“Thank you,” Wolfe said, bowing again. I was beginning to get worried about him. Three times this week he had stood when women entered or left the office, if you count twice for Maria, and I’d lost track of the number of times he’d bowed. If this trend kept up, he’d soon start helping women on with their coats or opening the front door for them.
“Nero,” Alexandra said, “I’ve come to New York a number of times through the years, and I’ve often thought of calling or stopping by. For some reason, I never did, but I always told myself I would one day. And I promised myself that when I did, I would ask to see those famous orchids. Is that presumptuous?”
Wolfe raised his eyebrows. “Presumptuous? Quite the contrary. Mr. Goodwin will tell you that I rarely deny that request. If you feel rested, we can go now,” he said, lifting himself from the chair.
“I certainly do,” she replied, and they made for the hall. “You’ll stay for dinner, of course,” Wolfe asked.
“I’d like that, if it’s no imposition,” Alexandra replied.
“In this house, a meal is always—” The rest of Wolfe’s sentence was chopped off by the closing of the elevator door.
I sat back down in my chair and stared at the wall. She and Wolfe went back a long way, and the relationship obviously hadn’t been a casual one. Well, I’ll be damned, I said to myself, or maybe it was out loud. I thought I had long ago learned everything I was going to know about Nero Wolfe, but here was something new. I smiled and started in on some of the office work that had been piling up.
I’d been at it about ten minutes when the phone rang. It was Wolfe, from the plant rooms. “I wanted to remind you that Mr. Milner is free to go, and indeed, he’d probably like to leave soon so he can visit Miss Radovich. Also, I know you see Saul regularly to play cards. What about Fred—is he still working?”
“Yes, or at least he’s trying. Bascomb uses him once in a while, but I know things have been slow for him.”
“Can you have both of them here tomorrow, say, at eleven?”
“I can certainly try,” I said. “And by the way, I may have forgotten to mention that I’m dining at Miss Rowan’s tonight.”
“Satisfactory,” he said, hanging up.
I allowed myself another grin. You may think the “satisfactory” was in response to my trying to deliver a pair of men to the office the next morning, but it was really his reaction to knowing there would be only two at the dinner table in the brownstone. And for the record, I didn’t have a date at Lily Rowan’s, although I was pretty sure I could wangle one. While I was at it, maybe I could hook an invite for Milner as well, since there was a certain party at Lily’s that he wanted to see. I turned back to the phone.
14
AT ELEVEN O’CLOCK ON SATURDAY morning, Nero Wolfe stepped out of the elevator that had lowered him from the plant rooms and walked into his office to find the three of us waiting: Saul Panzer in the red leather chair, Fred Durkin in one of the yellow chairs, me at my desk. They stood when he came in, and he stopped to shake hands with both of them—something he reserves for perhaps a dozen men. He then circled behind his desk, sat, and rang for beer.
Pretty cool, I thought. He hasn’t seen them in close to two years, but he’s acting like they were over for dinner yesterday. In case you’re new in these precincts, Saul and Fred were free-lancing for Wolfe long before the Giants and Dodgers snuck off to California. About Saul Panzer: He’s short, his face is mostly nose, his clothes are rumpled, and he always looks like he hasn’t shaved for three days, although he insists he takes a blade to his mug every morning. But he’s hands down the finest operative, free-lance or otherwise, in the city of New York, when it comes to tailing someone or sniffing out clues or persuading people to spit out information they’d rather keep to themselves. Saul asks for, and gets, double the going rate, and he never hurts for business, although through the years he’s always been willing to rearrange his schedule for Wolfe.
Fred Durkin is a big guy, thick at the waist, thick at the neck, and maybe a little thick upstairs, too, although he’s almost as good as Saul at tailing, and he’s as honest and loyal as you’ll ever find. But as I had told Wolfe, Fred wasn’t getting much work these days. Fortunately, his wife, Fanny, had a job at a branch library someplace out on Long Island, so at least a little money was coming in.
But I’ve gotten a bit ahead of myself, so I’ll back up to yesterday afternoon. The moment Wolfe and Alexandra went up to the plant rooms, I was on the phone. I got Saul on the first try, which surprised me, and when I told him Wolfe wanted to see him, he said: “The Stevens thing; I’ll be there.” That’s Saul. Fred was home too, and from the tone of his voice, I knew he’d crawl across Manhattan for a job, especially with Wolfe. He’d be there too. Next came a call to Lily. I landed that dinner invitation, all right, for both Milner and me, so his short stay as our houseguest was over, and I could have back the clothes of mine that he’d been wearing for the last day or so, and which were about two sizes too large for him. Actually, he hadn’t been much of an imposition to us, as he’d almost never come out of the South Room, which may be a tribute to the high quality of the books on the shelves up there.
As he and I rode to Lily’s in a cab, Milner was quiet but didn’t seem terribly worried, or terribly curious about our progress, for that matter. When I asked why, he said, “I didn’t do it, and I know Mr. Wolfe’s reputation. I’m just thankful he’s working on this, because I know he’ll find the right one.” I wish I were that confident, I thought, slouching in the seat and staring out at the snowflakes swirling in the wind.
Maria was still staying at Lily’s, and she seemed brightened by Milner’s appearance, although she was preoccupied with plans for a memorial service for her uncle, which was set for Monday. She brightened further when I told her Alexandra Adjari was in town and would be calling her either that night or the next morning. As it turned out, Alexandra went one better, stopping off at Lily’s about ten-thirty on her way from the brownstone to her hotel, and the two had a tears-and-hugs reunion right there in the living room. It ended up with Alexandra insisting that Maria stay with her at the Churchill, which meant Lily was losing her houseguest, too. The two women and Milner left in a cab—he had decided to go back to his apartment in Queens—and all of a sudden, Lily and I had her palace to ourselves. That’s a whole story in itself, and not for these pages, but now you’re up-to-date on Friday night’s developments.
When Fritz brought Wolfe’s beer, he took orders from the rest of us: coffee for Saul and me, and beer for Fred, who doesn’t like it that much but thinks he should drink it when he’s with Wolfe, to be sociable. After everyone was served, Wolfe’s eyes moved from Saul to Fred and back again. We were all a touch uneasy, I think, as it was the first time we’d been together in this room since Orrie had blown himself up on the front stoop. In the past, Saul, Fred, and Orrie had almost always come as a group for instructions, and the empty yellow chair was on all our minds.
Wolfe set his glass down and began: “You both read the papers regularly, so you no doubt know I’m involved in a case.” They nodded. “You also know then that Milos Stefanovic, or Milan Stevens as he called himself, was a Montenegrin whom I had known many years ago in Europe. In addition, the papers have reported, correctly, that I do not believe Stefanovic was killed by Gerald Milner.” Wolfe proceeded to fill them in on the last few days’ activities, asking me several times to insert first-person narrative, such as when I went into the Stevens library and saw the body. When he had finished, he poured more beer and watched the foam settle. “Before the weekend is over,” he said, “I hope to talk to Messrs. Meyerhoff, Hirsch, and Sommers of the Symphony, if Archie can get them here. Archie also is going to visit Mrs. Forrester-Moore at her home—she was a frequent companion of Mr. Stevens’s in the last few months.” I glared at Wolfe, who ignored me and went on.
“Saul, go to the building where Stevens lived. Find some pretense to get inside. I’d like to know how many entrances th
ere are, and how easy it would be to enter and leave without being seen by the hallman. Is there a fire escape? A back stairway? A service elevator?” I smiled and bit my lip. Wolfe was out of practice, because these were questions Saul would answer without being asked. If I knew him, he’d bring back a blueprint of the whole place, complete with heating ducts and wiring.
Wolfe shifted his glance. “Fred, learn what you can about the hallman who was on duty that night, his name is—” He turned to me. “Tom Hubbard,” I said. “Find out what you can about Mr. Hubbard and his habits, but don’t talk to him, at least not yet. The police have surely questioned him thoroughly, and he’ll be on his guard.”
As Wolfe talked, Fred was scribbling in a pocket notebook, unlike Saul, who never takes any notes but keeps everything filed away upstairs. When Wolfe had finished with his briefing, the two of them got up, businesslike as usual, and shook hands again with him. It was almost like old times as I walked to the front hall with them.
“Write when you have time, even if it’s only a postcard,” I said as they started out the door.
“Good luck with the society doll,” Saul retorted, winking. “Understand she’s quite a babe. Can you handle it?” I silently mouthed a word and slammed the door behind them.
Back in the office, Wolfe had picked up a book, In Praise of English, by Joseph T. Shipley. I sat at my desk and swiveled to face him. “Thanks so much for filling me in on my assignments,” I said. “I always appreciate getting orders in front of company.”
Wolfe put down the book and raised his eyebrows. “Indeed? Fred and Saul company? You’re the one who once said they’re part of the family, and I agree. Further, I hadn’t decided who was going to do what until you were all sitting here.”
“Hah! Who else but me would you send to see an attractive woman?”
He didn’t reply, and I couldn’t see his expression because the open book was in the way. After about five minutes, I exhaled loudly and deeply. “Okay, what do you want done first, Lucinda or the three from the Symphony?”
“Try to see the lady as soon as possible,” came the voice from behind the book. “As for the others, tomorrow afternoon will be soon enough. Mr. Remmers can be of some help there.”
“Any special instructions regarding the woman with the hyphenated name?” I asked.
“Use your intelligence guided by experience,” Wolfe said, still behind the book. It was a favorite line of his.
“Consider it done,” I said, getting up to go to the kitchen for a glass of milk. I was afraid that if I stayed in the same room with him for another thirty seconds, I might do something natural, such as braining him with his ebony paperweight.
15
I CONSIDERED CALLING FIRST, BUT decided my chances of seeing her might be better if I just showed up. I put on my best suit, a gray glen plaid, along with a light blue shirt and a blue-and-red paisley tie that Lily says makes me look debonair. Not bad, I told the mirror before giving my hair one more swipe with a brush. It was two-twenty when I grabbed my coat from the hall rack. Wolfe was back at his desk, reading. During lunch, I hadn’t been very talkative, partly because I was still sore at him and partly because I was thinking about how to approach one of the town’s reigning social lionesses.
Lucinda Forrester-Moore isn’t listed in the Manhattan telephone directory, but Lily has some sort of guide to the city’s elite, and when I called her, she looked up the address, which turned out to be a building about two blocks up Park from her own place. That was too long a walk on too cold a day, so I took a cab. The driver pulled up in front of one of those tall white modern buildings that have so many setbacks they look like squared-off wedding cakes, a style which if nothing else provides terraces for a lot of the upper-altitude apartments. A doorman who still had his uniform from Napoleon’s army sniffed as I passed him, and I found myself in a circular lobby that was all floor-to-ceiling mirrors. There was an alcove at the far side of the circle where a hallman in a pretty snappy uniform of his own sat behind a desk. He looked up as I approached, but didn’t open his mouth.
“I’d like to see Mrs. Forrester-Moore,” I said. “My name is Archie Goodwin.” I gave him my top-of-the-line calling card, a glossy egg-shell-white job with my name engraved in the center and the words “Office of Nero Wolfe” in the lower right-hand corner. “Is she expecting you?” he asked in a bored tone that he probably practiced evenings at home.
“No, but I think she’ll want to see me. When you call upstairs, make sure you mention that I’m from Nero Wolfe’s office,” I said, trying to sound bored myself.
He turned to his white telephone and punched out a number. He kept his voice so low I couldn’t hear him from three feet away, and after a few seconds he hung up and turned back to me.
“She’ll see you,” he said, wearing the disappointment all over his face. “Sixteenth floor.” He pointed to the elevators in a hallway off the circle. A young kid in a not-so-fancy uniform ran me up to sixteen in silence, and as the doors opened, he pointed to the left. “That’s the door you go to,” he said. “Only apartment on the floor.”
When I pressed the buzzer, I didn’t hear anything ring, but after a few seconds the door swung open to reveal a mousy little woman in a black-and-white uniform with a starched cap. “Mr. Goodwin?” she asked. When I nodded she slid to one side in a classic maid’s motion so I could pass. I was in an entrance hall the size of a small church, with a chandelier that looked as if it could light Madison Square Garden. “Please wait in here,” the maid said, leading me to a sitting room with a white rug, white walls, and white furniture. “Mrs. Forrester-Moore asked me to tell you she’ll join you shortly.”
“Shortly” turned out to be twenty-four minutes by the digital watch Lily had given me for my birthday. I was on the second cigarette when she walked in and held out a manicured hand. “Mr. Goodwin. This is a nice surprise,” she said. “I hope you’ll pardon the wait; I was napping when you rang and …” She smiled and gestured at her clothes and her hair. Even at fifty-plus, Lucinda Forrester-Moore was easy to look at. She was wearing a floor-length yellow-and-orange flowered number with ruffles on the cuffs and collar, and her dusty-blond hair looked like the handiwork of a gilt-edged Fifth Avenue salon.
“Please sit down,” she said with a slight trace of some kind of accent. This was my week for foreign women. “Can I get you a drink?” she asked as she sat in a chair across the coffee table from mine.
I said no and began to state my business, when she interrupted. “I’ve heard and read about you before, of course, but haven’t we met somewhere? I should remember, but I can’t.”
“You’ve got a good memory at that,” I said with a grin. “It was several years ago, possibly at Rustermans; I was with Lily Rowan.”
“Of course—Lily, now I recall it. A delightful girl. I haven’t run into her for a long time. Do you still see her?”
I said I did, and that she had sent her best. All the while, I was getting a very thorough once-over.
“Mr. Goodwin, I love your suit—is it a Ralph Lauren?”
“It’s a Bloomingdale’s markdown,” I said, “but thanks anyway. Now, Mrs. Forrester-Moore, the reason I’m here—”
“That’s such a clumsy name to say, isn’t it?” she asked, flashing her pearly whites. “I wish you’d just call me Lucinda, everybody does. I was married once, but I held onto my maiden name, Forrester, too. Perhaps that was silly, but I wanted to keep part of my old self. And I’m sure I know why you’re here. It’s about Milan.” Her expression became instantly sober. “I read that your Nero Wolfe is interested in the case, although I can’t imagine why. Don’t they think they’ve caught the murderer?”
“Mr. Wolfe isn’t so sure, and because he’s a genius, I take his word for things and try to humor him.”
“I’d love to meet the man sometime,” she said, tucking her feet under her. “But how can I be of help to you now?”
“Well, Mrs. Forrester—Lucinda—you and Mr. Stevens had
been together a lot in the last few months, and I thought perhaps you might have some insight as to who might have wanted him dead.”
“The police stopped by and asked me the same thing,” she said, shrugging and rolling her round blue eyes. “I’ll tell you what I told them: If Milan had enemies, I wasn’t conscious of it. Mr. Goodwin, he was a very private person, especially about his work. He rarely talked about the orchestra when we were together, and I never brought up the subject. I think one of the reasons he enjoyed being with me was that he could escape from that part of his life completely.” She accented the last word.
“I can appreciate that,” I said, “but maybe without realizing it at the time, you heard a remark from Mr. Stevens or overheard something said to him that might be significant. Surely he didn’t keep everything to himself.”
“Oh, no, occasionally he’d bring up the Symphony, but not often at all.” She did the eye-roll again. “The only time I can remember his making a negative comment was about Mr. Remmers.”
“Jason Remmers?”
“Yes, although it was just a passing remark, something about how he felt Jason was losing confidence in him. But Milan didn’t seem too concerned at the time. I shouldn’t have even mentioned it to you, it was so insignificant.”
“How long ago was that?”
Another shrug. “Oh, maybe two or three months. Really, it was just an aside, nothing important. I’m sorry I brought it up.”
“Did he ever talk about anyone else in the Symphony? Mr. Meyerhoff, perhaps. Or Gerald Milner, or—”
“No, Archie—may I call you Archie? I hate formality. No, honestly, it wasn’t like him to speak about the job. He spent so much time on the orchestra as it was that he didn’t like to think about it after hours.” She shifted in her chair and adjusted her hem to give me a glimpse of a sandaled ankle and a trim calf. “I want as badly as you to see the murderer punished, probably worse. But why doesn’t Mr. Wolfe think Gerald Milner did it?”
Murder in E Minor Page 11
