had been fully dressed.
“Come on, love! What did you think of it?” Lily Monderell repeated. “Tell the truth and shame the devil! Poor Delbert deserves that.”
“I thought it was extremely powerful,” Pitt replied, the faintest color rising to his cheeks.
Lily Monderell threw her head back and roared with laughter.
Tellman was shocked. Her lover was newly dead, she had heard the news only moments before, and here she was laughing! He tried to frown to convey his disapproval, and found he could not. There was a warmth about her which enveloped him in spite of himself.
She glanced at him, and her mirth died away.
“Don’t look like that, love,” she said gently. “You wouldn’t want anyone standing around with a face like the milk had gone off. He’d expect us to go on. . me especially. I knew him, you see. You never did.”
Tellman could not think how to answer her. She looked like all the images he had in his mind of such women, but inside she was different, more alive, more disturbing, and it confused him.
But she was finished with Tellman. She turned back to Pitt, her face sharp with interest and amusement.
“Powerful?” she said curiously. “How carefully you choose your words, Superintendent. Is that all?”
Tellman watched Pitt, wondering what he would say. He suspected Pitt had seen far more than that in it.
“Go on! Be honest,” Lily urged. “What kind of woman is she?”
A half smile hovered around Pitt’s mouth. “In the picture-a sensuous, selfish woman,” he replied. “Impetuous, ruthless, very confident. A doubtful friend and a bad enemy.”
She nodded her head very slowly, satisfaction bright in her eyes. “You see? It’s all there in the picture. You look at it once and you know her better than she wants to be known.” There was considerable pride in her. “That was his genius. He could do that time and time again. A light here or there, a shadow, something in the setting. You’d be surprised how often people like the sort of thing that shows up their real character. They forget that a photograph is taken in a very private place but the picture, when it’s finished, may be shown anywhere.”
Pitt leaned forward a little. “What sort of things did he add?”
Tellman could not see any reason for knowing. He thought Pitt was interested for himself.
“Well, the snake, of course,” she started to recall. “And I remember some butterflies from one young society woman. She thought they were beautiful. . which they were. They also reflected her nature rather too well.” She was smiling as she spoke. “And a looking glass, knives, fruit, wineglasses, stuffed animals, different kinds of flowers. . all sorts of things. And where he put the lights made a lot of difference. A face lit from below doesn’t look anything like the same one as lit from the side or above.”
Pitt was thoughtful. “And he made enemies with this perception?”
“You can’t understand how strong vanity is if you have to ask that,” she answered, shaking her head at him. “Don’t you know people at all? And you are supposed to be a detective.”
“As you said before, Miss Monderell, you knew Mr. Cathcart and I did not.”
“You’re right, love, of course.” A sadness filled her for a moment, and Tellman was startled to see tears in her eyes. He did not know why, but he was pleased. A decent person grieved for death.
Pitt suddenly changed his line of enquiry. “Did he inherit his wealth or earn it with his photography?”
She looked momentarily startled. “He never spoke about it. He was generous, but I didn’t need him for that.” She said it quite casually, but Tellman felt she wished them to know it.
Pitt looked down at his hands. “You weren’t dependent on him financially?” he said curiously. “Were you lovers or just friends?”
She smiled at him, shaking her head a little, and the tears spilled over her cheeks. “I know what you’re saying, and you’re wrong. We were lovers. He liked women, and I never imagined I was the only one. . but with me it was different. It was never a grand affair, but we liked each other. . he was fun, that is more than you can say of everyone. I’ll miss him.” She wiped her cheek. “I. . I’d like to think it was quick. . that he didn’t suffer. . ”
“I should think he didn’t even know it,” Pitt replied gently.
She glanced at Tellman. He thought she was afraid Pitt was being kind rather than honest.
“Back of the head,” Tellman confirmed. “Probably went out straightaway.” He startled himself by wanting to comfort her. She was everything he disapproved of, and as unlike Gracie as possible. Gracie was small and thin with a wide-eyed, quick little face and as spiky a nature as he had ever met. She was careful, sharp-witted, and as brave as anyone he’d ever known. In fact, she was altogether the opposite of the sort of woman he had always been drawn to and imagined one day he would marry. Liking her was reasonable enough, respecting her certainly was, but they disagreed about so many things, important things like social justice and people’s place in society, it would be ridiculous to think of anything more than a pleasant association.
Of course it was ridiculous! Gracie didn’t even like him. She tolerated him because he worked with Pitt, no more. She probably wouldn’t have done that, had she a choice. But she would have given tea and homemade cakes to the devil if Pitt had asked her to and she thought it would help him in a case.
Pitt was still talking to Lily Monderell, asking about Delbert Cathcart’s life, his clothes, his trips to the theatre, his parties, the sort of people with whom he spent his time when not seeking clients.
“Of course he went to parties,” she said quickly. “All sorts, but he liked theatre best. It was almost part of what he does.”
“Did he dress up himself?”
“You mean fancy dress, for society balls and the like? Probably. Most of those folks do.” She frowned. “Why? What’s that got to do with who killed him?”
“He was. . in fancy dress,” Pitt replied.
She looked surprised, a little puzzled.
“That wasn’t usual. He preferred to be. . ordinary. He said what you picked for fancy dress gave away too much of who you were inside.”
“What would he dress as. . if he did?” Pitt asked.
She thought for a moment or two. “Only time I remember, he went all in black, and he carried a pen and a looking glass. Kind of a clown, I thought he was. What was he wearing when he died?”
Pitt hesitated.
Her face darkened. “What?”
Pitt looked up at her. “A green velvet dress,” he answered.
“Dress? What do you mean?” She was obviously at a loss.
“I mean a woman’s gown,” Pitt elaborated.
She stared at him in disbelief. “That’s. . silly! He’d never wear that kind of thing. Somebody else did that to him. . after. .” She shivered and blinked hard.
“I was hoping you might be able to tell us who it might be,” Pitt pressed.
Her voice was higher pitched, sharper. “Well, I can’t! His friends are colorful, a bit wild, spend a lot on their pleasures, but not to do that! Poor Delbert.” She looked beyond Pitt to something within her own imagination, her eyes troubled. “I’d help you if I could, but it isn’t anyone of his friends I’ve met.” She focused on Pitt again. “I want you to find him, Mr. Pitt. Delbert didn’t deserve that. He was a bit too clever sometimes, and he didn’t always know when to keep his observations quiet. . and that can make enemies. And he saw too clearly. . but he wasn’t a bad man. He liked a good joke, and a good party, and he was generous. Find out who did that to him. . ”
“I’ll do everything I can, Miss Monderell,” Pitt promised. “If you would give me a list of Mr. Cathcart’s friends, we’ll see if any of them can help us also.”
She stood up in a graceful movement and walked over to the bureau, skirts rustling, a wave of perfume teasing Tellman, warm and sweet, and confusing him all over again.
CHAPTER FOUR
Mariah Ellison was nervous. That made her angry because it was something she had managed to avoid for more years than she could remember, and that was now a great many. She had kept control of events so that she
