everybody’s a little jumpy, with that thing about Roberts. Anyway, if you’d just call her back.” He started to turn away.
You could tell him now, I thought. It’s only been a half hour. Oh, by the way — my wife’s just been murdered too. I mean — since you’re here, you might as well have a look. Sure.
“Good night, Mr. Warren.” He stepped down off the porch and walked back toward the car.
I’ve been meaning to call you, but what with one thing and another — you know how it is.
“Good night.” I closed the door and collapsed against it like the heroine of a 1923 movie. The car drove off. I could never report it now.
v
S HE WAS APOLOGETIC. “I felt silly, sending the police to check, but when I called right back, twice—and after that terrible thing with Roberts—”
“It’s all right,” I said. The numbness of shock was wearing off now and my mind was operating a little better. “I must have dropped off to sleep. What was it?”
“Well, not important enough to cause all that uproar. But you asked me to call you back if I remembered any other girls Roberts had dated.”
“You’ve thought of another one?”
“No. Not yet. But I was going to suggest you try Ernie Sewell. He’s worked for Roberts ever since he opened the store, and probably knows him as well as anybody in town. Also, Roberts would be more likely to discuss his conquests with another man than he would with a new prospect. He was no high-school type.”
I should have thought of Sewell myself. “Thanks. That’s a good idea. And there was something else I wanted to ask you. When Frances called me this afternoon, do you remember whether the operator actually said New Orleans, or just long distance?”
Some people might have asked, “Why?” but not Barbara Ryan. She’d worked for me for over a year, but I was just now beginning to appreciate her. “I’m not sure now,” she said. “All I remember is that it was from a pay phone.”
“Hold it! Are you sure of that?”
“Yes. The line was open all the way, and I distinctly remember the operator telling her how much money to deposit.”
I’m still lying here in bed — What was the object of a pointless falsehood like that? A pathological compulsion to lie? And where did the trumpet come in? Well, maybe it was a jukebox.
“How much was it?” I asked.
“Hmmm. Ninety cents, I think. Yes, that’s right.”
Then it could have been New Orleans. It was a cinch it wasn’t local. I yanked my thoughts back on the track. An idea was beginning to take form in my mind, but I was going to need help—help from somebody very smart and somebody I could trust. George would fill the bill on both counts, but I couldn’t ask him; his professional code of ethics wouldn’t allow him to be a party to anything unorthodox and probably illegal, even if he knew I was innocent. He’d simply tell me to call the police. Barbara could do it, if she would, and if I could figure out a way to keep from implicating her.
“Listen,” I said, “I can’t explain now, but in the morning Scanlon is probably going to be asking you a lot of questions about me. Answer everything he asks, fully and truthfully, except don’t tell him I asked you or even mentioned it. Got it?”
“Well, it sounds simple enough in an incomprehensible sort of way; I think I can swing it. Anything else?”
“If he should ask if anything’s missing from the safe in the office, inventory it, and tell him. That’s all. And thanks a million, Barbara.”
I hurried back to the bedroom. Avoiding the other side of the bed and being careful not to disturb anything I didn’t have to, I quickly changed into a dark suit, fresh shirt, and tie, and hauled one of my own suitcases out of the closet on this side, a tan leather two-suiter with my initials stamped on it. I threw in a suit, several shirts, changes of underwear, and the toilet kit with the spare electric razor, and just before I closed the bag it occurred to
You could tell him now, I thought. It’s only been a half hour. Oh, by the way — my wife’s just been murdered too. I mean — since you’re here, you might as well have a look. Sure.
“Good night, Mr. Warren.” He stepped down off the porch and walked back toward the car.
I’ve been meaning to call you, but what with one thing and another — you know how it is.
“Good night.” I closed the door and collapsed against it like the heroine of a 1923 movie. The car drove off. I could never report it now.
v
S HE WAS APOLOGETIC. “I felt silly, sending the police to check, but when I called right back, twice—and after that terrible thing with Roberts—”
“It’s all right,” I said. The numbness of shock was wearing off now and my mind was operating a little better. “I must have dropped off to sleep. What was it?”
“Well, not important enough to cause all that uproar. But you asked me to call you back if I remembered any other girls Roberts had dated.”
“You’ve thought of another one?”
“No. Not yet. But I was going to suggest you try Ernie Sewell. He’s worked for Roberts ever since he opened the store, and probably knows him as well as anybody in town. Also, Roberts would be more likely to discuss his conquests with another man than he would with a new prospect. He was no high-school type.”
I should have thought of Sewell myself. “Thanks. That’s a good idea. And there was something else I wanted to ask you. When Frances called me this afternoon, do you remember whether the operator actually said New Orleans, or just long distance?”
Some people might have asked, “Why?” but not Barbara Ryan. She’d worked for me for over a year, but I was just now beginning to appreciate her. “I’m not sure now,” she said. “All I remember is that it was from a pay phone.”
“Hold it! Are you sure of that?”
“Yes. The line was open all the way, and I distinctly remember the operator telling her how much money to deposit.”
I’m still lying here in bed — What was the object of a pointless falsehood like that? A pathological compulsion to lie? And where did the trumpet come in? Well, maybe it was a jukebox.
“How much was it?” I asked.
“Hmmm. Ninety cents, I think. Yes, that’s right.”
Then it could have been New Orleans. It was a cinch it wasn’t local. I yanked my thoughts back on the track. An idea was beginning to take form in my mind, but I was going to need help—help from somebody very smart and somebody I could trust. George would fill the bill on both counts, but I couldn’t ask him; his professional code of ethics wouldn’t allow him to be a party to anything unorthodox and probably illegal, even if he knew I was innocent. He’d simply tell me to call the police. Barbara could do it, if she would, and if I could figure out a way to keep from implicating her.
“Listen,” I said, “I can’t explain now, but in the morning Scanlon is probably going to be asking you a lot of questions about me. Answer everything he asks, fully and truthfully, except don’t tell him I asked you or even mentioned it. Got it?”
“Well, it sounds simple enough in an incomprehensible sort of way; I think I can swing it. Anything else?”
“If he should ask if anything’s missing from the safe in the office, inventory it, and tell him. That’s all. And thanks a million, Barbara.”
I hurried back to the bedroom. Avoiding the other side of the bed and being careful not to disturb anything I didn’t have to, I quickly changed into a dark suit, fresh shirt, and tie, and hauled one of my own suitcases out of the closet on this side, a tan leather two-suiter with my initials stamped on it. I threw in a suit, several shirts, changes of underwear, and the toilet kit with the spare electric razor, and just before I closed the bag it occurred to
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