silently at each other. Misty, a small red fur ball of a dog, was sitting at Bernard’s feet, also staring in a hostile way at the detective.
“Hello. I’m Snooky Randolph.”
“Detective Janovy.” They shook hands.
Bernard rose silently to his feet and moved off in the general direction of the kitchen.
“Brilliant conversationalist, isn’t he?” said Snooky cheerfully. “Keeps us entertained for hours. How can I help you, Detective?”
“If you’ll just answer a few questions about last night.…”
Snooky recounted in full his evening at Le Roi Soleil. He and Bella Whitaker were old friends; they had met years ago, when he was still in college, at a party in New York City. Whenever he came to town to visit his sister, he tried to give Bella a call. “I know the rest of the family, too,” he said. “Albert and Susan. And Great-aunt Etta’s a particular favorite of mine.”
“You arranged to meet Mrs. Whitaker downtown?”
“Yes,” said Snooky. He was going to be in New York during the day, so they had arranged to meet at Le Roi Soleil at eight-thirty.
“Mrs. Whitaker was killed, as you know, on her way out of the house. The earliest she could have been leaving was seven-thirty. It was a two-hour trip by train, so the earliest she could have been at the restaurant was nine-thirty. Was she usually that late?”
Snooky pondered this. “No, not really. Ten minutes, fifteen minutes, maybe, but not a whole hour. She must have been detained somehow.”
“Yes. When did you set up this meeting with her?”
“Last Tuesday, on the phone.”
“Did she mention to you having to see anyone before she left for New York?”
“Oh, no. She sounded great, said she was looking forward to seeing me. Everything sounded perfectly normal. I think if she had known somebody would be coming by on Friday she would have mentioned it to me. You know, I’ve been thinking about it, Detective, and I’m quite sure she didn’t have the slightest idea that someone was planning to kill her.”
Yes
, thought Janovy. From what he had seen and heard so far, he thought that was absolutely true.
In the kitchen, a big country-style room with plants along the windowsill and copper pots hanging from the ceiling, Maya was chopping vegetables and Bernard had been set to tending the soup. He stirred and she chopped in silence. At last he said mournfully:
“The law, Maya.”
“Yes, sweetheart.”
“You can go for years without policemen showing up at your door, and then all at once, one day, there they are.”
“Yes, sweetheart.”
“Upsetting, isn’t it?”
“Yes. How’s the soup?”
“Under control.”
“Good.”
Silence.
“How’s the new book going?” asked Maya.
“Not very well.”
“What’s the matter?”
“I don’t know. I’m having a little trouble concentrating.”
Bernard’s book featured his newest creation, a large dandified white rat named Mr. Whiskers. So far Mr. Whiskers had spent most of his time pirouetting rather foolishly in front of the mirror, instead of getting into exciting scrapes.
Bernard pulled at his beard and frowned. “The damned creature seems to be a narcissist. I can’t get him away from the mirror.”
“Really? What a shame. Do you think there’s anything Freudian about that, darling? Do you think you’re a narcissist?”
“No,” said Bernard. “I’m an anthropophobe. I’m not in love with myself, I just hate other people.”
“Oh.”
Silence.
“Listen to me, sweetheart,” Maya said a little while later. She was chopping tomatoes into a pan. “I don’t want you involved in this business with Snooky.”
“I don’t intend to get involved.”
“I know you, Bernard. You’re thinking about it instead of your work, and you’re going to get yourself all upset over nothing.”
“I will not,” Bernard said with dignity. “I couldn’t care less if all of Snooky’s friends get it into their heads to kill each other off simultaneously. Maybe
“Hello. I’m Snooky Randolph.”
“Detective Janovy.” They shook hands.
Bernard rose silently to his feet and moved off in the general direction of the kitchen.
“Brilliant conversationalist, isn’t he?” said Snooky cheerfully. “Keeps us entertained for hours. How can I help you, Detective?”
“If you’ll just answer a few questions about last night.…”
Snooky recounted in full his evening at Le Roi Soleil. He and Bella Whitaker were old friends; they had met years ago, when he was still in college, at a party in New York City. Whenever he came to town to visit his sister, he tried to give Bella a call. “I know the rest of the family, too,” he said. “Albert and Susan. And Great-aunt Etta’s a particular favorite of mine.”
“You arranged to meet Mrs. Whitaker downtown?”
“Yes,” said Snooky. He was going to be in New York during the day, so they had arranged to meet at Le Roi Soleil at eight-thirty.
“Mrs. Whitaker was killed, as you know, on her way out of the house. The earliest she could have been leaving was seven-thirty. It was a two-hour trip by train, so the earliest she could have been at the restaurant was nine-thirty. Was she usually that late?”
Snooky pondered this. “No, not really. Ten minutes, fifteen minutes, maybe, but not a whole hour. She must have been detained somehow.”
“Yes. When did you set up this meeting with her?”
“Last Tuesday, on the phone.”
“Did she mention to you having to see anyone before she left for New York?”
“Oh, no. She sounded great, said she was looking forward to seeing me. Everything sounded perfectly normal. I think if she had known somebody would be coming by on Friday she would have mentioned it to me. You know, I’ve been thinking about it, Detective, and I’m quite sure she didn’t have the slightest idea that someone was planning to kill her.”
Yes
, thought Janovy. From what he had seen and heard so far, he thought that was absolutely true.
In the kitchen, a big country-style room with plants along the windowsill and copper pots hanging from the ceiling, Maya was chopping vegetables and Bernard had been set to tending the soup. He stirred and she chopped in silence. At last he said mournfully:
“The law, Maya.”
“Yes, sweetheart.”
“You can go for years without policemen showing up at your door, and then all at once, one day, there they are.”
“Yes, sweetheart.”
“Upsetting, isn’t it?”
“Yes. How’s the soup?”
“Under control.”
“Good.”
Silence.
“How’s the new book going?” asked Maya.
“Not very well.”
“What’s the matter?”
“I don’t know. I’m having a little trouble concentrating.”
Bernard’s book featured his newest creation, a large dandified white rat named Mr. Whiskers. So far Mr. Whiskers had spent most of his time pirouetting rather foolishly in front of the mirror, instead of getting into exciting scrapes.
Bernard pulled at his beard and frowned. “The damned creature seems to be a narcissist. I can’t get him away from the mirror.”
“Really? What a shame. Do you think there’s anything Freudian about that, darling? Do you think you’re a narcissist?”
“No,” said Bernard. “I’m an anthropophobe. I’m not in love with myself, I just hate other people.”
“Oh.”
Silence.
“Listen to me, sweetheart,” Maya said a little while later. She was chopping tomatoes into a pan. “I don’t want you involved in this business with Snooky.”
“I don’t intend to get involved.”
“I know you, Bernard. You’re thinking about it instead of your work, and you’re going to get yourself all upset over nothing.”
“I will not,” Bernard said with dignity. “I couldn’t care less if all of Snooky’s friends get it into their heads to kill each other off simultaneously. Maybe
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