Read The Burglar Who Painted Like Mondrian for Free Online

supposed to, and anyway he doesn’t have a key.”
    “ I have a key, Bern. You gave me keys to your place. Remember?”
    “Oh, right.”
    “So I stuck the key in the lock and turned it, and damned if the thing didn’t pop open. You ought to try it yourself sometime. Works like a charm.”
    “Carolyn—”
    “Have you got anything to drink? I know you’re supposed to wait until it’s offered, but who’s got the patience?”
    “There’s two bottles of beer in the fridge,” I said. “One’s going to wash down the sandwich I’m about to make, but you’re welcome to the other one.”
    “Dark Mexican beer, right? Dos Equis?”
    “Right.”
    “They’re gone. What else have you got?”
    I thought for a moment. “There’s a little Scotch left.”
    “A single malt? Glen Islay, something like that?”
    “You found it and it’s gone, too.”
    “ ’Fraid so, Bern.”
    “Then we’re fresh out,” I said, “unless you want to knock off the Lavoris. I think it’s about sixty proof.”
    “Child of a dog.”
    “Carolyn—”
    “You know something? I think I’m gonna go back to saying ‘son of a bitch.’ It may be sexist but it’s a lot more satisfying than ‘child of a dog.’ You go around saying ‘child of a dog’ and people don’t even know you’re cursing.”
    “Carolyn, what are you doing here?”
    “I’m dying of thirst, that’s what I’m doing.”
    “You’re drunk.”
    “No shit, Bernie.”
    “You are. You drank two beers and a pint of Scotch and you’re shitfaced.”
    She braced an elbow on her knee, rested her head in the palm of her hand and gave me a look. “In the first place,” she said, “it wasn’t a pint, it was maybe six ounces, which isn’t even half a pint. We’re talking about three drinks in a good bar or two drinks in a terrific bar. In the second place, it’s not nice to tell your best friend that she’s shitfaced. Pie-eyed, maybe. Half in the bag, three sheets to the wind, a little under the weather, all acceptable. But shitfaced, that’s not a nice thing to say to someone you love. And in the third place—”
    “In the third place, you’re still drunk.”
    “In the third place, I was drunk before I drank your booze in the first place.” She beamed triumphantly, then frowned. “Or should that be the fourth place, Bernie? I don’t know. It’s hell keeping track of all these places. In the fifth place I was drunk when I got back to my place, and then I had a drink before I came up to your place, so that makes me—”
    “Out of place,” I suggested.
    “I don’t know what it makes me.” She waved an impatient hand. “That’s not the important thing.”
    “It’s not?”
    “No.”
    “What is?”
    She looked furtively around. “I’m not supposed to tell anybody,” she said.
    “’To tell anybody what?”
    “There aren’t any bugs in this place, are there, Bern?”
    “Just the usual roaches and silverfish. What’s the problem, Carolyn?”
    “The problem is my pussy’s been snatched.”
    “Huh?”
    “Oh, God,” she said. “My kid’s been catnapped.”
    “Your kid’s been—Carolyn, you don’t have any kids. How much did you have to drink, anyway? Before you got here?”
    “Shit on toast,” she said, loud. “Will you just listen to me? Please? It’s Archie.”
    “Archie?”
    She nodded. “Archie,” she said. “They’ve kidnapped Archie Goodwin.”

Chapter Four
    “T he cat,” I said.
    “Right.”
    “Archie the cat. Your Burmese cat. That Archie.”
    “Of course, Bern. Who else?”
    “You said Archie Goodwin, and the first thing I thought—”
    “That’s his full name, Bern.”
    “I know that.”
    “I didn’t mean Archie Goodwin the person, Bern, because he’s a character in the Nero Wolfe stories, and the only way he could have been kidnapped would be in a book, and if that happened I wouldn’t run up here in the middle of the night and carry on about it. You want to know the truth, Bern, I think you need a