“Did you buy the purse?”
“No, but Carlo and I ended up talking, and I found that I, well … I enjoyed his company. He insisted on treating me to a drink at a beautiful little café along the Arno.”
“Did he have to insist forcefully?”
“Well, no, I can’t lie, least of all to myself.”
“I have to ask you this question, Cordelia. Didn’t you at some point during your relationship suspect that Mr. Veronese just might have used the same approach before with other window-shopping young women, particularly ones who were visitors to the city like yourself?”
“I really wasn’t thinking at the time,” she said, shaking her head. “I just wasn’t. I can’t really claim it was the romantic surroundings that affected me. I don’t know what else to tell you. Maybe I am just weak-willed, Archie.”
I passed on that comment. “Just how did your relationship with Mr. Veronese come to an end?”
“After we had been seeing each other for several weeks—as I said before, I had extended my stay in Florence because of him—he told me that we should not see each other anymore. It came as a total surprise to me.”
“Did he give a reason?”
I thought she was going to break into tears, but she controlled herself, hands clenched. “He said it was not realistic for us to think anything could come of our grande amore—that’s what he called it, un grande amore, I think I have that right. But at that moment, I finally realized it was something very different, Archie, something hardly grand, if you understand me. It was as if I had been slapped into coming to my senses.”
“All right, let’s move on. I am assuming you do not want to pay the blackmailer, or else you would not have come to Mr. Wolfe. But you also don’t want word of your dalliance to be made public, certainly not to the Mercers. Now, I am the first to recognize Mr. Wolfe’s genius, but even given his talents, you may not be able to accomplish both of these ends. Perhaps one or the other. And even if you do ante up, who is to say the blackmailer won’t come back for more? There may be dozens of copies of that photograph, or other photos nearly identical to it, as that one note suggested.”
“It’s really that bad, isn’t it, Archie?” Cordelia shivered, although the room was warm.
“It is not good. Do you have any candidates for the blackmailer, anyone who has a particular reason to dislike you or perhaps be jealous of you? Or someone in need of a large sum?”
“I really cannot think of a soul who would stoop to such nasty tactics. I’ve never hurt anyone in my life, at least not that I am aware of.”
“I believe you, Cordelia. However, you are wealthy, and someone wants to get a chunk of that wealth.”
“But who in Florence could it have been? Not my old roommate—we are very close. I consider her my best friend. And certainly not Carlo, who comes from money himself, probably as much as or more than I have.”
“Let us not limit ourselves to people in Florence. Someone from here could have learned what was going on between you and Veronese and hired an individual over there to shadow you and take pictures. From what I have read, there are plenty of Italian photographers who specialize in just this sort of work and are very good at it. I’m sure you’ve heard the word paparazzi.”
“Yes, those horrible men who chase after movie stars and other famous people.” She clenched her fists again.
“And they are not just limited to Italy. We’ve got our share of those sleazy picture-takers right here in New York, too,” I said, then added, “I’ve been meaning to ask about your family. Do you have brothers and sisters?”
“Two of each, all of them several years older than me. I’m told I was something of a surprise,” she said.
“A nice surprise for your parents, I’m sure.”
She smiled for the first time since she had arrived. “I have always been very close to both of them.”
“I’m glad to hear it. And also with your siblings?”
“We’re not really all that close, I suppose because of the age differences. I don’t see most of them all that often, except Tom.”
“Where do they live and what do they do?”
“Annie, she’s the oldest, is an advertising copywriter, single, and lives over in Brooklyn. She’s had several boyfriends, but broke up with each of them. She’s very fussy—too fussy, if you ask me. Tom, the next oldest, is also single now, and he’s currently staying with us on Sutton Place, which is why I see more of him than the others. He got divorced a few months ago, and their split was not pleasant. The settlement with his ex-wife became somewhat nasty.
“My other sister, Kathleen Willis, is recently divorced from her husband, a bond trader, and she lives in Westport, Connecticut, in a beautiful house. She has two children. And then there’s Doug, the youngest except for me. He’s one of those starving artists you hear about. He’s never been married, although he’s had several relationships. I even introduced him to Marlene, my old roommate, and they went out a couple of times, but that didn’t seem to work out—though neither of them ever talked to me about it.”
“Where does Doug live?”
“He has a somewhat shabby loft in Greenwich Village—or so I understand, I’ve never seen it—and he struggles to sell his paintings. I’ve seen just a few of them, and I shouldn’t be saying this about my brother, but I really don’t think he’s terribly talented.”
“You referred to him as a ‘starving artist.’ He can’t be too hard up if he got an inheritance like you did.”
“Doug has burned through a lot of it, almost all of it, I’m afraid. He invested in an import-export company that one of his college classmates started, and it was a colossal failure. Neither Doug nor his friend has much business sense. My father urged him not to get involved in the venture, but, well, you know how offspring are about taking their parents’ advice.”
“I do. I had my share of arguments with my father, although now I can see he was right more often than I was.”
“Well, Dad and Doug are still not on the best of terms over the whole sad business. What about my fee, Archie? I brought my checkbook.” She pulled it out of her purse and started to open it.
“As Mr. Wolfe said before, that can wait. And as I told you, he does not come cheap. How did you hear about him?”
“I’ve seen his name—and yours, too—in the newspapers several times. From what I have read, he seems to have a very good record at … at solving things.”
“He does. I assume no one knows you have approached him.”
“No, just my diary knows. I was alone in my bedroom at my parents’ home on Sutton Place both of the times I telephoned you. What’s next, Archie?”
“At some point, we probably will have to talk both to your parents and to your brothers and sisters.”
She jerked upright. “You can’t do that, Archie! You must not. They—especially my mother and father—would be crushed. They must never know about what has happened.”
“Surely your parents love you very much. Wouldn’t they understand?”
“I … maybe. But I couldn’t bear telling them, particularly my father,” she said, as if she were beginning to hyperventilate. “I’ve always been, well, his favorite, probably because I came along later. And as for my brothers and sisters, I just don’t want them to know either.”
“It’s possible that the blackmailers already have approached one or more members of your family,” I told her. “We need to know if that is the case.”
Cordelia shook her head vigorously. “No, Archie, no!”
“All right, let me ask this. Do you have something—say, an expensive piece of jewelry—that you are particularly fond of?”
She threw me a puzzled look. “Well, yes I do. Why?”
“What is it?”
“A diamond necklace. My father gave it to me when I had my coming-out party around my
eighteenth birthday. I treasure it more than anything else I own.”
“Did the necklace go along with you to Italy?”
“Oh no, I was afraid something might happen to it.”
“Did your parents or siblings know whether you took it on the trip?”
She wrinkled her forehead. “I don’t think the subject ever came up. Why do you ask?”
“Because perhaps we can develop a scenario in which you did have the necklace in Florence. And it got stolen from your hotel room.”
“I don’t understand.”
“We could make the stolen necklace the reason you’re being blackmailed.”
Cordelia shook her head. “Please pardon me for saying so, Archie, but that seems awfully far-fetched.”
I shrugged. “Maybe, but let me bounce it off Mr. Wolfe. I’ll talk to him about the necklace idea, and whether he likes it or not, he will decide how you should respond when you receive instructions from the blackmailer, which could be any time—possibly today or tomorrow.”
“But I am still not officially a client, am I?”
“No, although I’ll do what I can to plead your case.”
“Thank you, Archie. Should I telephone later?” she asked.
“Why don’t I call you, or is that a problem? Will someone else answer?”
“Probably the maid, Sheila. If she asks who is on the line, and she probably will, you can tell her you are from the DeVane Jewelers. They’re resetting a ring for me, so a call from them would be expected.”
“I’m sure I can sound like a jeweler. Now, how are you going to get home? I can call a taxi and have it pick you up over on Thirty-Fourth Street.”
“No, that is not necessary,” she said, standing and smoothing a skirt that didn’t need smoothing. “I love to walk, and it gives me a chance to think. Heaven knows, I have a lot of thinking to do.”
We exited through the kitchen, Fritz ignoring us once more, and I escorted Cordelia down the passageway. When we got to the street, we shook hands and I told her she would be hearing from me. I watched as she walked away and wondered where her thoughts were taking her.
Chapter 9
When I returned to the office, Wolfe was seated behind his desk again. “Well, that was one cute trick,” I told him as I dropped into my own chair. “Running off and hiding in the kitchen while I questioned the young lady. What were you out doing there, harassing poor Fritz again about whether or not chives should be used in tomato tarts?”
“I never harass Fritz.”
“Hah! Of course you do, let me count the ways. For starters, there was the episode with the onions in the shad roe, and—”
“Twaddle!”
“No, sir, not twaddle. Anyway, you certainly shifted into what for you represents high gear on your way out the door. Afraid the ever-so-demure Miss Hutchinson was going to make a pass at you?”
“Are you quite through, Mr. Goodwin?”
“Yeah, I am, at least on the subject of your hightailing it out of the office as though you were running away from a horde of rampaging elephants. But I also noticed that you did your best to talk her out of hiring us. A man would think you didn’t need the money.”
“I merely explained the situation to her. I believe you will agree that she is owed that much from us.”
“Okay, if that’s your story, you should by all means stick to it. What do you think of our potential client?”
He made a face. “A naïf, an emotional child.”
“Agreed, but an extremely rich one. Do we proceed?”
“How much of what she told us do you think is veracious?” As I mentioned earlier, Wolfe somehow got it in his head years ago that I am an expert on women, and that that expertise extends to my ability to detect anything untrue or misleading that is spoken by a member of the female species.
“Maybe eighty percent, or slightly less,” I said. “For one, I have to wonder whether her breakup with the Italian Don Juan happened as she described it. I also have to question the depth of her commitment to young Mr. Mercer, he of the airplane manufacturing millions. It seems to me that she was very easily wooed by the Italian gentleman—if he can be so termed. Actually, gigolo comes to mind as an apt description.”
“Hardly the correct usage of the word,” Wolfe chided. “In most definitions, a gigolo is one who lives off the wealth of a woman. In this instance, it would appear that Mr. Veronese is in possession of substantial wealth of his own.”
I sighed. “Okay, would you accept cad? Or maybe rogue?”
Wolfe shrugged. “Just before Miss Hutchinson arrived, you mentioned a telephone call from that man. Also, have you heard from Saul?”
I gave Wolfe a verbatim report on my brief conversation with our nameless pest, then filled him in on Saul’s findings and my conversation with Cordelia after he had left the room. He was silent for more than a minute, then came forward in his chair. “Confound it, let Miss Hutchinson know we will attempt to locate and stop her blackmailer. But make it clear to her that we cannot proceed without speaking to members of her family and possibly to other acquaintances of hers as well. Be firm about this.”
“I am always firm. But you know the young lady will not like that.”
“Of course she won’t. She seems determined to keep her Italian indiscretion from those closest to her. But the young woman said at least one sensible thing when she sat in that chair.”
“That we pay for our sins?”
“Precisely, and part of her payment must almost surely be the exposure of her liaison, at least if she has any hope of avoiding blackmail.”
“She may not go along with it.”
“Then my hands are tied,” Wolfe said, turning both palms up. “As you know very well, I will not undertake any investigation that restricts our ability to question those who may have pertinent information.”
“What if we concoct a scenario in which Cordelia takes a valuable diamond necklace—a treasured gift from her father—on the trip to Italy, and it gets lifted from her hotel room? We can use that in our questioning of the family as the reason for the blackmail. And we could—”
“Utter nonsense!” Wolfe spat. “You know better than to propose such a preposterous contrivance. Is it necessary for me to point out its fallacies to you?”
“Okay, so maybe I was reaching a bit,” I said. “Cordelia didn’t think the idea was so hot, either.”
“That much speaks well for her. She is—yes, what is it, Fritz?”
“Pardon me for interrupting,” he said from the doorway, “but this morning, I was dusting in the front room, and I found something you should see.”
“Can’t you bring whatever it is in here?”
“No, sir, I cannot.”
Wolfe frowned and pursed his lips. “Very well,” he grumped, reluctantly levering himself upright. “Show us.”
We walked into the front room, and a stern-faced Fritz pointed at the window, which looks out onto Thirty-Fifth Street. About halfway up the pane, there were two circular indentations, although the glass had not been broken. Wolfe looked questioningly at me.
“Yeah, made by bullets, and judging by the size, from a thirty-eight. I can probably find the shells under the window.”
“No, do not go outside, Archie,” said Wolfe. “For the moment, we will stipulate that we have been fired upon. Did you hear anything last night, Fritz?”
“No, sir.”
“Probably a silencer. It’s a good thing we had bulletproof glass installed some years back,” I said.
“Not bulletproof, bullet-resistant,” Wolfe corrected. “As you are well aware, no glass can be made completely impenetrable. Had someone wanted to puncture that window, he could easily have found a firearm strong enough to accomplish the job.”
“So this is another warning?”
“Clearly. The front ro
om is almost never occupied, so the shots that were fired, even had they entered the room, likely would not have been lethal.”
“But for the sake of argument, how would our anonymous shooter know the front room doesn’t get used much?” I asked.
“Unfortunately, a feature several years ago in the Times went into great detail about our operations, including the layout of the house,” Wolfe said. “As you may remember, none of us—including you and Fritz—agreed to talk to the writer. But unnamed sources, probably clients or suspects who had been here, provided a great deal of detail, especially about the first floor.”
“Oh, yeah, I’d forgotten about that damned piece, or else I put it out of my mind,” I said.
Fritz looked nervously from Wolfe to me and back again during our conversation, like someone watching a tennis match. “Does this mean we will have to leave here?” he asked.
“Not at the moment,” Wolfe replied, “although it is possible that at some point we will temporarily relocate. For now, however, we shall stand our ground and take the necessary precautions.”
Wolfe’s statement was meant to be reassuring, but one look at Fritz Brenner’s face was enough to realize those words had not achieved the desired effect. When we were seated back in the office and Fritz had returned to the kitchen, Wolfe turned to me. “Fritz is understandably shaken. Do you feel the same way?”
“Well, it is hardly a picnic to realize someone is targeting you. But am I about to jump ship? Of course not. I say we stick it out right here and learn who’s got it in for us, or rather, for me.”
“Would you suggest we abandon any thoughts of trying to identify Miss Hutchinson’s blackmailer and concentrate on the individual who seeks to bedevil us? Note that I use the plural pronoun.”
“Call me an old softy, but I’ve grown fond of our young Cordelia—oh, not in a romantic sense, mind you. She’s hardly my type, but she is something of a damsel in distress. And at the risk of sounding crass, she is rich and, like it or not, we need money.”
Wolfe leaned back and closed his eyes. They were still closed three minutes later when the doorbell rang.
Archie in the Crosshairs Page 6
