to persuade me to write a book on the events of that incredible episode," Henry said.
"Alas," sighed Pendelton as they sat, "she felt the true story was so outrageous that if she were to present it as a novel, nobody in the world would believe it. But I am happy to say that I have finally persuaded her that the True Crime genre is coming close to outstripping fiction in popularity. I need only point to the drama in the courtroom that involved the man whom we chose to recognize with our highest award tonight."
All eyes turned in the direction of a knot of excited Wolfe Pack members surroundingjanus at the head table. A standout in his white hat, he alternately nibbled a wedge of bread slathered with salmon paste and sipped a martini with two olives in it.
"The same man," said Bogdanovic bitterly, "who managed to get the killer in the Mystery Writers murder off easy."
"Evidently, the case wasn't as open and shut as believed," Dane teased. "As I recall, John, Theo gave you a pretty rough time on cross-examination."
Bogdanovic fidgeted. "Sure it was spirited. But I'm a flesh-and-blood detective, not a words-on-paper one."
Carrying a glass of plain water, a concession to diabetes, Judge Simmons appeared at the table. Tall, gaunt, and looking ill, he stated, "Nero Wolfe never did less than well at anything, but most of his tangles with prosecutors occurred before a case got to court."
"Sergeant, meet the distinguished jurist Reginald Simmons," said Pendelton. "He is known to his friend as Reggie."
"The one instance of Wolfe's testifying," Henry said as Simmons sat, "is found in the story tided 'The Next Witness.' He did not enjoy the experience. That's because Wolfe found very little enjoyable about leaving his house. With the exception of Rusterman's, he would not dine in a restaurant. To assure superb meals in his home he had a full-time Swiss chef, Fritz Brenner, complete with a cook's hat and apron."
"Naturally, he was a gourmet," Dane said, "as tonight's meal clearly proves."
Picking up a menu card, Bogdanovic read:
OYSTERS BAKED IN THE SHELL
TERRAPIN MARYLAND
BEATEN BISCUITS
PAN-BROILED YOUNG TURKEY
RICE CROQUETTES WITH QUINCE JELLY
LIMA BEANS IN CREAM
AVOCADO TODHUNTER
PINEAPPLE SHERBET
SPONGE CAKE
WISCONSIN DAIRY CHEESE
BLACK COFFEE
"It's the meal Wolfe ordered served at Kanawha Spa," Dane explained as waiters appeared from the kitchen with the first course. "The guests were fifteen master chefs."
"I think I saw the movie. Someone was killing all the great chefs of Europe."
"Not the same story. In Too Many Cooks only one master chef was murdered," Pendelton said.
"Wolfe nabbed him, of course?"
"Not without being wounded himself. He was rewarded with the recipe for saucisse minuit," said Pendelton.
"I was hoping it would be on the menu tonight," Henry said.
A movement next to her caused her to look up.
"Good evening, Nick! I swear, somehow you get handsomer and handsomer. What is it about you Greek men?"
"It's all that olive oil and fish," Pendelton said. "What have you done with your wife?"
"Ariadne is being Ariadne. She'll be along. You know how she is. She waits for the moment to make an entrance!" With a slight bow toward Bogdanovic, he said, "You must be the brilliant detective Wiggins told me about. I'm Nick Stamos! Don't get up on my account, Mr. Bogdanovic. I'm so glad you, unlike that movie director, haven't felt the need to add the h at the end of your name so that people would know to pronounce the v-i-c as 'vich.' "
Bogdanovic shrugged. "To each his own."
"My wife is Hungarian," Stamos went on. "Her maiden name is Fotash. But she was raised in Zagreb. She is looking forward to speaking Croatian with you. You do speak it?"
"With my parents," Bogdanovic answered. "But English is my native tongue. I was born at Kings County Hospital in Brooklyn."
Stamos smiled and sat. "Very wise of you." Turning toward the entrance and a tall blond woman in a pale blue evening dress trimmed in
"Alas," sighed Pendelton as they sat, "she felt the true story was so outrageous that if she were to present it as a novel, nobody in the world would believe it. But I am happy to say that I have finally persuaded her that the True Crime genre is coming close to outstripping fiction in popularity. I need only point to the drama in the courtroom that involved the man whom we chose to recognize with our highest award tonight."
All eyes turned in the direction of a knot of excited Wolfe Pack members surroundingjanus at the head table. A standout in his white hat, he alternately nibbled a wedge of bread slathered with salmon paste and sipped a martini with two olives in it.
"The same man," said Bogdanovic bitterly, "who managed to get the killer in the Mystery Writers murder off easy."
"Evidently, the case wasn't as open and shut as believed," Dane teased. "As I recall, John, Theo gave you a pretty rough time on cross-examination."
Bogdanovic fidgeted. "Sure it was spirited. But I'm a flesh-and-blood detective, not a words-on-paper one."
Carrying a glass of plain water, a concession to diabetes, Judge Simmons appeared at the table. Tall, gaunt, and looking ill, he stated, "Nero Wolfe never did less than well at anything, but most of his tangles with prosecutors occurred before a case got to court."
"Sergeant, meet the distinguished jurist Reginald Simmons," said Pendelton. "He is known to his friend as Reggie."
"The one instance of Wolfe's testifying," Henry said as Simmons sat, "is found in the story tided 'The Next Witness.' He did not enjoy the experience. That's because Wolfe found very little enjoyable about leaving his house. With the exception of Rusterman's, he would not dine in a restaurant. To assure superb meals in his home he had a full-time Swiss chef, Fritz Brenner, complete with a cook's hat and apron."
"Naturally, he was a gourmet," Dane said, "as tonight's meal clearly proves."
Picking up a menu card, Bogdanovic read:
OYSTERS BAKED IN THE SHELL
TERRAPIN MARYLAND
BEATEN BISCUITS
PAN-BROILED YOUNG TURKEY
RICE CROQUETTES WITH QUINCE JELLY
LIMA BEANS IN CREAM
AVOCADO TODHUNTER
PINEAPPLE SHERBET
SPONGE CAKE
WISCONSIN DAIRY CHEESE
BLACK COFFEE
"It's the meal Wolfe ordered served at Kanawha Spa," Dane explained as waiters appeared from the kitchen with the first course. "The guests were fifteen master chefs."
"I think I saw the movie. Someone was killing all the great chefs of Europe."
"Not the same story. In Too Many Cooks only one master chef was murdered," Pendelton said.
"Wolfe nabbed him, of course?"
"Not without being wounded himself. He was rewarded with the recipe for saucisse minuit," said Pendelton.
"I was hoping it would be on the menu tonight," Henry said.
A movement next to her caused her to look up.
"Good evening, Nick! I swear, somehow you get handsomer and handsomer. What is it about you Greek men?"
"It's all that olive oil and fish," Pendelton said. "What have you done with your wife?"
"Ariadne is being Ariadne. She'll be along. You know how she is. She waits for the moment to make an entrance!" With a slight bow toward Bogdanovic, he said, "You must be the brilliant detective Wiggins told me about. I'm Nick Stamos! Don't get up on my account, Mr. Bogdanovic. I'm so glad you, unlike that movie director, haven't felt the need to add the h at the end of your name so that people would know to pronounce the v-i-c as 'vich.' "
Bogdanovic shrugged. "To each his own."
"My wife is Hungarian," Stamos went on. "Her maiden name is Fotash. But she was raised in Zagreb. She is looking forward to speaking Croatian with you. You do speak it?"
"With my parents," Bogdanovic answered. "But English is my native tongue. I was born at Kings County Hospital in Brooklyn."
Stamos smiled and sat. "Very wise of you." Turning toward the entrance and a tall blond woman in a pale blue evening dress trimmed in
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