cottage: small, probably three bedrooms and a big living room.
Standing before the cottage was Angela’s beat—up, rusty Beetle car.
I arrived at the front door. There was no porch. As I pressed the bell, the rain dripped down on me.
The door jerked open. I was confronted by a large black woman who looked big enough, tough enough and strong enough to give Larry Holmes a workout.
She looked me up and down, then demanded in a harsh voice, ‘What do you want, mister?’
‘Miss Angela Thorsen,’ I said, staring directly at her.
‘On your way, mister. Miss Angela doesn’t see strangers. Beat it!’
I had my professional card ready and I poked it at her.
‘She’ll see me,’ I said in my cop voice. ‘Let’s have some action! I’m getting wet!’
She read the card, stared at me, then snapped, ‘Wait!’ and slammed the door.
So this was Hanna Smedley. I felt sorry for Josh. No wonder he had taken to the bottle.
I stood there in the rain and waited.
Five minutes crawled by. By then, I was exasperated. I put my finger on the bell push and leaned on it. That produced some action.
The door jerked open, and Mrs. Smedley glared at me.
‘Well, come in! Take that mac off. I don’t want the place sopping wet.’
I took off my mac and hat and dropped them in a puddle of rain on the floor of the lobby.
She opened a door and waved me in, so I entered a large living room, comfortably furnished with lounging chairs and a big TV set.
I took this in with a quick glance, then turned my attention to the girl who was sitting in a lounging chair, looking enquiringly at me.
Angela Thorsen wasn’t wearing her sun goggles or her concealing hat. The dim light from the rain-filled sky fell directly on her.
I was startled. When I had asked her mother if Angela had boyfriends, I remembered her exact words: ‘Most unlikely. I can’t imagine any decent boy being interested in Angela. As I have said, she is not attractive.’
Mother’s jealousy?
I looked at this girl. She reminded me of Audrey Hepburn when she first appeared on the screen: the same classical features, the dark hair, the serious, dark brown eyes. OK, she had a starvation body, but shift your eyes to her face, you found sexual attraction.
‘Excuse me for intruding, Miss Thorsen,’ I said. ‘I am hoping you can help me.’
She smiled and waved me to a chair.
‘I hope I can, Mr. Wallace. Please sit down. Would you like tea or coffee?’
‘No thanks.’ I sat down.
‘You are a private detective?’ I saw she was holding my card.
‘That’s correct, Miss Thorsen.’
‘It must be an exciting life. I often read thrillers about private detectives.’
‘A private detective’s life is far from thrilling except in books, Miss Thorsen,’ I said. ‘Most of my time is spent sitting in cars or talking to people who don’t cooperate.’
Again she smiled.
‘So you have come to me. Please, tell me why.’
‘I have been hired to find your brother.’ I was watching her, but her smile didn’t slip. She just looked interested.
‘My brother? Terry?’
‘That’s right. An old lady has left him money, and unless he is found, the money remains in the bank. I have been hired to find him.’
‘An old lady has left Terry money?’
‘Yes, Miss Thorsen.’
‘How nice of her. Who is she?’
I put on my mournful look.
‘That’s why my job is so dull,’ I said. ‘My boss just tells me to find Terry Thorsen as he has been left money by an old lady. He doesn’t tell me her name, but he did tell me she has left your brother one hundred thousand dollars. So I am making enquiries.’
She leaned forward.
‘Did you say one hundred thousand dollars?’
‘That’s correct, Miss Thorsen.’
She sat back and gave me her guileless smile.
‘How nice.’
‘Wonderful for him,’ I said, ‘but I still have to find him. Can you help me?’
‘I wish I could. I haven’t seen my brother for months.’
‘He hasn’t written to you or telephoned
Standing before the cottage was Angela’s beat—up, rusty Beetle car.
I arrived at the front door. There was no porch. As I pressed the bell, the rain dripped down on me.
The door jerked open. I was confronted by a large black woman who looked big enough, tough enough and strong enough to give Larry Holmes a workout.
She looked me up and down, then demanded in a harsh voice, ‘What do you want, mister?’
‘Miss Angela Thorsen,’ I said, staring directly at her.
‘On your way, mister. Miss Angela doesn’t see strangers. Beat it!’
I had my professional card ready and I poked it at her.
‘She’ll see me,’ I said in my cop voice. ‘Let’s have some action! I’m getting wet!’
She read the card, stared at me, then snapped, ‘Wait!’ and slammed the door.
So this was Hanna Smedley. I felt sorry for Josh. No wonder he had taken to the bottle.
I stood there in the rain and waited.
Five minutes crawled by. By then, I was exasperated. I put my finger on the bell push and leaned on it. That produced some action.
The door jerked open, and Mrs. Smedley glared at me.
‘Well, come in! Take that mac off. I don’t want the place sopping wet.’
I took off my mac and hat and dropped them in a puddle of rain on the floor of the lobby.
She opened a door and waved me in, so I entered a large living room, comfortably furnished with lounging chairs and a big TV set.
I took this in with a quick glance, then turned my attention to the girl who was sitting in a lounging chair, looking enquiringly at me.
Angela Thorsen wasn’t wearing her sun goggles or her concealing hat. The dim light from the rain-filled sky fell directly on her.
I was startled. When I had asked her mother if Angela had boyfriends, I remembered her exact words: ‘Most unlikely. I can’t imagine any decent boy being interested in Angela. As I have said, she is not attractive.’
Mother’s jealousy?
I looked at this girl. She reminded me of Audrey Hepburn when she first appeared on the screen: the same classical features, the dark hair, the serious, dark brown eyes. OK, she had a starvation body, but shift your eyes to her face, you found sexual attraction.
‘Excuse me for intruding, Miss Thorsen,’ I said. ‘I am hoping you can help me.’
She smiled and waved me to a chair.
‘I hope I can, Mr. Wallace. Please sit down. Would you like tea or coffee?’
‘No thanks.’ I sat down.
‘You are a private detective?’ I saw she was holding my card.
‘That’s correct, Miss Thorsen.’
‘It must be an exciting life. I often read thrillers about private detectives.’
‘A private detective’s life is far from thrilling except in books, Miss Thorsen,’ I said. ‘Most of my time is spent sitting in cars or talking to people who don’t cooperate.’
Again she smiled.
‘So you have come to me. Please, tell me why.’
‘I have been hired to find your brother.’ I was watching her, but her smile didn’t slip. She just looked interested.
‘My brother? Terry?’
‘That’s right. An old lady has left him money, and unless he is found, the money remains in the bank. I have been hired to find him.’
‘An old lady has left Terry money?’
‘Yes, Miss Thorsen.’
‘How nice of her. Who is she?’
I put on my mournful look.
‘That’s why my job is so dull,’ I said. ‘My boss just tells me to find Terry Thorsen as he has been left money by an old lady. He doesn’t tell me her name, but he did tell me she has left your brother one hundred thousand dollars. So I am making enquiries.’
She leaned forward.
‘Did you say one hundred thousand dollars?’
‘That’s correct, Miss Thorsen.’
She sat back and gave me her guileless smile.
‘How nice.’
‘Wonderful for him,’ I said, ‘but I still have to find him. Can you help me?’
‘I wish I could. I haven’t seen my brother for months.’
‘He hasn’t written to you or telephoned
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