working today?”
“Was the Jeep parked outside?”
“Yes.”
“Then he’s here.” She went to a speaker box on a small table and called into it.
“Spiro, come into the living room.”
Just then, Willie Parmenter came into the living room from the hallway at the front of the house. He was carrying a tall highball glass.
“Sorry, I didn’t think to ask. Would anyone like’ a drink?”
“No, Willie,” Felicia said. Hubbaker and Trace shook their heads.
The small man walked through the cool room and out onto the patio. Trace followed him and stood in the doorway, looking across the pool at National Anthem, who was doing jumping-jack exercises. The Neddlemans were still unmoving on their twin chaises. Maybe they weren’t husband and wife, Trace thought. Maybe they were Siamese triplets. Francis, Frances and the Chaise Lounge all joined at the back.
Ferrara took the glass from Willie Parmenter and sipped it. Trace heard him snap, “Jesus Christ, what’d you do, fill this with water?”
“Sorry, sir. Ice melts,” Parmenter mumbled.
Trace felt Felicia brush alongside him.
“You know anything about Jarvis’ passport?” he asked.
“No. What about it?”
“Police didn’t find it on him,” Trace said.
“I don’t know. Maybe one of those dopey cops lost it.”
“You called me, ma’am,” said a voice behind them.
Trace remembered Spiro from the last time he had been at Felicia’s home. He was a swarthy man in his early thirties, with a Viva Zapata! moustache and greasy black hair.
“Mr. Tracy here wants to talk to you. Trace, I’m going outside before the sun’s all gone. Call me if you need anything. I’ve heard all this before.”
“Mind if I stay?” Hubbaker asked Trace.
“If you want,” Trace said. “Sit down, Spiro.”
The man sat stiffly on the edge of a small wooden desk chair.
“Is Spiro your last name or your first name?” Trace asked.
“Both names.”
“Spiro Spiro? How’s that?”
“Well, if you really got to know, my name’s Spirakos Spirakodopolous. My father was Greek.”
“The hell you say.”
“Yes, he was,” Spiro said. Obviously no sense of humor, Trace thought. “He was a fisherman in Maryland. My mother was a bakef.”
“Okay. How long have you been working for the countess?”
“About a year. Since right after she moved here. Jarvis hired me.”
“You lived in town before that?” Trace asked.
“Yes.”
“What were you doing for a living?”
Spiro hesitated slightly. “Mostly odd jobs,” he said.
Trace changed the subject quickly. “The night that Jarvis called you from the airport, how did he sound?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did he sound nervous or in a hurry or anything?”
“He was always in a hurry. But, no, I guess he didn’t sound nervous or anything. He was like he always was.”
“What did he say? Wait. Before you answer. Where were you when the phone rang?”
“In the kitchen. I was just getting ready to watch a movie.”
“What movie?” Trace asked.
“ Mildred Pierce . It’s my favorite movie. It just came on.”
“I think Joan Crawford always overacted,” Trace said. “You were alone?”
“You better believe it,” Spiro said quickly. “This is a good job and I wouldn’t have anybody here ’cause Jarvis and the countess say don’t have anybody here. See, I only spend nights here when the countess and Jarvis was away; otherwise, I stay at my own place. I wouldn’t go messing up my job by fooling around here.”
“Okay. Spiro, I just want you to know I’m not accusing you of anything or anything like that. I just want to try to get this whole thing straight in my mind.”
Spiro nodded, and Hubbaker, who had been watching from the couch, said, “So you were in the kitchen watching television when the phone rang.”
“Hey, Baron,” Trace said, “if something comes up about heraldry or falcon-training, pitch right in. Otherwise, I’ll do this.”
“Sorry,” Hubbaker said.
“So
“Was the Jeep parked outside?”
“Yes.”
“Then he’s here.” She went to a speaker box on a small table and called into it.
“Spiro, come into the living room.”
Just then, Willie Parmenter came into the living room from the hallway at the front of the house. He was carrying a tall highball glass.
“Sorry, I didn’t think to ask. Would anyone like’ a drink?”
“No, Willie,” Felicia said. Hubbaker and Trace shook their heads.
The small man walked through the cool room and out onto the patio. Trace followed him and stood in the doorway, looking across the pool at National Anthem, who was doing jumping-jack exercises. The Neddlemans were still unmoving on their twin chaises. Maybe they weren’t husband and wife, Trace thought. Maybe they were Siamese triplets. Francis, Frances and the Chaise Lounge all joined at the back.
Ferrara took the glass from Willie Parmenter and sipped it. Trace heard him snap, “Jesus Christ, what’d you do, fill this with water?”
“Sorry, sir. Ice melts,” Parmenter mumbled.
Trace felt Felicia brush alongside him.
“You know anything about Jarvis’ passport?” he asked.
“No. What about it?”
“Police didn’t find it on him,” Trace said.
“I don’t know. Maybe one of those dopey cops lost it.”
“You called me, ma’am,” said a voice behind them.
Trace remembered Spiro from the last time he had been at Felicia’s home. He was a swarthy man in his early thirties, with a Viva Zapata! moustache and greasy black hair.
“Mr. Tracy here wants to talk to you. Trace, I’m going outside before the sun’s all gone. Call me if you need anything. I’ve heard all this before.”
“Mind if I stay?” Hubbaker asked Trace.
“If you want,” Trace said. “Sit down, Spiro.”
The man sat stiffly on the edge of a small wooden desk chair.
“Is Spiro your last name or your first name?” Trace asked.
“Both names.”
“Spiro Spiro? How’s that?”
“Well, if you really got to know, my name’s Spirakos Spirakodopolous. My father was Greek.”
“The hell you say.”
“Yes, he was,” Spiro said. Obviously no sense of humor, Trace thought. “He was a fisherman in Maryland. My mother was a bakef.”
“Okay. How long have you been working for the countess?”
“About a year. Since right after she moved here. Jarvis hired me.”
“You lived in town before that?” Trace asked.
“Yes.”
“What were you doing for a living?”
Spiro hesitated slightly. “Mostly odd jobs,” he said.
Trace changed the subject quickly. “The night that Jarvis called you from the airport, how did he sound?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did he sound nervous or in a hurry or anything?”
“He was always in a hurry. But, no, I guess he didn’t sound nervous or anything. He was like he always was.”
“What did he say? Wait. Before you answer. Where were you when the phone rang?”
“In the kitchen. I was just getting ready to watch a movie.”
“What movie?” Trace asked.
“ Mildred Pierce . It’s my favorite movie. It just came on.”
“I think Joan Crawford always overacted,” Trace said. “You were alone?”
“You better believe it,” Spiro said quickly. “This is a good job and I wouldn’t have anybody here ’cause Jarvis and the countess say don’t have anybody here. See, I only spend nights here when the countess and Jarvis was away; otherwise, I stay at my own place. I wouldn’t go messing up my job by fooling around here.”
“Okay. Spiro, I just want you to know I’m not accusing you of anything or anything like that. I just want to try to get this whole thing straight in my mind.”
Spiro nodded, and Hubbaker, who had been watching from the couch, said, “So you were in the kitchen watching television when the phone rang.”
“Hey, Baron,” Trace said, “if something comes up about heraldry or falcon-training, pitch right in. Otherwise, I’ll do this.”
“Sorry,” Hubbaker said.
“So
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