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- Herausgeber: Al-Mashreq eBookstore
- Kategorie: Krimi
- Serie: Doc. Turner Series
- Sprache: Englisch
Doc. Turner's Vengeance Mixture by Arthur Leo Zagat is a riveting blend of mystery and suspense, with a dash of dark intrigue. When the reclusive Dr. Turner, a brilliant chemist with a shadowy past, creates a powerful concoction known only as "Vengeance Mixture," he unwittingly sets off a chain of events that will change lives forever. As the potion's effects wreak havoc and its sinister purpose becomes clear, a dangerous game of cat and mouse ensues. Can the secret behind the Vengeance Mixture be uncovered before more lives are ruined, or will Dr. Turner's past finally catch up with him? Dive into this thrilling tale where every twist reveals deeper layers of deceit and peril.
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Seitenzahl: 28
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024
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Table of Contents
Doc. Turner's Vengeance Mixture
Synopsis
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Table of Contents
Cover
Doc. Turner's Vengeance Mixture
Synopsis
That crumpled body, his looted store, and the boy's soiled cap told old Doc Turner, guardian of Morris Street, the whole, horrible story. And with a bereaved mother's screams ringing in his ears, Doc baits a murder trap with Abie, his errand boy, and comes to grips with a fiendish, modern Fagin!
1
A DANK, morning chill struck through Andrew Turner's shabby coat. The old man shivered a little as his key fumbled into the lock of his ancient drugstore. It was not yet seven, but the denizens of Morris Street's drab tenements were already streaming along the sidewalk, behind him. They begin their work, these slum dwellers, before their better fed, better clothed neighbors are well awake. They are laborers, porters, charwomen toiling long hours for paltry pay...
Something hard struck Doc's thin shins as he went through the opened door! The seat edge of a chair, placed right before the entrance! He stared at it, incredulously. How had that gotten here? Surely it had been at the desk in his prescription room when he had locked up at midnight.
The white-haired druggist tensed. Familiar odors came to him; the spicy sweet redolence of a drugstore so old-fashioned that it still is a pharmacy, still has senna and colocynth and anise in its drawers, tinctures of gentian and benzoin and guiac in the bottles on its shelves. But to the flaring, blue veined nostrils above Turner's bushy mustache the atmosphere differed subtly from that which had greeted him more mornings than he could count. It was not heavy and close as it always was after undisturbed, unventilated hours. Somewhere there was an opening through which fresh air had circulated all night. An aperture that should not exist!
Doc's eyes, faded blue under silver brows, groped about the store, and wandered to the transom directly above him. It was open! It hung open, although never had he failed to close it, and against its sash's age darkened paint there glared raw, gouged wood where a jimmy had forced it wide.
Someone had come in through that transom, had fetched the chair to help him climb out again. Someone? Between the edge of the rod held leaf and the sash there was a space of only ten inches. What man could possibly have squirmed through there?
Turner's wrinkled, almost transparent, lids narrowed. He got moving, prowled between dusty, cluttered showcases to the sales counter that paralleled the store front. Went around its end; halted.
The cash register drawer jutted from its metal case, and its compartments were empty. He had left only change there, and postage stamps. Less than five dollars worth in all. No great loss. Not enough, surely, to account for the bleakness that filmed Doc's seamed face with a sickly gray, for the pain that twitched his thin lips. His acid stained fingers closed, slowly, till their nails dug into sere palms.
