By Paul Alan Fahey
“Emily, you made it!” Oliver reached for her hand, and then kissed her on the cheek.
“I can only stay a short while. Leonard asked for his nightly coffee, and wouldn’t you know we’d run out. Danziger’s carries what he likes, and it’s quite a jaunt from here.”
“Let’s walk a bit then.”
“It’s Ethiopian, very hard to find.”
“What is?”
“Leonard’s coffee.”
“Mmm.”
“Much too strong for me, but Leonard can’t get through an evening without it. I prefer a rich, more delicate cinnamon or hazelnut flavored—”
“Emily, dear, we have so little time. We don’t want to waste it.”
“No, love. I was just making small talk.”
“Let’s stop here.”
“A phone booth?”
“No one’s around, and it’s quite dark. We’ll just squeeze in…there.” He pressed his body up against hers. “Rather comfy, if I do say.”
“What’s that noise, Oliver?”
“What noise?”
“That clanging sound, like something hitting the side of the booth.”
“Just your nerves, dear, and a rather loud lorry in the roundabout.” He kissed her passionately.
“Oliver, I think there’s something touching my leg.”
“Nonsense, Emily. We’re safe here. Besides, we’ve much to discuss.”
“About Leonard?”
“Yes. It has to look legitimate. Nothing fishy.”
“Well, I’m out of ideas. We’ve gone over the plan several times now and we never seem to agree.”
“We could go back to our original one?”
“Sunday noon behind Danziger’s?”
“The alley’s perfect.” He brushed back her bangs. “You pop round with hubby after services, and I’ll be waiting. You say Leonard loves his coffee. What better place to lure him to his doom?”
“But how exactly do I get him into the alley, dear? He’ll be suspicious. Leonard hates confined spaces. He’ll only stay in church if he gets an aisle seat and that alley’s so narrow.”
“I didn’t know.”
“About the alley?”
“No. Leonard’s phobia. Maybe we’d best go with plan B.”
“The intruder? I like that one.”
“You slip something in his coffee to make him sleep—”
“I’ll mash up his sleeping pills, add a dash of chicory to hide—”
“Emily, do try to concentrate on the big picture. The damn details will come later.”
She pulled away. “I was only trying to flesh out our strategy.”
“I’m sorry if I raised my voice. These things can be so trying. Do you hear that siren?”
“I’m a bit tone deaf, love. I thought you knew. I’ve seen several doctors in the high street, but they all say the same. ‘Live with it.’”
Just then two police cars came to an abrupt stop across from the phone booth.
“I wonder who they’re after?” he asked.
“Whom, love.”
“Right, dear. Whom.”
“I simply don’t care, Oliver. I’ve got to get to Danziger’s before they close.” Emily put up a hand to shield her eyes from the harsh spotlight.
A policeman walked toward them, his torch illuminating the inside of the booth.
Emily glanced down at the swinging receiver. “So that’s what it was.”
“What, dear?”
“That sound I heard, the thing near my leg.”
“What of it?”
“The telephone’s been off the hook the whole time, and the operator’s heard everything.” She opened her handbag, pulled out a handkerchief, and dabbed at her eyes. “What am I to do?”
“Calm yourself, Emily. We’ve done nothing wrong.”
“No, no, it’s not that.”
“What then?”
“It’s Leonard. You just don’t know what he’s like without his evening coffee.”
Paul Alan Fahey writes for JMS Books. He is the author of the LOVERS & LIARS gay wartime romance series. Paul is a member of SLO NightWriters, the premier writing organization on the Central Coast of California.
