said. I tried not to squirm as she continued her penetrating eye contact.
    “ You found the body, Thomas, so you are already in the story. Might not hurt to be an asset instead of an ass. I think we could work together. Pleasantly. You just might discover that I’ve toned down my attitude a good bit.”
    “Money helps with that, I guess.”
    She smiled an I ’m-not-getting-anywhere-with-this smile. Then she dug into her purse, pulled out a business card, and slid it across the table between us. I took the card. It was cream-colored with dark blue writing on it, telling me who she was, that she was a “Writer,” and her email and cell phone number.
    “Tasteful,” I said.
    And with that, Suzanne Highsmith , manipulator of the media, grabbed her purse, slid out of the booth, smiled, and said, “When you step down from your high horse, Thomas, I’d love to get together. I’m warning you that I can be persistent, but without the ‘bitch’ part in my past.”
    Then she marched over to the coat rack, tugged on her coat, and rushed out the front door to the parking lot as if she had a million better things to do. I watched through the window as she climbed into her blue Toyota 4Runner, and exited in controlled haste.
    While I was watching Suzanne’s leaving, Lunatic Mooning came over to my booth and picked up the barely-touched salad and half-gone Diet Coke.
    “Did you say the wrong thing again?” he asked, his face blank, impassive.
    “Apparently.”
    “She seems like a nice lady. So did the others who thought you were hot.”
    “Yes, they were,” I said, thinking of Liv Olson and Ruth VanderKellen , both appealing and both beyond my ability to try again with. “I’m beat, Lunatic, so I think I just might mosey along back to the house. Gotcha will be hungry.”
    “You know,” he said, “I told you that Gotcha will always be welcome here.