“The L?”
“The elevated railway system. It’s pretty amazing in its own right.”
“Oh, yes, I’ve read about that, too.”
“Where did you do all this reading?”
He looked sheepish. “Well, I bought a guidebook last week, and I’ve been studying it every night.”
I slapped him gently on the back. “That’s great. I love your enthusiasm, now let’s go explore.”
Chapter Five
As promised, we saw all the tall buildings we could, in spite of the fog and drizzle, which did little to dampen Alan’s enthusiasm. In addition to that, we window-shopped, peeking into all the fine shops and galleries along Michigan Avenue, including the Allegrae Auction House, Tiffany, Cartier, Louis Vuitton, and Wolford. Though tempted, we didn’t buy anything except a few penny postcards Alan wanted to send home. Along the way we took turns taking pictures of each other with Alan’s new camera, posing here and there around the city. After Alan treated us to an early dinner at a charming little Italian place on St. Claire Street, we wandered back to the Edmonton, tired, damp, and bedraggled but deliriously happy.
Back in the comfort of our room, we took turns taking hot showers. As I exited the bathroom in my towel, I noticed Alan at the desk writing out his postcards, some of the Water Tower, some of the Wrigley Building and the Edmonton, and some of Michigan Avenue.
“Who are you sending those to?” I said as I dried off.
Alan looked up at me. “I’m keeping a few for my scrapbook. The others I’m mailing to my landlady, my neighbor, Mrs. Heiges, my friend Bill, and my aunt and uncle in Lanesboro, Minnesota.”
“And what are you telling them?”
“Just what we saw and did today, how the weather is, stuff like that. Can’t fit much on these things.”
“No, I suppose not. Did you mention me?”
Alan looked up at me with those puppy-dog eyes. “Just that I’m here with a good friend.”
“Of course. A very good friend. Well, I think the front desk has stamps. We can drop them off later to be mailed.”
“Good, thanks. Isn’t there anyone you want to send a postcard to?”
I shrugged. “My mom and dad, my Aunt Verbina, and Mrs. Murphy. She’d get a kick out of that. Maybe my cousin Liz in Paris. But maybe our next trip.”
“Suit yourself. I suppose I had better shower and change now, too. I’m pretty much finished.”
“Go ahead. I promise I won’t read your postcards.”
Alan laughed. “I have no secrets. Not from you anyway. I won’t be but a minute.” He got up from the desk and padded off to the bathroom as I started to get dressed.
Once he was showered, he changed into his evening suit, which had been neatly pressed and hung in the closet by the valet while we were out, along with my suit and my tux for tomorrow night.
Feeling somewhat refreshed, we returned to the lobby and dropped his postcards off at the desk after purchasing stamps.
“You’ll probably beat them home, Alan,” I said.
“Maybe, but I wanted to send them anyway. I don’t get out of Milwaukee much.”
“This is just the beginning, good friend. What say we go in search of cocktails next?”
“That is a capital idea.”
We found a seat at a table outside the Acorn Bar with a wonderful view of the lobby and watched the people go by, Alan still somewhat awestruck, which I found adorable. Presently a cocktail waitress came by, and I ordered a dry vodka martini with a pickle. Alan had a beer. She returned quickly enough with the drinks, and Alan again insisted on paying.
“It’s the least I can do, Heath. Honestly.”
“All right, buddy, since you insist.”
“I do.” He gave her a dollar and told her to keep the change. After she walked away, Alan took a swig and looked at me. “Jeepers, twenty-five cents for a beer and sixty cents for a martini. That would have only been seventy-five cents total back in Milwaukee.”
I laughed as I tasted my martini. “Everything’s bigger and more expensive in the big city, Alan.”
The drinks went down easily, and we were both feeling quite relaxed and happy when from just over our shoulders came a singsong voice we had heard before.
“Good evening, gentlemen, monsieurs,” Mr. Blount said.
Keyes and I set our nearly empty drinks down and stood up. “Good evening, sir,” we both replied. “We’re just having a drink. We’ve had a long day out seeing the sights.”
“Oui, traveling and sightseeing is always tiring. You mentioned earlier you just checked in today, yes?”
“That’s right. We checked in, shopped, spent the afternoon being tourists, and had an early dinner. Then we changed and now here we are. It will be an early evening tonight.”
“And when do you go home?”
“Early Monday morning.”
“Ah, bon. So you have the rest of the weekend.” He pulled out his wallet and extracted a business card, which he handed to me. “That is my private number, Monsieur Barrington, in case you change your mind about an evening of entertainment. I can arrange it for you with a moment’s notice. All very discreet.”
I took the card and glanced at it. Victor Blount, Jackson Lake 3-4829. “Thanks, but I don’t think we’ll need any other entertainment.”
He shrugged. “Keep it just in case. One never knows.”
I put the card in my wallet, just to be polite. “Right,” I said.
He smiled his thin little smile. “Très bien.”
“That means ‘very good,’ Alan,” I said, but Alan just rolled his eyes.
“May I join you, gentlemen? I’ve just closed my shop for the evening. and I’m waiting on someone.”
“Of course,” Alan said, though I knew he’d rather he didn’t.
“Merci. Thank you so much. I hope I’m not intruding, it’s just that I hate sitting all alone in big hotel lobbies. I feel so small.” He took a seat across from us as we returned to our chairs.
“No intrusion at all, Mr. Blount,” I said, quite insincerely.
He took out a gold lighter and a matching cigarette case, which looked expensive. He opened the case and held it out to us. “Cigarette?”
“Ah, no thank you. I don’t smoke, neither does Mr. Keyes.”
He took one out for himself and lit up, putting the lighter and case away. “To each their own, that is what I say, Mr. Barrington.”
“I agree.” I motioned for the waitress. “Cocktail?”
“Oh, but of course, mais oui. I’ll buy this round, I insist. Gimlet, extra lime. And another beer for this gentleman, and for you, a martini?”
“Yes, vodka, with a pickle.”
“A pickle? How eccentric, Mr. Barrington. You are a peculiar fellow.”
The waitress took our order, returning presently with the drinks, which Mr. Blount did indeed pay for.
“Thank you, sir,” Alan said, raising his glass.
“Merci,” I said.
“You are both most welcome, my pleasure.” He raised his glass as well. “Do you speak French, Mr. Barrington?”
I shook my head. “Not really. I studied it in high school and I know a few words and phrases. It’s a beautiful language.”
“Oui, the language of love, amour.”
“Mon petit chou. I remember that phrase.”
Blount laughed. “Ah yes, that is a French term of endearment. Do you have a little petit chou back home?”
I blushed. “No, no one back home.” Which was the truth.
“What’s a petit chou?” Alan asked.
“Little cabbage,” I said.
“That’s a funny term of endearment. I don’t think I’d like being called that.”
I laughed. “There was someone in my life once, a long time ago, that I called that.”
Alan’s look clearly said he wanted to know more.
“I’ll tell you about it sometime, Alan.” I pulled out my pocket watch. “It’s ten to eight. Didn’t you say you were meeting som
eone?”
“Oui, a woman I met just yesterday, in my shop. She is from New York and insisted on meeting for drinks this evening.”
“You must have made a favorable impression on her,” Alan said.
He shrugged his bony shoulders. “I am not a ladies’ man, monsieur. But I have no objections to having a cocktail or two, and she was rather adamant.” He glanced about. “Ah, there she is now.”
He stood and gave a little wave toward a full-figured woman who had just stepped out of one of the elevators. She wore a red velvet cocktail dress, and her platinum blond hair had been twisted into curls and plastered close to her head. About her neck was a rather stunning and very sparkly diamond pendant. If I had to guess, I’d say she was about thirty. Thirty-five at most.
When she spotted him, the woman brightened and quickened her pace in our direction. The three of us stood once more to greet her as she approached.
“Ah, bon soir, Mrs. Verte. I would like you to meet Mr. Barrington and Mr. Keyes. They have just arrived from Milwaukee this morning and are in town for the weekend.”
Mrs. Verte smiled sweetly. “A pleasure, gentlemen. You are friends of Mr. Blount’s?”
“We just met him today,” I said. “Mr. Keyes was in need of a tuxedo, which we purchased in Mr. Blount’s shop this afternoon.”
Blount smiled his thin weasel smile. “Oui, nice customers, Mrs. Verte. Mr. Barrington and Mr. Keyes are on holiday.”
She took a seat at the table, and the rest of us followed suit. “Oh, how nice. I’m here on holiday myself, just for a few days. I grew up in Chicago, but I live in New York now. I’m in town here until Wednesday.”
“Visiting family?” Alan said.
She shook her head, but her hair never moved. “I still have aunts, uncles, and cousins in the area, but no immediate family anymore. I still keep in touch with my uncle Fred. In fact, he sent me an article from the Chicago Tribune last month that they did on the Edmonton. Mr. Blount’s shop was mentioned in it.”
I looked at Blount, who was playing with his mustache. “How nice to get mentioned in the Trib, Mr. Blount.”
“Oui, though it did not do much for my business. A few curious people, but nothing more.”
“There’s no such thing as bad publicity, they say,” Alan said.
“It was a nice article, though they should have had a picture of my shop or me, or both.”
We all chortled politely.
“Will you be seeing your uncle Fred this trip, Mrs. Verte?” I asked.
“Oh, yes. We plan to have lunch tomorrow. He’s my mother’s younger brother. My parents passed away years ago, and my younger sister died just before the war ended.”
“I’m sorry to hear it, Mrs. Verte,” Alan said.
“Thank you, Mr. Keyes. Life goes on, though, as all those families who lost loved ones in the war have found out. My husband was killed in the war, in Italy. The last time I saw him was over four years ago. His body was never recovered.”
“My condolences, Mrs. Verte,” I said.
“Thank you, but he left me quite well off financially, so I can’t really complain.”
“I see,” I said. This woman seemed rather cold. “Did you just get in today?”
She shook her head once more. “No, yesterday. A rather nasty start, I’m afraid. My purse was stolen at the train station here in Chicago.”
“Oh dear,” Alan said.
“It was dreadful, it happened so fast. I had only set my handbag down for a moment, and the next thing I knew it was gone. I just caught a glimpse of a young ruffian running away with it under his arm.”
“You notified the police, of course,” Alan said.
“No, I didn’t. I grew up here, as I mentioned, so I know the police have bigger fish to fry than tracking down purse snatchers.”
“But still, Mrs. Verte, you should have reported it,” I said.
Her head shook once more. “It was a bother, a nuisance, but nothing more than that. Unfortunately, I had my hotel confirmation letter in it along with my letter of credit. Beyond that I lost just a few dollars, some lipstick, and my compact.”
“Gee, that’s terrible, though. What did you do?” Alan said.
“Fortunately I keep most of my money in my train case, so I had cab fare. I came here to the hotel and explained my situation to this very nice assistant manager, Mr. Bennett. He couldn’t have been more helpful or more kind. He took care of everything.”
“The service here is very good,” I said.
“Oh, I should say so. He was ever so charming. And I had my evening bag in my suitcase, so no real loss. Besides, it gave me an opportunity to shop for a new purse today, and I found not one but two.”
“Then all is well that ends well, as they say. Mr. Keyes and I should let the two of you catch up.”
Mr. Blount held up his hand. “Oh no, please don’t go, Mr. Barrington. I would enjoy your company if you are so inclined, and I’m sure Mrs. Verte would, too.”
“Of course, gentlemen, the more the merrier, isn’t that what they say, also?” But her tone and the look she gave me seemed doubtful.
I glanced at Alan, but he gave me one of those “whatever you want” looks, so I agreed. I was curious to learn more about Mrs. Verte.
“Ah, and speaking of the more the merrier, look who is here,” Mrs. Verte said.
A paunchy, odd-looking gentleman in a black pinstripe suit approached. His hair was thinning and gray, making him appear older, but I figure he was probably only in his mid-forties. His large nose was underlined by a gray, bushy mustache.
“Good evening, Mr. Bennett, bon soir,” Mr. Blount said in that singsong tone of his as he, Alan, and I got to our feet.
The man he referred to as Mr. Bennett glared at him sternly. “Good evening, Blount. Gentlemen. How nice to see you again, Mrs. Verte.”
“This is George Bennett, an assistant here at the hotel,” Blount said.
“Junior assistant manager.”
“Ah, yes, junior assistant manager—a jam, no?” Blount laughed. “This is Mr. Barrington and Mr. Keyes, from Milwaukee, and apparently you know Mrs. Verte, from New York. She was just singing your praises a few moments ago. I dare say she doesn’t know you well.” He laughed but Mr. Bennett just glared at him.
“How do you do? I hope you’re all enjoying your stay.” He shook hands with us. “Yes, Mrs. Verte and I met yesterday. I saw her here and thought I would just stop and see how she’s getting along.” He nodded politely at Mrs. Verte.
“Oh yes, Mr. Bennett, very nice, thank you,” Mrs. Verte said. “I don’t know what I would have done without you, you have been so kind.”
“Always a pleasure to assist a damsel in distress, Mrs. Verte.” He smiled and gave a little bow.
Mrs. Verte giggled. “Won’t you join us, Mr. Bennett? We’re just chatting.”
“Thank you, but I just got off duty and it’s been a long day. I should be getting along.”
Mrs. Verte touched his arm ever so slightly. “Oh, of course. Your wife must be waiting for you.”
He smiled at her again. “Actually, I’m a bachelor. Married to my work, I’m afraid.”
She returned his smile, and I could swear she batted her eyelashes. “I see. Well, you must join us for a drink first, Mr. Bennett, at least one. I’m a widow, you see, and I always enjoy the company of nice gentlemen.”
“Well…”
“I’m sure Mr. Bennett has other plans,” Mr. Blount said.
Mr. Bennett looked at him sharply. “I was just going to go to Frank’s Diner for some supper and go home. I could join you all for a drink, if you don’t mind.”
“Wonderful, welcome,” I said.
“Oh, I’m so glad, Mr. Bennett. Come sit next to me, and Mr. Blount, I want you on the other side of me.”
The five of us sat down around the small table, Alan and I next to each other, then Blount and Mrs. Verte, with Mr. Bennett beside her and on the other side of Alan.
“Madam Vert
e, you look more lovely than the last time I saw you, très charmant,” Mr. Blount said.
She blushed and laughed lightly. “Oh, Mr. Blount, you do say the nicest things. But the last time you saw me was just this afternoon. In fact, yesterday was the first time you ever saw me at all.”
“Mais oui, and you look even more lovely now. As I told another woman today, I speak only the truth.”
“Well, thank you, kind sir.” Mrs. Verte fairly giggled, causing her ample bosom to rise and fall. Mr. Bennett looked annoyed, which was exactly the reaction I suspected Mr. Blount was hoping for. Until Mr. Bennett arrived, he’d been cordial to Mrs. Verte, but certainly not as attentive and complimentary as he was now. I wondered what he was driving at.
“I need that drink,” Bennett said.
“An excellent suggestion, Monsieur.” Blount held up his hand, his diamond rings and matching cuff links shining in the light.
When the waitress appeared, he ordered another gimlet and Alan and I ordered thirds. Mr. Bennett and Mrs. Verte both ordered martinis, dry.
“Put this on my tab, my treat,” Blount said.
“You can afford it,” Mr. Bennett said rather crossly. Then he looked at us. “So, what do you two do in Milwaukee?”
“I’m a police detective. Mr. Keyes here is a police officer. We’re on a long weekend.”
“How interesting.”
I noticed Mr. Blount’s hand shook, and he spilled some of his remaining cocktail. He looked startled. “You are a policeman, monsieur?”
“A detective, yes. Mr. Keyes is a police officer. And the house detective here in the hotel is a friend of mine, Mike Masterson.”
“Oh, I see, I see.” He set his glass down and stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray.
“Something wrong, Mr. Blount?” Mrs. Verte asked.
He laughed somewhat nervously. “Oh no, no, madam. Mr. Barrington just surprised me, that is all. You both looked like nice, respectable businessmen.”
“Policemen and detectives are just normal people, sir,” Alan said.
“Oui, oui, of course, of course.”
The waitress brought the next round of drinks, and Mr. Blount drank almost half of his in one gulp. Mr. Bennett was not far behind.
Death Checks In Page 5
