Some Like It Lethal (15 page)

"He wasn't the full package. I'm the one who's got everything she wants. If she wants somebody to talk to, she can talk to me now." Dougie's voice rose to an agitated whine. He stood very tall over me. "I'm the man. I'm the one she wants."

"I'm sure you are," I said, rising to my feet. I wanted to put more space between us in case his temper flared. I didn't know him well enough to guess his reaction if I really pressured him. I'd try again sometime when we weren't alone. I checked my watch. I needed to phone Libby to learn if Emma had shown up yet, anyway.

Besides, I felt as if just talking to Dougie was causing my brain cells to atrophy. "Well, thanks, Dougie. I appreciate your help."

He frowned. "You're not going to wait for Claudine?"

"I'll catch her another time."

"Listen," he said, stepping closer. "I hope you don't tell her about what I said. I think I was supposed to keep quiet about that stuff."

"Don't worry. I won't tell anyone."

Suddenly, he was looming and seemed taller than before. Lower voiced, he said, "I mean it. She'd be upset."

"Really, Dougie, I won't say a word."

Upon close inspection, I realized his eyes had a mean pinch at their corners. He said, "I'd do anything for her. So let's just forget we had this little talk."

I felt instinctively that Dougie's performance was
just that: a performance. But I wondered uneasily how far he'd take the role.

I said good-bye and hurried down the steps, wondering exactly what qualified as the "anything" he'd do for Claudine.

Out on the street, a little flurry of snow was drifting in the cold afternoon air, transforming the city into a pretty snowglobe. I glanced both ways, then crossed the street to the curb where Reed had parked the town car.

But just as I reached the car, another vehicle sped up to me and stopped in the middle of the street. A soprano horn beeped twice in a friendly greeting. I turned to look.

"Hey, kitten." Hadley had rolled down the window of his vintage MG convertible and leaned out attractively. "Want to have a hot buttered rum with me somewhere?"

"Hadley, I didn't think you got out of bed before five on Sunday afternoons."

"I just came from worshipping at my favorite religious institution, but Lord and Taylor didn't have my shirt size today, can you imagine? Come on. Let's go for a spin. I want to hear everything you've heard about Rush Strawcutter's demise."

I hesitated. I wanted to call Libby, but somehow I knew Hadley would be a good source of information. I put up one finger to ask for a moment, then I spoke to Reed, thanking him through the open car window and telling him to go home for the night.

Reed looked across the street at Hadley. "Who's the guy?"

"An old friend."

"I'm not supposed to leave you with anybody suspicious," he reminded me.

"Your
jefe
is on another continent," I said, meaning Michael. "I've known Hadley since we were kids."

Reed looked unconvinced. "You call if you need me."

When he reluctantly agreed to go, I took Spike with me and crossed the street again.

Half a minute later, I was sitting beside Hadley in his low two-seater sports car, cozy beneath the canvas roof. Spike popped out of my bag and braced his paws on the dashboard to look out the windscreen. His stumpy tail vibrated madly. Hadley rattled the gearshift, and we roared off down the street with the wind whipping snow through the badly fitted windows. Spike barked with excitement.

In equally high spirits, Hadley was wearing a tan leather-collared field coat over wool trousers and a jaunty sort of cap that an English country gentleman might keep by his back door. Over the roar of the engine, he said, "This car is so old it doesn't even have seat belts, so hang on for dear life. And it's freezing, I know. There's a lap blanket on the floor, if you need it. Or is that animal of yours enough to keep you warm?"

"I'm fine."

He grinned attractively at the sight I made sitting with Spike in my lap. "You're not one of those women who gets a dog just to see if she can stand to have children, are you?"

"Think I could keep a baby in my handbag?"

"You could, but he'd turn out more twisted than I am. Hold on!"

I grabbed Spike and clutched the dashboard as we rounded the next corner, going too fast. In the next instant, the latch on the glove box gave way, and the door fell open. A snowstorm of little yellow papers fell
into my lap. Spike forgot about the view and began to tear into the pile.

"What's all this?" I wrestled paper out of Spike's jaws. "Hadley, these are parking tickets!"

"Just stuff them back where they came from, kitten. I never met a parking ticket I felt like paying, but I love to see my collection grow. Oh, now and then I pay one, but I write someone else's name on my check. I love playing with their heads."

"Wait—these are all unpaid?"

He nonchalantly waved one hand, exquisitely clad in a buff leather driving glove. "Who has time to take care of details? What are you doing in town this morning, for heaven's sake? Or have you been out all night, you little devil?"

"I tried to see Claudine Paltron."

"The dead swan? What on earth are you seeing her about? Did she take the artistic director's job or not? Honestly, by the time she accepts, that story will be such musty news nobody will care. She has no sense of timing. Never did. Did you see her?"

"No, she was busy. Dougie was there."

"Ah, the Incredible Hulk. He belongs in a recliner with a Pabst in one hand and a television remote in the other. And he probably measures his penis when nobody's looking."

I heard the anger beneath his mocking tone. "Why do you dislike him so much?"

"Do I? I suppose I do. Because he's nothing but an accessory. Claudine doesn't need a pink poodle on a rhinestone leash when she's got Dougie on her arm. The man is useless." Hadley gave a short laugh. "Besides, he looks better in clothes than I do, which I cannot forgive."

"So that's the truth of the matter. You envy his clothes."

"Which Claudine buys, for the most part. And I envy his youth. He'll still be Adonis when I start looking like Liberace in Sansabelt pants. Did he astound you with his clever banter?"

"He tried to threaten me, I think. I'm not sure, though. It's been a very trying morning for me, Hadley, so be nice, please."

He was instantly sorry and reached over to touch my hand. Spike gave him a warning snarl, so he pulled back. "My dear kitten, tell me your troubles. Shall we go find a drink somewhere secluded and confess our sins to each other? Do you belong to any clubs we could invade? Some place posh, I hope."

"I don't belong to anything that costs money. I'm broke, remember? And getting more threadbare by the minute."

He shot me a look of arch dismay. "You can't be broke as long as you hold the deed to Rancho del Blackbird. Hasn't a shopping tycoon offered you millions for the old homestead yet?"

"I can't sell the place, Hadley."

"Oh, don't let sentimentality ruin your fun." He glanced at me more shrewdly. "How despondent you look. Is it Emma? How is she feeling?"

"I can't even guess because she's disappeared, Hadley." I threw caution to the wind and said, "She walked out of the hospital, and I don't know where she's gone. Neither do the police."

"Were they planning to put her in a lineup?"

"Yes. She flew the coop instead, and now it's up to me to prove she's innocent before they catch her again."

"Courage, kitten." Hadley sounded genuinely sympathetic. "Let's cozy up for an hour and I'll spoil you
a bit. Do you mind rubbing elbows with the unwashed masses?"

Without waiting for an answer, he pulled into a parking lot across from the Reading Terminal Market and hopped out of the old car to assist me. He ducked the lot attendant with casual expertise, and in a few minutes we were across the street and making our way through the crowd of tourists and neighborhood people who had flocked into the old railroad building that now housed a noisy food bazaar. I shoved Spike deep into hiding so we wouldn't be arrested by the sanitation squad.

Behind me and with his hands on my hips, Hadley guided me past the counter-service restaurants and the line that had formed for cheesesteak sandwiches and French fries. We wound our way past the Amish women who were shyly selling baked goods like shoofly pie and homemade biscuits. The noise deafened me, but the heavenly smells made me suddenly ravenous. Spike whined from captivity.

"Next stop, coffee," Hadley said in my ear.

He pushed me onto a stool and raised two fingers at the unshaven man who ground coffee beans on the other side of the stainless steel counter. "Nothing fancy, barkeep. Two javas, no additives."

Then Hadley slipped onto the stool beside me. He tugged off his gloves and neatly tucked them into his pocket. "Tell me why the police think Emma was the one to put Strawcutter in cold storage."

"You mean besides finding her near his body, covered in blood and unable to explain herself?"

"She wasn't holding a dagger and moaning about hand washing, was she?"

"Not quite. But her riding crop was there, also bloody."

"Are they doing DNA testing?"

"Yes. Meanwhile, the police have something almost as damning." With Hadley gazing at me with such empathy, I felt a rush of warmth for my old friend. "Can I trust you, Hadley?"

"With your life and chastity, cross my heart."

I took a chance and told him about the white envelope and blackmail photographs that had been on Rush's body. And the letter I had received after Rush's death. I was careful not to mention Tim Naftzinger's name. I allowed Hadley to assume the blackmailer had photographed me with Michael.

Hadley wasn't surprised by my news. He took the revelation calmly. "I've heard rumors," he said. "About several fat cats getting blackmail letters."

"Really? Anyone I know?"

He put one finger to his lips. "Sworn to secrecy, kitten. Let's just say they are people of influence, not to mention big bucks."

"Have you seen any of the photographs?"

"Sorry, no."

"I thought you might be able to tell me something about them. The pictures have a unique flavor."

"You know I'm a complete ninny with cameras. I'm all thumbs with any kind of mechanical gadget, actually. I never took to the family trade."

Our coffees arrived, fragrant and steaming. I waited while Hadley pulled a silver flask from his pocket and poured a little nip into each cup. Calvados, was my guess by the scent. I took a sip and found the drink tasty and stimulating.

"The photos look pretty," I said finally. "Not the kind of grainy, unpleasant pictures you imagine coming from a criminal. They're actually good—almost character studies."

"So the blackmailer isn't just some amateur with an empty wallet?"

"No, he's got talent. Do you think Rush was a photographer?"

"He hardly seemed the type."

"No. And he couldn't very well take his own picture with Emma, either, I suppose. Unless he had an accomplice."

"On the other hand," said Hadley, "it would make sense, considering how barefoot Gussie kept him."

"I know." I drank my coffee and looked longingly at the blueberry muffins on display. But dressing for the Christmas gala loomed before me, so I asked, "What do you remember about the hunt breakfast? You were there early, right? Did you see anything happen?"

Hadley drank and looked thoughtful. "I arrived earlier than most of the horseless guests, but I didn't see much except crimes of fashion. Including ding-a-ling Dougie Forsythe."

"What was he doing there?"

"Looking for a photo op, I presume. Or a girlfriend more connected than Claudine, if that's possible. I hate a blatant gigolo. Later, of course, we both saw Tottie acting like a Cape buffalo."

"Right. This whole murder thing would make more sense if Tottie were the dead man, wouldn't it?"

"Yes. He's got more enemies than a city councilman." Hadley poured more liquor into his cup.

"I understand Tottie and Rush were compatriots in a business scheme."

"I heard that, too. On Friday night I spent the cocktail hour with a couple of financial boy geniuses celebrating the end of the work week. Once they partook
of some little white lines of high spirits, they revealed all kinds of gossip."

"Such as?"

Hadley shrugged. "Tottie has a girlfriend. I suppose if silverback gorillas can have a tryst in the mist now and then, so can he, but it comes as a shock to imagine him cuddling up to anything but a mutual fund."

"You'd be surprised."

Hadley raised his brows. "You have insider information?"

"I believe Tottie had a full dance card, that's all. But listen, do you think Tottie and Rush could have had a falling out?"

"Tottie murdered Rush? Before going off on the foxhunt? My goodness, kitten, I never thought you had such a devious imagination!"

I smiled grimly. "Necessity. I need to find someone who rode in the hunt, someone who remembers seeing Tottie before it started."