“Can’t their father do the honors that night?”
“Oh God, trying to get him to help with any parenting beyond what we worked out in the settlement is like trying to push a peanut down the street with your nose. What time do you think the session at your boss’s place will be over?”
“I’m hoping by ten—ten thirty at the latest.”
“Okay … Here’s what I think I can do: I’ve got a neighbor, a really swell gal, whose own little girl stayed overnight with us when my neighbor had an emergency, so I will see if she can reciprocate.” I told her that was a good idea and gave her the address of the brownstone.
Next, I called Marlene Peters. After getting no answer at her apartment, I tried the bookstore, with success. I had less success in getting her to agree to come to West Thirty-Fifth Street. “No, do not count me in,” she said sternly. “I don’t see how my being there would help in any way.”
“I gather you haven’t called Cordelia again about having lunch.”
“Uh, no, I haven’t. But I’m going to, in the next few days for sure.”
“Then you may not know that she specifically asked for you to be there for support,” I said, wondering how many lies I could get away with before one of them caught up with me.
“Who else is going to be there?” she asked.
“I’m not sure yet. Besides Cordelia, probably only her parents, her brother Tom, and maybe her sister Annie.” Yet another lie. I was definitely headed for Hades.
“Will you be there, too?”
“Yes, but only as an observer. This is Nero Wolfe’s show.”
“Exactly what does that mean?”
“It means he will try his best to show Cordelia’s parents that their daughter has been the innocent victim of someone in Italy.”
“I hope he succeeds,” she said, sounding as if she meant it. “All right, if only for Cordelia’s sake, I will be there.”
When Wolfe came down from the plant rooms at eleven and got himself settled, I grinned. “You don’t pay me enough for this type of work, but then you already know that. I talked to the whole guest list this morning, and they will all be here tomorrow night. At least they say they will. Never mind what I had to tell some of them to get them here.”
“Satisfactory. Get Inspector Cramer.”
I dialed a number I knew by heart as Wolfe picked up his instrument and I stayed on the line. As is usually the case, Cramer picked up the phone himself, barking his last name.
“Inspector, this is Nero Wolfe.”
“Yeah, somehow I recognize the voice. Why do I want to talk to you?”
“Tomorrow night, I am going to identify two murderers: the individual who shot Noah McManus in Central Park and the one who killed Alan Marx with a fireplace poker in his home.”
“Whoa, slow down. Who is your client? You always have one, usually rich, very rich. I have never known you to take on charity cases.”
“My client will become apparent to you tomorrow. You may come if you wish, and you may want to bring Sergeant Stebbins with you.”
“Are you trying to tell me my business?”
“Far be it from me to do such a thing, Inspector. I am simply extending a courtesy to you.”
“Courtesy, hah! You sound to me like you’re showing off—yet again.”
“Whether or not I am ‘showing off,’ to use your phrase,” Wolfe said, “it is you who will be credited with making an arrest in a highly publicized case.”
“If an arrest is actually made,” Cramer snorted.
“The choice is yours, sir. Tomorrow evening at nine, a number of individuals will be gathered here.”
“Care to name them?”
“I do not.”
“You are dealing with a police matter here, Wolfe.”
“Inspector, do you have any leads as to the shooting death in Central Park? Or the killing of Alan Marx?” Cramer’s answer was one of those words no so-called “family newspaper” would print.
“I can be of help to you, sir, and to the department as well. The decision remains yours. Good day.” Wolfe and I cradled our instruments. “You are fond of giving odds, Archie,” he said. “What are the odds the inspector will be with us here tomorrow night?”
“Ten to one, in favor,” I answered. “I give the same odds that Purley Stebbins will be with him.”
“As do I. I would have put forth eight to one, but I yield to your instincts involving probabilities.”
“Cramer simply cannot afford to stay away and you know it,” I said. “The stakes are too high and the pressure on the department is too great. He knows damned well that if you really do have information about these killings—which of course you do—he runs the risk of learning about it secondhand in the pages of our old friend Lon Cohen’s newspaper, The Gazette—which, as Lon loves to remind us, has the fifth-largest circulation of any daily journal in the land of the free and the home of the brave. End of sermon.”
Wolfe allowed himself a look of satisfaction and rang for beer. I felt pretty satisfied myself, although I was beginning to get a case of nerves, which always happens to me when we have one of these wingdings.
Not so with Wolfe, who seems to thrive on the drama and the tension. But then, he’s the stage manager and has full control of the production.
Chapter 24
Fritz has always been able to read my moods, and it did not take him long the next morning to realize I was on edge. As he served me the next in a series of buttermilk wheat cakes hot off the griddle, he fixed me with a concerned look. “You are having an important meeting tonight?”
“We are. But not to worry, I do not think it will erupt into a brawl. Besides, the police will be represented at this little gathering in the form of Messrs. Cramer and Stebbins.”
He still looked concerned, but then, Fritz is almost always concerned. When Wolfe has a case, he worries that his boss might be working too hard—which is enough to make me laugh. He worries when we don’t have a case because no money is coming in. He worries whenever I leave the brownstone on business because something might happen to me. Imagine how much he has been worrying about me lately, given what has happened to yours truly!
I tried to put him at ease, although without success. After all, I was hardly a model of tranquility myself. I spent the rest of the day puttering and trying to keep my mind off the impending showdown. I entered orchid germination records left on my desk by Theodore Horstmann, typed a half-dozen letters Wolfe had dictated the day before, paid the grocery and beer bills, balanced the checkbook, and took an armful of my shirts to the cleaners over on Eighth Avenue.
As much as I enjoy Fritz’s cooking, I barely remember the details of either lunch or dinner that day, although I would never admit it to him. At eight o’clock, I was setting up chairs in the office when the doorbell rang.
“Lord,” I said to myself, “it must be Cramer, coming early to demand to know what’s going on. But when I looked through the one-way glass, I got a surprise.
I swung open the front door and faced a smiling Saul Panzer, who was not alone. “Evening, Archie,” Saul said, “I would like you to meet Carlo Veronese, of whom you may have heard.” The other man on the stoop was at least ten years younger and six inches taller than Saul. He was also far better clothed, in a silk, pin striped navy-blue suit, and was obviously ill at ease.
“Nice to meet you,” I said, shaking the Italian’s hand.
“Thank you, a pleasure, signore,” he said in heavily accented but understandable English, forcing a smile.
“Mr. Wolfe thought Mr. Veronese and I should wait in the front room until such time as he calls us into the meeting. I can get us both something to drink.” He turned to Veronese, asking what he would like. The young man, a square-shouldered, handsome specimen with wavy black hair and chiseled features, shyly asked for red wine. Saul gestured h
im to the front room and closed the door behind him.
“All right, fill me in,” I said to Saul as we walked down the hall to the office. “What gives?”
“I’m sorry about canceling the poker game, but Mr. Wolfe sent me to Italy—Florence, to be specific—to get young Mr. Veronese and bring him here.”
“Interesting. I should have figured that out. Did you have a tough sell getting him to agree?”
Saul gave me a crooked smile. “Yes, at first, but I can be quite persuasive. I pointed out to him that he might well be an accessory to a crime—specifically blackmail—and that if he came to the States, he could plead his case and have a far better chance of getting cleared, rather than having to face a courtroom in Florence, where the Tuscan authorities have recently been handing down longer jail sentences to Italian men who beguile and often debauch young female tourists, mainly from the US, Canada, England, Holland, and Germany—many of them blondes. I told him Mr. Wolfe would cast him in a sympathetic light.”
“When did you fly in?”
“Around noon. We are both more than a little bleary-eyed, and young Veronese is extremely nervous, as you could see,” Saul said. “He’s actually been in the States once before, to visit relatives in Philadelphia, and he has traveled to most of the other European countries, too. As you know, there’s lots of money in his family, old money.”
“So I’ve heard tell. Well, as long as he’s here, let’s show him American hospitality. Get him his drink, and have one yourself from the cart. I’m just setting up for tonight’s show, as you can see.”
“Is it safe to assume Cramer will be here?”
“Very safe, and with Stebbins in his shadow.”
“Of course. How are you feeling, Archie?”
“Shoulder’s almost back to normal,” I said, flexing it. “Grab your drinks, and I’ll see you later in the evening. Should be interesting.”
Tom Hutchinson was the first one to arrive, at ten till nine. “Archie, good to see you again,” he said, pumping my hand. “I really did enjoy that lunch we had. I would be glad to reciprocate some time.
“Oh, my,” he said as he stepped into the office, “it looks like you’re all set up for a show.”
“That’s a good way to put it,” I said as the doorbell rang again. “Help yourself to something liquid.” I gestured toward the cart. “I’ve stocked it with everything I could think that people might want.”
I opened the door to Cramer and Stebbins, neither of whom looked happy. No surprise there. “Where’s Wolfe?” the inspector barked, surging by me and heading down the hall.
“He’s not in his office yet,” I called after him. Stebbins followed in his wake after scowling at me, as he has been doing for years. I scowled back, as I have been doing for years also.
I turned toward the still-open door to see that Mr. and Mrs. Parkhurst Hutchinson and Cordelia were climbing the steps. They looked no happier than Cramer and Stebbins. “Who were those men who arrived just ahead of us?” Hutchinson demanded. “I’ve never seen them before. Why are they here? Are they newspapermen?”
“You will know soon enough,” I replied. “Please come this way.” I smiled at Mrs. Hutchinson, whom I had not met, and got a blank stare in return. She was barely five feet, and very thin, with a pinched face and a disapproving expression that appeared to be a permanent condition. I realized I did not even know her first name.
Cordelia looked up at me, smiling weakly but saying nothing. I knew she was going through her own version of hell, but I also knew the worst was yet to come. I got father, mother, and son Tom seated in the first row of chairs in front of Wolfe’s desk before the bell rang once more. The two female siblings arrived together, whether by design or coincidence. Annie gave me a tight smile while Kathleen rolled her eyes and shrugged, as if to say, “Well, you talked me into coming here tonight, now what?”
While I was getting them seated in the back row of chairs, the bell chimed once more. Fritz did the honors this time, and as I stepped out into the hall, I saw that he was welcoming Doug at the door. The younger brother looked even less happy to be here than the others, but I was pleased to see him, figuring that with his attitude, he might well have been a no-show. No sooner did I take over from Fritz and escort the dour artist into the office than our final guest, Marlene Peters, arrived. She said something to Fritz that I didn’t catch, and she gave me an expressionless nod of recognition as she came toward me, but said nothing.
I steered her into the office and observed a variety of reactions to her presence: The elder Hutchinsons each looked surprised; Cordelia fluttered a hand in what I took to be a small wave; Annie pursed her lips in disapproval; and Doug stiffened, making me suspect their parting had not been an amicable one. Marlene herself tensed up when she saw him.
I offered drinks to the assemblage but did not get many takers. Papa Hutchinson asked for his usual scotch on the rocks and Annie requested a white wine. All of the others declined. Everyone was in place now. Cordelia, as the client, at least nominally, had the place of honor in the red leather chair this time, displacing her father. The senior Hutchinsons and Tom occupied the first row as previously noted, and Annie, Doug, Kathleen, and Marlene were in the row behind them. As is usual in these sessions, Cramer and Stebbins stood grim faced, their backs against the wall behind the others.
“Just where is Mr. Wolfe?” Parkhurst Hutchinson demanded, looking around. He was reverting to his earlier curmudgeonly mode.
“He will be here momentarily,” I said, going behind his desk and pushing the buzzer, which sounded in the kitchen. He had been parked there for the last half hour, waiting to make his grand entrance.
“Good evening,” Wolfe said as he entered the room and detoured around his desk, sitting and observing his guests. “I presume you have all been offered refreshments. I am going to have beer.” He then surveyed the audience again, calling each of them by name.
“All right, you got everyone here and you know our names. I fail to be impressed by that,” Parkhurst Hutchinson said. “But I notice you did not identify those two men in the back. I already asked Goodwin who they are, and I did not get a straight answer from him.”
Wolfe dipped his chin as Fritz brought the beer in. “They are Inspector Cramer of the New York Police Department’s Homicide Division and his associate, Sergeant Stebbins. They are here at my invitation.”
“Why, for God’s sake?” Hutchinson barked as his wife put a hand on his arm, trying to quiet him. “Is this going to turn into some sort of kangaroo court?”
“It is not, sir,” Wolfe said calmly. “But as the evening progresses, I assure you, the need for their presence will become apparent.”
Chapter 25
If Wolfe’s statement was intended to get their attention, it did the trick. Everyone started talking at once, although the booming voice of the railroad titan quickly overwhelmed the others.
“Just what do you mean by saying that?” Parkhurst Hutchinson demanded. “I thought we were here because of a blackmailing. Yet these men investigate homicides, don’t they?” he said, gesturing with a thumb toward Cramer and Stebbins.
“This case goes well beyond blackmailing,” Wolfe said. “If you will be patient, I shall reconstruct the events that led us to be together tonight. First, I must offer an apology.”
“What for?” Doug blurted out. “For dragging us here when we’d all rather be someplace else?”
Wolfe ignored the young artist. “I apologize for not identifying the complexities of this case more quickly. What I originally determined to be two discrete concernments were inextricably bound together. I should have realized this far sooner. For that, I stand chagrined.”
“Pretty fancy talk,” Annie Hutchinson said. “Do you think you can make it clearer for us simple folk?”
“I shall endeavor to do so. The plotting, if it can be so termed, was
ill-designed and convoluted, with so many elements and moving parts that it eventually collapsed under its own weight.”
“Just what are these two discrete concernments?” Tom Hutchinson asked. “You lost me there, and I suspect you lost some others as well, unless I am particularly dense, which of course is possible.”
Wolfe drank beer and dabbed his lips with a handkerchief. “There was the blackmailing, of course, and there also was a plan afoot to kill Mr. Goodwin, which came perilously close to succeeding.” Wolfe turned to me with an expression that was the closest thing to affection I had ever seen from him.
His comment got the assemblage riled up again, as every face in the room turned toward me with varying expressions of shock and amazement.
“You had better explain that,” Cramer said, “and do it very thoroughly.”
“As you are well aware, Inspector, I have made numerous enemies over the years. One of these individuals came out of the woodwork recently, both with verbal threats delivered by telephone and with apparent attempts upon Mr. Goodwin’s life as a way to get revenge against me.”
“The gunshots from a car fired on this block one night, and the bullet holes in your front windows,” Cramer supplied.
“Yes, and some time later, as I will get into, a gunshot fired at point-blank range that Mr. Goodwin barely survived.”
“I want to know right now what—”
Wolfe held up a hand. “Later, Inspector. First the blackmailing, which Mr. Hutchinson has commissioned me to investigate. Cordelia Hutchinson received telephone calls, letters, and a seemingly incriminating photograph. The caller said that if Miss Hutchinson did not pay a sizable amount, in cash, the photograph would be made public.”
“The son of a bitch,” Tom said.
“Perhaps. Miss Hutchinson came to me with the notes and the photograph, saying she knew of my reputation and wanted me to get the other copies of the photograph back, even though it meant paying the money.”
“This was a job for the police,” Cramer snorted.
Archie in the Crosshairs Page 17
