Pushing Murder by Eleanor Boylan

and licked into the vestibule. No sign of Dunlop. Not that I expected him to be obviously hanging around, but I thought he’d at least stroll by and check the place out. Then I realized he’d probably already done that. I figured he’d materialize from some doorway he’d ducked into with the mailman.” Dan swirled his wine, then took a sip. “Well, the mail came, but Dunlop didn’t.”
    Sadd got up and topped off my wine, then he sat down, hitching his chair nearer to the bookcase. Despite our irregular, even wacky, possibly dangerous situation—the four of us huddled in this dim little room and me AWOL—I knew that what Sadd wanted most at that moment was to study those faded book titles.
    Dan went on. “I opened the box and saw Mrs. Folsom’s letter with her return address on it and put it inside my parka. I let myself in the front door and went up to your place and put the rest of the mail on your desk. I didn’t want it to be scattered if he jumped me. Then I called a cab and watched for it from your front window. When it came, I went down and crossed the pavement like a streak. No interference, no nothing. On the way down here I figured he’d heeded Mrs. Folsom’s warning and left town. I sat back in the cab feeling good that you weren’t in danger anymore.”
    Poor Dan. He gulped his wine and spilled some, and Kit mopped his front. I bled for him. Mawkish and unprofessional, Clara. He sat up straighter.
    â€œThe traffic was backed up on Greenwich Street, so I decided to get out of the cab at Eleventh and take a shortcut through the hospital garage. I went past the ticket booth and up the incline to the first level. Don’t ask me where the guy came from. I landed on my face between two cars with a wool cap pulled over my eyes, and he was ripping my parka and frisking me. Shit! I’d made it so easy for Dunlop! All he had to do was see me get in that cab and then phone his goon to watch for it at the hospital.”
    We were silent for a minute, then Kit said, looking at me, “Does this kind of violence mean that he knows you know and he doesn’t give a damn?”
    â€œYes. I think…” I suddenly felt cold, though the room was very hot, and shivered and rubbed my knees. Kit was on her feet. “You’re going back.” She draped Dan’s destroyed parka over me.
    Dan stood up. “You think what?”
    â€œI think he knew that Janet would panic and come to me.”
    Sadd said, “You mean before the letter did?”
    â€œYes. He may even—revolting thought—have hung around here and seen her come. After all, a phone call to Fairfield could have told him she was back from Denver and in New York. What he’s saying now is that he can play rough, maybe rougher, if I don’t do what Janet refused to do.”
    â€œDeal?” asked Kit, collecting glasses.
    â€œYes. Look the other way till he can salvage something. He called me this afternoon.”
    â€œHe called you?” said Dan and Kit together.
    â€œYes. Very chatty. He’s playing business as usual, and he’s telling me I’d better do the same.”
    Sadd, cradling his parcel again, held the door and Kit pushed me through. She said, “How can he be sure you won’t go to the police?”
    â€œWith what?” I said. “Besides, he knows it would be easier to go to Sal.”
    As I spoke the words, something began to bug me …
    I stared out at the night city as we went back down the glass-enclosed passage. The streets were bright with garish colors the way they should be at Christmas. Lights went on in a big, old-fashioned crèche on the hospital grounds as we passed by it. I looked nostalgically at the funny old figures, sheep half the size of the camels, Wise Men looking like children in costume.
    Bug me …
    Why was this man so anxious to get his hands on a letter that had nothing positively