for that check. Now you say he was in here a couple of weeks ago. What happened?”
“Like I told you, he had a couple of books. One was a good book, but the condition wasn’t there.”
“So you bought nothing from him?”
“That’s right.”
“And that’s the last time you saw him.”
“That’s the last time I saw him.”
Something unfinished hung in the air. It took me a moment to realize what it was. Lambert, who had been busily engaged writing book descriptions on index cards, had looked up and caught his boss’s eye.
“That is right, isn’t it, Julian?”
“He did come in once since then,” Lambert said. “You weren’t here, and it was a busy morning, like today. He was only here for a few minutes. It was unusual because he didn’t do anything. He didn’t look at any of our books and he didn’t have anything to sell.”
“When was this?” Goddard said.
“Recent. No more than a week.” Lambert closed his eyes and went into deep thought. “I think it may’ve been Thursday.”
“What went on?” I said.
“Nothing. He just came in to see Roland. He said he had a deal cooking and he wanted to see Roland.”
“Was that his exact language?”
“Just like that,” Lambert said. “He had a big deal cooking and he wanted to see if Roland was interested.”
Roland was far more annoyed than interested. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?” he said.
“I was busy that morning; I didn’t have time to talk to the man. Then I just forgot about it. I didn’t think it was anything that would set the world on fire. You know how these guys are. Everything’s important. Everything’s a big deal.”
“It’s not like you to forget something like that,” Goddard said.
“I should etch it in stone every time one of these characters opens his mouth? I was busy. I was running the bookstore. I assumed if it was important he’d be back. Then I forgot about it.”
“If you guys don’t mind,” I said, “I’d like to get back to my questions. You can grumble at each other all day after I’m gone.” I flipped a page in my notebook. “Have either of you got any idea what Bobby would be doing with Rita Mc-Kinley?”
Goddard just stared. Lambert laughed out loud.
“Who told you that?” Goddard said.
“Everybody.”
“Well, it’s the first time I’ve heard it.”
I looked at Lambert. “How about you?”
His laugh had been cut off in the middle of a ha-ha, and his face had begun to turn red. He had busied himself with a book and was pretending to be somewhere else. That’s a sure sign with a guy like Lambert that he knows something more—something he’d rather not tell.
“Don’t fall all over yourself answering the question,” I said. “It’s just that a man has been murdered, and I’m supposed to make some kind of effort to find out who did it.”
He looked up defiantly. “All right, I just this minute remembered. When he walked out that day, he was kind of angry. He had been waiting for Roland for more than an hour, and I finally said I didn’t know how much longer it would be. I hat’s the day you went to get license plates for your new car,” he said to Goddard. “How can you ever tell in advance how long that’s going to take?”
“I was there three hours,” Goddard said.
“That would make it… what?” I said. “You thought it was Thursday.”
“It was Thursday,” Goddard said.
The day before the murder.
“So what happened?” I said, looking at Lambert.
“Suddenly Westfall gets impatient. He stalks over to the door like he’s going to leave. But before he does, he turns and says to me, ‘I guess Rita McKinley would be more interested in what I have to sell.’ And he stomped out.”
Goddard shook his head. “This just gets worse all the time. How could you forget something like that?”
“I told you,” Lambert said. “The store was a madhouse that day. I can’t buy, sell, and be a secretary all at once.”
