Hit on the House Read Online Free Page A

ago.”
    “Mmmm. What kinds of things do you cook? Canapés? Cookies? Little wieners on a toothpick? What?”
    She looked at him as if he were crazy. “What kind of food is that? No, no. Liver dumplings, pierogi, klenedljine od sliv -plum dumplings. You don't know any of this food,” she said with a mixed air of contempt and pity. “It's Serbian. And then there is sarma -that's minced ham and pork with onions and garlic and rice, wrapped in cabbage leaves—and there is walnut povitica . . . oh, lots of things. It's a lot of work. Ma actually starts cooking on Saturday night.”
    Mulheisen was intrigued. He would have loved to sample some of these exotic-sounding dumplings—surely there were some leftovers—but there was no way to suggest it, given the circumstances. He sighed. “Was there anything unusual about the guests today?” he asked. “Any strangers? No? What time did they all leave?”
    “They were all gone by six, as usual,” she said. “This wasn't a Serb thing.” She stared at Mulheisen. Then, her voice harsh with bitterness, she said, “You aren't going to do a damn thing, are you? You know who did it. But you don't care. Just a bunch of thugs killing each other off. ‘Good riddance,’ you say.”
    “I have no idea who did this,” Mulheisen said, “but I expect to find out. Who do you think did it?”
    She looked at him with palpable disbelief. “It was Carmine,” she cried. “Who else? Not Carmine personally, but one of his hired killers. But they're too big for you, aren't they? You don't mess with the big boys, do you?” She was working herself up to a real blowout, Mulheisen thought, perhaps as a vent for her grief.
    “Why would Carmine want to do this?” he asked reasonably. “Was Sid on the outs with Carmine?” She didn't answer. “The last I heard they were good buddies, friendly business associates. Not so?”
    She glared at him. Mulheisen sighed. “Look, Miss Sedlacek, I'm not real current on organized crime . . . this, this Mafia dance. I'm just a precinct detective, but I'll be working with the Racket and Conspiracy Squad on this. If you have anything that could help us, why don't you tell me? I can't just go and bust Carmine, or any other citizen, because you say he hired a killer.”
    “But you know all about him,” she burst out. “You watch him and the rest of us all the time! You know everything about us, you . . .” Suddenly she was incapable of speech. Her throat seemed to lock and her eyes blazed. She stepped forward and punched Mulheisen right in the chest, just where the abdomen meets the rib cage. Her tiny fist was like a rock, and Mulheisen reeled, staggering backward, gasping for breath.
    Jimmy Marshall pounced. He whipped the woman's arms behind her back, and before Mulheisen had recovered, Jimmy had her cuffed and was holding her by the hair with her hands yanked up between her shoulder blades. Her neck was long, and her throat pulsed, her breasts thrust forward, heaving.
    “Whoo!” Mulheisen wheezed, leaning against the wall with an outstretched arm. He looked over his shoulder at the little woman who stood firmly but belligerently in Jimmy's grasp, her legs set apart, her chin thrust out. “Hang onto her, Jimmy,” he warned hoarsely. “I'm going upstairs.”
    It was a dodge, to get out of the room so that he could lean against a wall and knead his thorax and indulge the pain out of sight of itsinflicter and his young assistant. When he felt better, he climbed the stairs. By now the doctor had arrived and given Mrs. Sedlacek a sedative. She was a dumpy, gray-looking lady, tucked up in a large bed with a satin comforter. She was sound asleep, snoring slightly. Roman Yakovich sat in a chair by the door, watching her stolidly. He looked hewn out of granite himself. He stood to greet Mulheisen.
    “I didden know nothing aboudit,” Yakovich said. “I was watchin’ TV in my room. I didden even hear nothing.”
    “So how come you ran out to the