She was seated at the front of the bar when I entered, peering at a sheaf of bills through half-glasses that made her small face seem even smaller: a child's face.
'Josh!' she said. 'Where have you been? You know, I dreamed about you the other night.'
'Thank you,' I said.
I took the stool next to her and ordered a beer. She told me about her dream: she was attending a wedding and I stood waiting for the bride to come down the aisle; I was the groom.
'What about the bride?' I asked, 'Did you get a look at her?'
She shook her head regretfully. 'I woke up before she came in. But I distinctly saw you, Josh. You're not thinking of getting married, are you?'
'Not likely,' I said. 'Who'd have a runt like me?'
She put a hand on my arm. 'You think too much about that, Josh. You're a good-looking man; you've got a steady job. Lots of girls would jump at the chance.'
'Name one,' I said.
'Are you serious?' she said, looking at me closely. 'If you are, I could fix you up right now. I don't mean a one-night stand. I mean a nice, healthy, goodhearted neighbourhood girl who wants to settle down and have kids. How about it?
Should I make a call?'
'Well, uh, not right now, Nitchy,' I said. 'I'm just not ready yet.'
'How old are you — twenty eight?'
'Thirty-two,' I confessed.
'My God,' she said, 'you've only got two years to go.
Statistics prove that if a man isn't married by the time he's thirty-four, chances are he'll never get hitched. You want to turn into one of those old, crotchety bachelors I see mumbling in their beer?'
'Oh, I suppose I'll get married one of these days.'
I think she sensed my discomfort, because she abruptly changed the subject.
'You here for a drink, Josh, or do you want to eat? I'm not pushing, but the chef made a nice beef stew, and if you're going to eat, I'll have some put aside for you before the mob comes in and finishes it.'
'Beef stew sounds great,' I said. 'I'll have it right now.
Can I have it here at the bar?'
'Why not?' she said. 'I'll have Hettie set you up. There's a girl for you, Josh — Hettie.'
'Except she outweighs me by fifty pounds.'
'That's right,' she said, laughing raucously. 'They'd be peeling you off the ceiling!'
The stew was great.
I was putting on my parka when Louella Nitch came hurrying over.
'So soon?' she asked.
'Work to do,' I lied, smiling.
'Listen, Josh,' she said, 'I wasn't just talking; if you want to meet a nice girl, let me know. I mean it.'
'I know you mean it, Nitchy,' I said. 'You're very kind.
But I'll find my own.'
'I hope so,' she said sadly. Then she brightened. 'Sure you will. Remember my dream? Every time you've come in here you've been alone. But one of these days you're going to waltz through that door with a princess on your arm. A princess!'
'That's right,' I said.
2
Mr Tabatchnick, dusting fish feed from his fingers, looked at me as if he expected the worst.
'And exactly how, Mr Bigg,' he asked in that trumpeting voice, 'were you able to gain entrance to the Kipper household?'
I wished he hadn't asked that question. But I couldn't lie to him, in case Mrs Tippi Kipper called to check on my cover story. So I admitted I had claimed to be engaged in making an inventory of the Kipper estate. I had feared he would be angered to learn of my subterfuge. Instead, he seemed diverted. At least all those folds and jowls of his bloodhound face seemed to lift slightly in a grimace that might have been amusement.
But when he spoke, his voice was stern.
'Mr Bigg,' he said, 'when a complete inventory of the estate is submitted to competent authorities, it must be signed by the attorney of record and, in this case, by the co-executor. Who just happens to be me. Failure to disclose assets, either deliberately or by inadvertence, may constitute a felony. Are you aware of that?'
'I am now, sir,' I said miserably. 'But I didn't intend to make the final, legal inventory. All I wanted to do was — '
'I am quite aware of what you wanted to do,' he said impatiently. 'Get inside the house. It wasn't a bad ploy.
But I suggest that if Mrs Kipper or anyone else questions your activities in future, you state that you are engaged in a preliminary inventory. The final statement, to which I must sign my name, will be compiled by attorneys and appraisers experienced in this kind of work. Is that clear?'
'Yes, sir,' I said. 'Just one thing, sir. In addition to the Kipper matter, I am also looking into something for Mr Teitelbaum. The disappearance of a client. Professor Yale Stonehouse.'
'I am aware of that,' he said magisterially.
'In addition to my regular duties,' I reminded him. 'So far, I have been able to keep up with my routine assignments. But the Kipper and Stonehouse cases are taking more and more of my time. It would help a great deal if I had the services of a secretary. Someone to handle the typing and filing.'
He stared at me.
'Not necessarily full time,' I added hastily. 'Perhaps a temporary or part-time assistant who could come in a few days a week or a few hours each day. Not a permanent employee. Nothing like that, sir.'
He sighed heavily. 'Mr Bigg,' he said, 'you would be astounded at the inevitability with which part-time or 153
temporary assistants become permanent employees. However, I think your request has some merit. I shall discuss the matter with the other senior partners.'
I was about to ask for a larger office as well, but then thought better of it. I would build my empire slowly.
'Thank you, Mr Tabatchnick,' I said, gathering up my file. 'One final question: I'd like your permission to speak to the two Kipper sons, the ones who are managing the textile company.'
'Why not?' he said.
'And what story do you suggest I give them, sir? As an excuse for talking to them about the death of their father?'
' O h. . ' he said, almost dreamily, 'I'll leave that to you, Mr Bigg. You seem to be doing quite well — so far.'
I called Powell Stonehouse. It was the second time I had tried to reach him that morning. A woman had answered the first call and told me that he was meditating and could not be disturbed. This time I got through to him. I identified myself, explained my interest in the disappearance of his father, and asked when I could see him.
'I don't know what good that would do,' he said in a stony voice. 'I've already told the cops everything I know.'
'Yes, Mr Stonehouse,' I said, 'I'm aware of that. But there's some background information only you can supply. It won't take long.'
'Can't we do it on the phone?' he asked.
'I'd rather not,' I said. 'It concerns some, uh, rather confidential matters.'
'Like what?' he said suspiciously.
