Page 14 of Killer on the First Page
He obliged.
Never let it be said that Edgar Abbott ever saw a pot he didn’t stir. “Kane, I couldn’t help but notice you turned Fairfax DePoy’s books inward while you were turning your own face-out. Still at daggers drawn with our English friend?”
“Fairfax? English? Don’t make me laugh. He’s about as English as French toast—and about as French as English muffins.”
“Meaning?”
“American cheese.”
Egged on by Edgar, Kane unpacked the story of the Great Feud of Fairfax DePoy vs. Kane Hamady. A battle of genres as well: fey historical romance vs. hard-boiled wonderlands.
“I hear you threatened to hurt him,” said Edgar.
“Hurt him? That fop? Don’t be a bunny. Entire tale is a bunch ’a bunk. Pure hooey, Louie. I never threatened to hurt him. Never.”
“You didn’t?”
“Naw. Threatened to kill him. Hurtin’ wasn’t good enough for the likes of him.”
Miranda remembered what Lachlan had said:Kane broke his fingers, one by one.Why on earth would Edgar allow these two men to attend the same event? What was Edgar possibly thinking?Washe even thinking?
Kane flicked the cinnamon toothpick onto the carpet, leveled his gaze at Edgar while still somehow eyeing Miranda.
“Your pal Fairfax is a crumb, a chump, a dope, see? A low-life palooka who don’t know dollars from donuts. I ran into him in the Windy City. I was comin’ outta a gin mill on the south side. Sure, I was drinkin’. I admit it. Was ossified at the time. What’s it to ya? I was on a bender, see? Bar-hoppin’ like a cricket on a tambourine, was sauced and sozzled, to say nothin’ of soused, and who do I run into? That fink, Fairfax. We had words. ‘Yer all wet,’ says I. ‘Best you take a powder, get outta my way.’ I tells Fairfax to button his lip, see? But he keeps yappin’. So I give him a bit of the ol’ chin music.”
“Chin music?” said Miranda, trying to keep up.
“I think that means a punch to the jaw,” said Edgar.
“Fairfax’s mouthpiece calls me on the horn later, threatenin’ hellfire and lawsuits, really puts the screws on me. It’s a bum rap, but Iain’t no stool pigeon. I ain’t no rat. What Fancy Boy Fairfax and myself get up to is between him, God, and my two fists.”
Andrew came in carrying a silverware serving tray and spotted Kane. “Mr. Hamady!” he cried, putting the tray down. “I just read your interview inTough Guys Monthly.”
Miranda shot Andrew a look, one that said,Don’t get him started! We’ll be here all day, and we still have a reception to host and a wardrobe for me to select and a grand entrance to plan before the paparazzi descend upon us, so please, please, for the love of god, do NOT mention the feud!
“Quite the feud!” said Andrew, to an audible groan from Miranda.
Fortunately, Edgar was able to intervene before Kane could reel off on another tangent.
“First time in Tillamook Bay?” he asked.
“You kiddin’, pal? I’m like Hank Snow. I’ve been everywhere. Was up the Nestucca River when they hauled in that 38-pound trout.”
This immediately got Edgar’s interest. Miranda’s eyes glazed over. What was it about men and fish?
Geri of the shiny pink tracksuit and matching fanny pack reappeared, perturbed by Andrew’s lackadaisical approach to setting the slotted spoons and baroque flatware in anticipation of the banquet to come.
“Here, let me do that,” she said under her breath, relieving Andrew of his duties. Not that Andrew noticed. He was too fascinated by the presence and sheer legend of Kane Hamady.
“Did you really break the fingers of—”
“Fishing!” Miranda exclaimed. “Tell us more about fishing! I can’t get enough stories about fishing.”
She sent yet another sidelong look Andrew’s way, one that said,I thought I made it clear that we were not to mention the feud toMr. Hamady under any circumstances whatsoever, so why, oh why, would you fail to realize this?(Miranda could say a lot with a single look.)
“Some young dolly bird pestered me into comin’ back to this backwater burg, and I thought maybe fishin’ was in store. Nothin’ doin’. Place is lousy with finger peckers.”
“Pardon?” said Miranda.
