Dirt by Stuart Woods Page B

morning and asked to see her in her office.
    The doorman looked at him appraisingly before allowing him into the lobby, and the man inside at the desk called upstairs and announced him before allowing him into the elevator. They both looked like retired cops. He was impressed with the building’s security.
    He was met at the elevator by a plump woman with pale red hair who appeared to be in her late thirties or early forties.
    “Mr. Barrington? I’m Martha, Amanda’s secretary. Will you follow me, please?” She led the way down a hall and through a heavy door.
    Stone had noticed another, double door; thatmust be her apartment, he thought. He followed the woman into an open office area containing three desks; one was empty—obviously Martha’s, the other two were occupied, respectively, by a young woman and a young man, both of whom were on the phone. He followed Martha into a comfortably decorated office where Amanda, seated behind her desk, was on the phone. She waved him to a seat and dismissed Martha with a shooing motion.
    “Yes, darling, I understand,” Amanda was saying. “Not a word to anyone until you’re ready, and I do appreciate your confiding in me alone. It is me alone, isn’t it? Yes, I’ll see you soon.” She hung up the phone and gave him a wide smile. “So, you found your way to my aerie.”
    “I did, and it’s a very cozy working arrangement, even nicer than I’d imagined.”
    “You know the joys of working at home, don’t you?”
    “I do.”
    “Well, then, what would you like to see here?”
    “Your diary page for yesterday,” Stone replied.
    She laughed, then handed it over.
    Opposite four o’clock was written, “Stone Barrington, investigator,” and his address. He handed back the diary. “To whom did you speak between the time you left my house and, say, eight-thirty last night?”
    “Everybody?”
    “Let’s start with those you saw face to face.”
    “Well, there’s Paul, my driver, of course, then I returned here and saw the doorman and the lobby man, then came upstairs in time to see Martha and my two other people before they left for the day.”
    “Did you say to any of them that you’d seen me?”
    “No, but Martha knew I had, of course. Martha knows all.”
    “Anybody else before eight-thirty?”
    “No, I was home alone until nine, when I left for a dinner party.”
    “Do your employees commonly come into your office when you’re out?”
    “Yes, I suppose; they leave me notes or copy to read.”
    “Do you ordinarily leave your diary open on your desk?”
    “Ahhhh,” she said. “Yes, I do.” She produced the scandal sheet with the mention of his assignment. “Have you seen this?”
    “I saw it at eight-thirty last night. When did you write my name in your diary?”
    “When I made the appointment with you, earlier yesterday.”
    “Do any outside people come into your offices?”
    “Messengers, visitors.”
    “Did you have any visitors yesterday?”
    “No.”
    “Messengers?”
    “There’s a constant stream of them, but there’sno way Martha would have let one of them into my office.”
    “Does Martha keep a duplicate diary of your day?”
    “Yes, in her middle desk drawer.”
    “Does she ever leave it on her desk?”
    “Possibly. I could ask her. You think, then, that someone saw your name in my diary?”
    “So far, it seems the only possible way that anyone could have known you brought me into this.”
    “You think it’s one of my people, then?”
    “Not necessarily, but it’s a possibility to keep in mind. Who cleans your offices?”
    “My live-in maid, Gloria; she does my apartment, too.”
    “Could she have leaked the information?”
    “She wouldn’t have come into the office until this morning.”
    “What about yesterday afternoon?”
    “No, I don’t think so, but I’ll ask Martha.”
    “I think you should ask Martha to keep a log of every person who comes into your offices, no matter how briefly—messengers, repairmen,