he’d heard about David Collins, Nudger thought Fat Jack might not be exaggerating. Frick and Frack were in Collins’ employ for more than just keeping things dusted and running out for canapés.
Nudger pushed away from the bar. He was tired and uncomfortable. His stomach was trying to digest itself. “I’d better make airline reservations and pack,” he said. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Fat Jack mumbled something unintelligible and nodded, lost in his own dark apprehensions, a ponderous man grappling with ponderous problems. One of his inflated hands floated up in the dimness in a pale parting gesture.
As Nudger was about to walk away, Willy Hollister launched into his first number.
Nudger hung around and listened. Fat Jack understood.
VI I
here have you been?” Claudia Bettencourt asked Nudger. “Cleveland, Kansas City, Chicago.” “Sounds like three years’ worth of Shriners’ conventions.”
“I’ve also been to New Orleans,” Nudger said, wincing at the morning light blasting through the blinds into Claudia’s bedroom. “That’s where my new case is. I tried to phone you before I left, but you weren’t home.”
Claudia slipped into her blue robe and shook her head with brief violence. Her hair was still damp from the shower, and drops of water marked the robe. It was a new robe, with silk at the sleeves and hem, and came down only about halfway to her knees. It made her legs look great. “You might have phoned before you came by last night.”
“At midnight when I got into town? Miss Manners would have something disapproving to say about that.”
Claudia smiled. “So you just used your key to let your self in and climbed into bed with me. Perfect etiquette.”
“Seemed like a good idea at the time. Does now.”
She said something to him, but at the same time she switched on her blow-drier and Nudger couldn’t understand her. He lay back in the bed and watched her shake her long dark hair again as she played the hot stream of air over it. She’d let it grow the past six months; he liked it long. She had fleshed out during the past half year, too, and he liked that. She was still slim, and her slender features were still dominated by a nose that was too long but somehow lent her a noble look. Her face was less gaunt now, her hipbones less prominent in bed; she seemed healthier, which immensely pleased Nudger.
Claudia switched off the drier and began brushing her hair in front of her dresser mirror, slouching down slightly with a dancer’s grace to fix her entire reflection in the glass. She was using an odd-looking brush with blunted, widely spaced bristles, the sort of thing that sold for some thing-ninety-nine via TV mail-order commercials.
“How’s work?” Nudger asked, meshing his fingers behind his head on the pillow.
“It’s fine.” She caught his gaze in the mirror and smiled ever so slightly as their eyes locked. Nudger had helped to get her the position as teacher in a private girls’ high school in St. Louis County. Apparently she’d taken to her return to teaching after her stint as a waitress, and everything Nudger heard indicated that Stowe School had taken to her. “I’ve got to go in to work later today,” she said.
“It’s Saturday.”
“I know. I have to grade some tests.”
“You could have brought them home.”
“I’d rather work at the school.” The brush made surprisingly loud, abrupt swishing sounds as she forced it through her still-damp hair. It was a sound Nudger didn’t care for. “What kind of case are you working on in New Orleans?” she asked.
“Something to do with a jazz pianist.” Nudger didn’t elaborate. She knew he didn’t like to discuss his cases except when he was ready, if at all, and she wouldn’t push. Occasionally there were things about his work that Claudia preferred not knowing.
“Sounds interesting” was all she said. Shhhhk! went the brush.
“The layovers in the other cities were to gather
Nudger pushed away from the bar. He was tired and uncomfortable. His stomach was trying to digest itself. “I’d better make airline reservations and pack,” he said. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Fat Jack mumbled something unintelligible and nodded, lost in his own dark apprehensions, a ponderous man grappling with ponderous problems. One of his inflated hands floated up in the dimness in a pale parting gesture.
As Nudger was about to walk away, Willy Hollister launched into his first number.
Nudger hung around and listened. Fat Jack understood.
VI I
here have you been?” Claudia Bettencourt asked Nudger. “Cleveland, Kansas City, Chicago.” “Sounds like three years’ worth of Shriners’ conventions.”
“I’ve also been to New Orleans,” Nudger said, wincing at the morning light blasting through the blinds into Claudia’s bedroom. “That’s where my new case is. I tried to phone you before I left, but you weren’t home.”
Claudia slipped into her blue robe and shook her head with brief violence. Her hair was still damp from the shower, and drops of water marked the robe. It was a new robe, with silk at the sleeves and hem, and came down only about halfway to her knees. It made her legs look great. “You might have phoned before you came by last night.”
“At midnight when I got into town? Miss Manners would have something disapproving to say about that.”
Claudia smiled. “So you just used your key to let your self in and climbed into bed with me. Perfect etiquette.”
“Seemed like a good idea at the time. Does now.”
She said something to him, but at the same time she switched on her blow-drier and Nudger couldn’t understand her. He lay back in the bed and watched her shake her long dark hair again as she played the hot stream of air over it. She’d let it grow the past six months; he liked it long. She had fleshed out during the past half year, too, and he liked that. She was still slim, and her slender features were still dominated by a nose that was too long but somehow lent her a noble look. Her face was less gaunt now, her hipbones less prominent in bed; she seemed healthier, which immensely pleased Nudger.
Claudia switched off the drier and began brushing her hair in front of her dresser mirror, slouching down slightly with a dancer’s grace to fix her entire reflection in the glass. She was using an odd-looking brush with blunted, widely spaced bristles, the sort of thing that sold for some thing-ninety-nine via TV mail-order commercials.
“How’s work?” Nudger asked, meshing his fingers behind his head on the pillow.
“It’s fine.” She caught his gaze in the mirror and smiled ever so slightly as their eyes locked. Nudger had helped to get her the position as teacher in a private girls’ high school in St. Louis County. Apparently she’d taken to her return to teaching after her stint as a waitress, and everything Nudger heard indicated that Stowe School had taken to her. “I’ve got to go in to work later today,” she said.
“It’s Saturday.”
“I know. I have to grade some tests.”
“You could have brought them home.”
“I’d rather work at the school.” The brush made surprisingly loud, abrupt swishing sounds as she forced it through her still-damp hair. It was a sound Nudger didn’t care for. “What kind of case are you working on in New Orleans?” she asked.
“Something to do with a jazz pianist.” Nudger didn’t elaborate. She knew he didn’t like to discuss his cases except when he was ready, if at all, and she wouldn’t push. Occasionally there were things about his work that Claudia preferred not knowing.
“Sounds interesting” was all she said. Shhhhk! went the brush.
“The layovers in the other cities were to gather
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