The Coal Black Asphalt Tomb: A Berger and Mitry Mystery (Berger and Mitry Mysteries) (25 page)

“Compromised how, Daddy?”

“Would you like to be assigned somewhere else?”

“Hell, no. Dorset’s my home. I’ve got skin in the game here. I’m not going anywhere else, hear me?”

“That’s fine by me, Desiree. I just thought I’d ask.”

Des had the unhappy task of phoning Bart Shaver’s fiancée, Mary Ann Athey. Mary Ann took the news of his death with stoic reserve and made the drive to Dorset from Vassar to take charge of things. She turned out to be a rangy lacrosse player with a strong jaw and an admirably calm demeanor. Bart was buried at Duck River Cemetery three days after the ME released his body. Quite a few of their friends were in attendance. So were Des and Mitch. Mitch stood there stone-faced, holding Des’s hand as Reverend Goode of the Congregational Church said whatever words of comfort anyone could possibly say. Mary Ann had arranged for coffee and cake in the church’s community room afterward, but Mitch wasn’t up for that. Instead, he wanted to go home and watch a DVD of
The Day the Earth Stood Still—
not the from-hunger remake with Keanu Reeves but the original 1951 black-and-white version with Michael Rennie and Patricia Neal. Des sat and watched the whole movie with him and found it reasonably enjoyable for an old sci-fi film. She had no idea why Mitch found it a comfort to watch it after Bart’s funeral. There were many things about Mitch she didn’t understand. He was, after all, a man. But he was her man.

*   *   *

He went to work on his new patio just as soon as the stormy weather allowed. Dug his way down a good six inches, then shoveled in a deep, level bed of stone dust before he positioned the heavy slabs of bluestone
just so
and tamped them into place with a rubber mallet, one by one by one. It was slow, hard physical work. It was exactly the sort of work Mitch needed to do right now.

He worked on the patio by himself in the chilly April sunshine. His usual helpmate, Bitsy Peck, was busy making sure that
The Gazette
continued to report the news of the day on its Web site. What with Bart gone and Buzzy under court-ordered psychiatric observation someone had to take over. That someone was the crusading one-time editor in chief of the Smith College
Sophian
, who leapt eagerly into the void and enlisted a half dozen of her equally eager lady friends to help out. Strange but true—Buzzy Shaver’s all-male clubhouse had finally been taken over by the ladies whom he’d shut out for so many years. There was even talk that Bitsy, who had tons of Peck family money behind her, intended to buy
The Gazette
. Mitch took some comfort in knowing that Bart’s death created a void that gave Bitsy a renewed purpose in life. And he felt certain she’d blossom in her new role. It did help a little. Just not enough.

He’d set almost a third of the patio stones in place when Des came
thumpety-thumping
across the old wooden causeway in her cruiser to get her first good look at it.

“Mitch, this is gorgeous,” she exclaimed, standing there with her hands on her hips. “And I am loving the herringbone pattern. Did you design it?”

“Not exactly,” he said softly as he knelt there in the stone dust.

Her face fell. “Oh.…”

“Are you okay with that?”

“Of course I am,” she said quickly. “We are who we are. And who we
were
. We should embrace that. Nothing good comes from burying it. Just look what happens when you do.”

“I’d rather not look if you don’t mind. I keep seeing Bart lying there in the grass.” He glanced up at her. “Don’t you?”

She gazed out at the gentle swells on the sound. “Of course I do.”

“But you draw your way out of it, is that it?”

“I used to draw my way out of it. These days I don’t think there’s a name for what I’m doing. Oh, wait, yes there is. It’s called crap.”

“Have you got your drawing pad in your trunk?”

“Always. Why?”

“Because she’ll want to look at it.”

She frowned at him suspiciously. “Who will?”

“Susan Vail, that professor from the art academy. She’ll be here in…” He glanced at his watch. “Thirty-seven minutes. We have a drink date.”

Her pale green eyes widened at him. “Who has a drink date?”

“You, me and Susan. I took matters into my own hands.”

“Meaning what?” she demanded. “Did you two conversate about me?”

“Okay, now you’re just trying to piss me off.”

She stared at him in that the stiff-necked way of hers that never failed to remind him she was, and always would be, the Deacon’s daughter. “Mitch, what did you say to her?”

“That your shit’s fucked up.”

“And what did she…”

“That you’re the most gifted talent she’s ever encountered and she’d be honored to work with you one-on-one.”

“I
told
you I can’t afford that.”

“It’s all taken care of. I’m giving some guest lectures at the academy on the subject of visual composition in the cin-e-ma. You know me—I can flap these receding gums for hours about Gregg Toland’s deep-focus camera work in
Citizen Kane
. And the way Robert Siodmak lit the opening sequence of
The Killers
? Totally film noir meets Edward Hopper. Hell, I can go on for weeks.”

“Are they paying you for these lectures?”

“Well, no.”

“So you’re volunteering your time?”

“Well, yeah.”

She showed him her huge wraparound smile. “Have I told you recently that I adore you? Oh, hey, I almost forgot.…” She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a fresh package of Stim-U-Dents. “For a job well done. I couldn’t have cracked the Lance Paffin case without you.”

“I think you’d have been better off without me on this one.”

“And I think you couldn’t be more wrong. I’m lost in the tall grass without you. Don’t you know that?”

He hefted the Stim-U-Dents in his hand, peering at her. “I seem to recall that you hate these things.”

“True that. And if I catch you chewing on one in public I’ll make you eat it on the spot. But a man’s got a right to do whatever he pleases when he’s in the privacy of his own island.”

Mitch tore open the package and stuck one in the corner of his mouth, chewing on it contentedly. “So anywhere on Big Sister is okay?”

“Anywhere on Big Sister. Anywhere at all.” She gazed at him through her eyelashes. “Anywhere except for the sleeping loft.”

Mitch gazed back at her, grinning. “I can live with that.”

ALSO BY DAVID HANDLER

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EATURING
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ENJI
G
OLDEN

Runaway Man

F
EATURING
B
ERGER
&
M
ITRY

The Snow White Christmas Cookie

The Blood Red Indian Summer

The Shimmering Blond Sister

The Sour Cherry Surprise

The Sweet Golden Parachute

The Burnt Orange Sunrise

The Bright Silver Star

The Hot Pink Farmhouse

The Cold Blue Blood

F
EATURING
H
UNT
L
EIBLING

Click to Play

F
EATURING
S
TEWART
H
OAG

The Man Who Died Laughing

The Man Who Lived by Night

The Man Who Would Be F. Scott Fitzgerald

The Woman Who Fell from Grace

The Boy Who Never Grew Up

The Man Who Cancelled Himself

The Girl Who Ran Off with Daddy

The Man Who Loved Women to Death

F
EATURING
D
ANNY
L
EVINE

Kiddo

Boss

A
BOUT THE
A
UTHOR

D
AVID
H
ANDLER
is an Edgar Award winner and a Derringer, Anthony, and Dilys Award finalist. He has written extensively for television and films. David lives in a two-hundred-year-old carriage house in Old Lyme, Connecticut.

Visit his Web site at
www.davidhandlerbooks.com
.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

A Thomas Dunne Book for Minotaur Books.

An imprint of St. Martin’s Publishing Group.

THE COAL BLACK ASPHALT TOMB.
Copyright © 2014 by David Handler. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.thomasdunnebooks.com

www.minotaurbooks.com

Cover illustration by Hugh Syme

The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:

Handler, David, 1952–

    The coal black asphalt tomb: a Berger and Mitry mystery / David Handler. — First ed.

            pages cm.

    ISBN 978-1-250-04197-5 (hardcover)

    ISBN 978-1-4668-3918-2 (e-book)

  1.  Berger, Mitch (Fictitious character)—Fiction.   2.  Mitry, Desiree (Fictitious character)—Fiction.   3.  Murder—Investigation—Fiction.   4.  Mystery fiction. gsafd   I.  Title.

    PS3558.A4637C33 2014

    813'.54—dc23

2013032877

e-ISBN 9781466839182

First Edition: March 2014