“I wanted to thank you for the list of names you sent over on behalf of Mary Smith,” I said.
“Oh, no problem. Just run it off on the computer, you know.”
“Yes. Do you know anybody that’s friendly with Mrs. Smith who is not on the list?”
Graff’s eyes widened.
“Not on the list?”
“Yeah. Maybe a pal from the old neighborhood? People she used to play miniature golf with?”
“Miniature golf?”
“Maybe an old boyfriend?”
“Perhaps you should ask Mrs. Smith.”
“Oh, I will,” I said. “This is just background. Make sure to touch all bases and all that.”
Graff nodded as if he weren’t so sure.
“You must know a name,” I said. “One name.”
It’s an old trick, ask for one name, implying that if you get it you’ll go away and leave them alone. Graff fell for it.
“Well, there’s Roy,” he said.
“And there’s Siegfried,” I said.
Graff looked as if he didn’t find me amusing. It was a look I’ve grown familiar with.
“Roy Levesque,” Graff said. “I believe she went to high school with him.”
“Do you have an address for Roy?” I said.
“I believe he lives in Franklin.”
Through the window I could see the Chrysler sedan cruise up and pause in front of where Curly was standing.
“Anybody else?” I said.
“You said one name.”
“I’m not very trustworthy,” I said. “You must know one more name.”
He didn’t bite the second time. Most of the time they don’t. But the effort was there.
“I’m dreadfully sorry, Mr. Spenser, I really don’t. I’m sure Mrs. Smith can help you.”
“I’m sure,” I said. “When you accompany her socially, are you paid for your time?”
Graff looked like he wanted to hang one on my kisser, though it seemed unlikely that he would.
“I am on retainer to Mrs. Smith,” Graff said.
“To do what?” I said.
“She has a very crowded and committed social calendar,” Graff said. “I help her organize it.”
Graff sounded as if he were not as pleased to see me as he had said he was when I came in.
“How about Mr. Smith?”
“He was not as socially oriented as Mrs. Smith.”
Outside the Chrysler moved away from Curly and cruised slowly down Appleton toward Berkeley. Curly remained, strolling up and down looking at roof lines, admiring the architecture.
“You and Mr. Smith friendly?” I said.
Graff looked offended. “Why do you ask?”
“I have no idea,” I said. “I’m just a gabby guy.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” Graff said.
“So were you friendly?”
“He was always a gentleman,” Graff said.
“But?”
“But nothing at all. I worked for Mrs. Smith. Mr. Smith was always pleasant. I don’t know him very well.”
“How about Marvin Conroy?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know him.”
“Amy Peters?”
Graff shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Spenser, but I really must cut this short. I have a client meeting that I’m already late for.”
“With whom?” I said.
“That is really none of your business, Mr. Spenser.”
