"Kristine Kathryn Rusch - The Women of Whale Rock" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rusch Kristine Kathryn)

seemed more foreboding than touristy, and tourists usually spent an
uncomfortable hour before sliding their way out the door. Retsler usually liked
the black and white skull-and-crossbones hanging over the door, the uneven
wooden floor, the skulls lining the fireplace mantel, the sound of sea chanties
sung with unusual heartiness through the stereo speakers.

Usually. On this night it seemed a bit much.

But Lucy had picked the place. She was drinking whiskey and smoking a cigar, her
unpainted chair tilted back against the stones in the fireplace. Eddie was
nursing his third beer, and Bishop was downing gin and tonics as if he actually
liked the stuff. Retsler had just bummed one of Lucy's cigars when the coroner
walked in.

Hamilton Denne never set foot in a bar. He occasionally frequented
establishments where fine liquor was served. He lived in Glen Ellyn Cove, a
gated community for Whale Rock's considerable wealthy population. The Cove had a
five-star restaurant near its gate, a private club upstairs, and an atmosphere
as snooty as Denne's name. Most of Denne's neighbors had no idea what he did for
a living. If they asked, he always told them that he was a medical examiner. He
worked hard to keep his name out of the papers, easy to do since the coroner's
position in Scary County was an appointed, not an elected, position. If it was
necessary to mention the coroner at all, the paper usually did it by title, not
by name. No sense in offending the Dennes of Glen Ellyn Cove.

Denne ordered a Glenlivet and was tersely informed he would get Chivas or the
bar scotch or no scotch at all. He settled for the Chivas, and carried it to the
table himself.

Retsler said nothing. He was on his second local stout and his judgment was
impaired, but not that impaired. Eddie peered over his long-neck as if he didn't
believe what he saw. Bishop slid his gin and tonic toward the center of the
table, unfinished. Lucy set her chair down on all four legs, leaned forward, and
said, "Want a cigar, Your Highness?"

"No, thanks," Denne said, and pulled out a silver cigarette case engraved with
his initials, no doubt a gift from his obscenely wealthy wife. Being the
coroner, Retsler believed, was Denne's secret rebellion against that elegant
woman whose bank account had bought Denne all the good things in life. Denne
removed a cigarette, tapped the end, then twirled it in his long, clean fingers.

He looked at all of them as if he saw what their breathalyzer results would be.
Then he put the cigarette in his mouth, lit it with a matching silver lighter,
and took a long drag. "I wasn't here," he said, smoke billowing out with each
word. "Not now, not ever. You ever claim I was or breathe a word about what I'm
about to say, I'll deny it. Is that clear?"

Lucy tilted her chair back. Bishop stared blearily at the table. Eddie lifted
his long-neck in mock toast, then cradled it against his chest.