Motor City Shakedown Read Online Free Page B

bottle, closed my eyes, and let Sophie’s deep voice wash over me.
    *   *   *
    The doorbell rang twice before I realized what it was. Scott Joplin’s “Maple Leaf Rag” had ended—half an hour ago? Clicks and pops came from the Victrola as the needle bounced back and forth at the end of the record. It wasn’t dark out yet, but everything seemed gray, out of focus. I looked at my watch—eight o’clock.
    The bell rang again. I pocketed the bottle and hurried to the foyer, wobbling as I did. I flipped on the light and opened the door. Elizabeth Hume stood before me with a grin on her face. My breath caught in my throat. She was magnificent—high cheekbones, plump lips, those alluring green eyes. With her auburn hair piled under a sky blue narrow-brimmed hat and a matching silk dress with lace at the throat and sleeves, she was the first day of spring, Christmas morning, a cool breeze on a hot summer day.
    â€œMy God, Elizabeth, you’re back. You’re … stunning.” I was mortified to hear a slur in my words.
    â€œHello, Will. It’s so nice to see you.”
    â€œPlease, Elizabeth. Come in.” Trying to look alert, I opened my eyes wide and stepped to the side of the door, my right hand behind my back.
    Her head tilted a bit, and she studied me for a second. Her face froze. “Mother and I got home yesterday. I thought we could catch up tonight, but I see this is not a good time.” Her voice trembled. I met her eyes and was surprised to see them welling with tears. She turned to leave.
    I laid my good hand on her arm. “No. Please, Elizabeth, stay.”
    She stopped and looked at my hand until I removed it. “I thought you had quit drinking, that you were trying to make something of yourself, but you’re obviously drunk out of your mind. Damn you!” A tear slipped down her cheek. “I thought you were past this, that we—” She shook her head and, without another word, strode down the hall.
    It took a moment for my brain to kick into gear. I ran into the hallway and saw the back of her dress as she disappeared down the steps. “Elizabeth! Wait!” I caught up with her just before the first-floor landing. “Please, come back.” She kept walking. “Let me explain.” Even as I said it, I wasn’t sure how I could. No, I’m not drunk. I’m just high on morphine. Really? Would that really be my defense?
    She spun around. I was only just able to stop without running her over. I took a quick step back and tripped over the landing, falling onto my backside.
    Looking away, she said, “Please, Will.” Her voice was quiet. “Stay away from me.” She opened the door and hurried out, leaving me behind.
    *   *   *
    I awoke on the couch with the sun already high in the sky. I sat up and put my head in my hands, ignoring the pain in the right one. I’d taken another swig of morphine after Elizabeth left and had never gotten out of my apartment, never made it out to look for the prostitute.
    I shook my head and took a deep breath. Is this what I’ve come to? I can’t even mount a search for the one woman who could keep me out of the state prison?
    An odd thought struck me. Elizabeth was back. She was tall and slender and had auburn hair. She had even more motive to kill Moretti than I did. Moretti had done a lot of Vito Adamo’s dirty work, and there was certainly a good possibility that Moretti had assisted in Judge Hume’s murder.
    She said she’d just gotten back from Paris, but how did I know that was true? Could she have pretended to be a prostitute to lure Moretti to his death? I considered the idea for half a second before rejecting it out of hand. It was stupid. Elizabeth was no killer. I put the thought out of my mind.
    After two cups of coffee to pry my eyes open and a capful of morphine to take the edge off the pain, I dressed