smoke.”
She looked at her wristwatch. “Oh, God, I gotta go.”
“I’ll walk you to a cab, Miss Turner.”
What a turkey Madison was turning out to be.
“Ya don’t have to do that, Glenn. I’m leavin, too.”
“Oh. Sure.”
“I gotta get crackin on the case of Miss Turner’s missin boyfriend.”
Glenn’s face fell like a collapsible summer chair. I wondered where he’d been through all this. At least he got my drift and we left.
Outside, I said, “So, Claire. Yer parents speak to Lucille more than you do?”
“They don’t speak to her, either.”
“Why’s that?”
“You’ll have to ask them.”
“Okay, I will.” It was clear she was clamming up about this particular angle. I changed the subject.
“Does Lucille work?”
“Yeah. In a bookstore in Newark. She’s the brainy one.”
“I need the info on that. And for yer parents, too. You understand, don’tcha?”
“I guess. Yeah, sure.”
She knew this stuff without looking in her little book. That figured for her parents, but Lucille’s work number? She’d had to look up her sister’s home phone.
“I really gotta go now.”
I hailed a cab. She got in.
“You’ll keep me posted, won’t you? Oh, are you comin over to get the picture?”
It was late now and I had stuff to do before my date with Johnny. “I’ll have to get it tomorrow.”
“Okay. Bye.”
I watched the cab drive away. What a mess. I’d been sure it was Private Ladd in the wardrobe. Open and shut, I’d thought. So who was the John Doe and why was he in Ladd’s closet? Nothing was making a whole lotta sense.
I crossed the street and went back to the coffee shop. The guy behind the counter was big and hairy. His sleeves were rolled up so I could see what might pass for a weaving experiment.
“Could I use yer phone?”
“You wuz in here before, wuzn’t ya?”
“Yeah.” I pointed to the booth where we’d sat.
“With the tomato, huh?”
“I was with another girl, yeah.”
“She wuz somethin.”
“She’s taken.”
“Too bad.” As if he was God’s gift and Claire would jump at the chance to do a two-step with him.
“Guess yer outta luck. So could I use yer phone? I’m only callin across town.”
He motioned me behind the counter where the phone was. I dialed Birdie and asked if there were any important messages. There weren’t.
“What about the Ladds?”
“I found em. Want the number?”
“You bet.” I grabbed a napkin and wrote it down. “And George Cummings?”
“Got it.”
I wrote that down, too. “Good work, Bird.”
“Mercy bucow.”
I told her I was going home and she could leave.
“Thanks,” I said to the counter guy.
“Anytime. Hey, is that dame’s boyfriend a soldier by any chance?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“I wuz wonderin if you’d put a word in for me.”
I almost thought I heard wrong. “Listen, buster. I wouldn’t put in a word for you with Whistler’s mother.”
“Who’s she?”
“So long.”
“Hey. Whazza matter wit you? I let ya use my phone and everything.”
I didn’t hang around to find out what
everything
was.
My crib was in Greenwich Village on Grove Street near Bleecker where carts lined a couple of blocks offering the freshest vegetables, fruits, and fish in town. I shopped there almost every day for my dinner, but tonight I was going out with Johnny.
Dolores, my neighbor across the hall, was sitting on the top step trying to cool herself with a hand fan.
“Oy, what a stinkin day, Faye. This must be what hell’s like.”
“Ya been sittin out here long?”
“I had my work to do, then I came out.”
Dolores had a need to sweep the hall every day even though we had a janitor who did that. Course he didn’t do it
every day.
She also wiped down the frame of her doorway and washed the two big windows in her apartment that looked out on the street.
And she wore a wig. It was different colors on different days, and always askew. Nobody in the neighborhood knew why she wore any
She looked at her wristwatch. “Oh, God, I gotta go.”
“I’ll walk you to a cab, Miss Turner.”
What a turkey Madison was turning out to be.
“Ya don’t have to do that, Glenn. I’m leavin, too.”
“Oh. Sure.”
“I gotta get crackin on the case of Miss Turner’s missin boyfriend.”
Glenn’s face fell like a collapsible summer chair. I wondered where he’d been through all this. At least he got my drift and we left.
Outside, I said, “So, Claire. Yer parents speak to Lucille more than you do?”
“They don’t speak to her, either.”
“Why’s that?”
“You’ll have to ask them.”
“Okay, I will.” It was clear she was clamming up about this particular angle. I changed the subject.
“Does Lucille work?”
“Yeah. In a bookstore in Newark. She’s the brainy one.”
“I need the info on that. And for yer parents, too. You understand, don’tcha?”
“I guess. Yeah, sure.”
She knew this stuff without looking in her little book. That figured for her parents, but Lucille’s work number? She’d had to look up her sister’s home phone.
“I really gotta go now.”
I hailed a cab. She got in.
“You’ll keep me posted, won’t you? Oh, are you comin over to get the picture?”
It was late now and I had stuff to do before my date with Johnny. “I’ll have to get it tomorrow.”
“Okay. Bye.”
I watched the cab drive away. What a mess. I’d been sure it was Private Ladd in the wardrobe. Open and shut, I’d thought. So who was the John Doe and why was he in Ladd’s closet? Nothing was making a whole lotta sense.
I crossed the street and went back to the coffee shop. The guy behind the counter was big and hairy. His sleeves were rolled up so I could see what might pass for a weaving experiment.
“Could I use yer phone?”
“You wuz in here before, wuzn’t ya?”
“Yeah.” I pointed to the booth where we’d sat.
“With the tomato, huh?”
“I was with another girl, yeah.”
“She wuz somethin.”
“She’s taken.”
“Too bad.” As if he was God’s gift and Claire would jump at the chance to do a two-step with him.
“Guess yer outta luck. So could I use yer phone? I’m only callin across town.”
He motioned me behind the counter where the phone was. I dialed Birdie and asked if there were any important messages. There weren’t.
“What about the Ladds?”
“I found em. Want the number?”
“You bet.” I grabbed a napkin and wrote it down. “And George Cummings?”
“Got it.”
I wrote that down, too. “Good work, Bird.”
“Mercy bucow.”
I told her I was going home and she could leave.
“Thanks,” I said to the counter guy.
“Anytime. Hey, is that dame’s boyfriend a soldier by any chance?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“I wuz wonderin if you’d put a word in for me.”
I almost thought I heard wrong. “Listen, buster. I wouldn’t put in a word for you with Whistler’s mother.”
“Who’s she?”
“So long.”
“Hey. Whazza matter wit you? I let ya use my phone and everything.”
I didn’t hang around to find out what
everything
was.
My crib was in Greenwich Village on Grove Street near Bleecker where carts lined a couple of blocks offering the freshest vegetables, fruits, and fish in town. I shopped there almost every day for my dinner, but tonight I was going out with Johnny.
Dolores, my neighbor across the hall, was sitting on the top step trying to cool herself with a hand fan.
“Oy, what a stinkin day, Faye. This must be what hell’s like.”
“Ya been sittin out here long?”
“I had my work to do, then I came out.”
Dolores had a need to sweep the hall every day even though we had a janitor who did that. Course he didn’t do it
every day.
She also wiped down the frame of her doorway and washed the two big windows in her apartment that looked out on the street.
And she wore a wig. It was different colors on different days, and always askew. Nobody in the neighborhood knew why she wore any
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