Husbands And Lap Dogs Breathe Their Last Read Online Free Page B

of Vice, a ruthless public moralist.
    “She was convicted and sentenced to federal prison in 1902 and committed suicide the night before she was to begin her sentence.
    “This overview cannot capture the full range of Ms. Craddock’s contributions to ...”
    Surendra Hickok stopped and coughed. Cummings noticed that the smoke in the room seemed suddenly to have increased in density.
    “They really might cut back on the incense,” Cummings thought.
    “Craddock’s contributions to the ...” Surendra stammered, trying to continue. She couldn’t. She abruptly screamed. Her wedding dress had erupted in fire.
    Cummings scanned the room. The cause of the smoke wasn’t the incense. The velvet drapes were smoking heavily and starting to flame.
    Rutley Paik pulled off his morning coat and leapt at Surendra, attempting to smother the flames.
    Tom tossed drinks and water at Surendra and then at the drapes.
    Crandall and Sebastian called for help on their cell phones.
    Winky shrieked and stood frozen, while Tom and Otto moved at great speed for no particular reason in no particular direction, bumping into the furniture and other Mathers members.
    Anunciación ran toward the French doors in a panic and then hesitated, blocking the exit until Lolita pushed her out of the way.
    The Scottish-Jewish hobbit davenned .
    Meanwhile, the flames had begun to spread throughout the room.
     
     
    Half an hour later, from the safety of the sidewalk across the street, the group of stunned Neo-Edwardians watched the Chicago Fire Department try to save what was left of the Red and White. Many Mathers members had minor injuries, mostly smoke inhalation, and were being treated by paramedics. No one was deemed sufficiently afflicted to require a trip to the hospital. The burnt remains of the one casualty, Surendra Hickok, were loaded into an ambulance.
    Police circulated; they asked individuals what they had observed and took names and contact information. Finally they suggested that everyone go home.
    “I think we may as well leave now,” Luther stammered to Cummings, his voice tremulous. “Yes, I think we may as well,” he repeated. Cummings nodded, and they turned in the direction of Cummings’s car.
    Cummings felt a tug on his sleeve.
    “I don’t think we’ve met—not exactly.” It was Otto Verissimo.
    “I know who you are,” Cummings replied.
    “Do you? And I know who you are. I recognize your name from the article in the Tribune . You’re that accomplished amateur detective.”
    “Yes,” Cummings said.
    “I need to consult you,” Otto said, lowering his voice to a whisper, “as soon as possible. Please!” Otto thrust an elegantly printed business card into Cummings’s hand and disappeared into the crowd.

 
     
     
Chapter Four
     
     
    The next morning Cummings was in the kitchen, perusing tea canisters as the summer sun rose to smother Chicago with another day of heat and humidity. Cummings and Odin were quite the tea aficionados and always kept twelve small numbered canisters of different varieties in their kitchen.
    Cummings studied the canisters, trying to decide which tea he wanted. Unsure, he retrieved a pair of dice he kept in a drawer and threw them. The winner was canister four, Irish Breakfast Tea.
    He had emailed Otto and set up an appointment for that afternoon. As his tea steeped he searched the Internet to see what he could find about Otto Verissimo.
    It seemed that Otto was a very successful author, although an article in Publishers Weekly suggested that his books, like those of any number of other genre writers, were experiencing flat sales in the economic downturn. Otto’s husband, Sebastian Grinnell, whom he had married in Provincetown the year before, owned three thriving bars on Halsted Street in Lakeview, Chicago’s historic gay neighborhood, known colloquially as Boys Town. Even in the Great Recession of the early twenty-first century, this was not a couple struggling to pay the bills.
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