“Yes.”
“I bet they have. No one’s gonna rip off Vatsyayana.”
“Is it possible? I mean, you could be ripped off.”
“No way. Not possible. Just relax. By tomorrow noon I should have some reds. Can you make it?”
“Gimme the H.”
“Gimme the twenty.”
“No one would want you ripped off, Sam.”
“If it ever happened, it would be bye-bye highs.”
“No one would want that to happen.”
“Of course not.”
***
“The Stanwyk residence.”
Fletch had turned on the fan in the roof of the telephone booth to dampen the sound of traffic.
“Mrs. Stanwyk, please.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Stanwyk isn’t in. May I take a message?”
“We’re calling from the Racquets Club. Do you have any idea where Mrs. Stanwyk is?”
“Why, she should be there, sir, at the club. She was playing this morning, and she said she would be staying for lunch. I think she’s meeting her father there.”
“Ah, then she’s here now?”
“Yes, sir. She planned to spend most of the day at the club.”
“We’ll have a look for her. Sorry to bother you.”
Saturday morning traffic at The Beach was heavy. Down the street was a department store.
Fletch bought a new T-shirt, a pair of white socks, and a pair of tennis shorts.
“You’re Joan Stanwyk, aren’t you?”
She was sitting alone at a table for two overlooking the tennis courts. A half-empty martini on the rocks was in front of her. “Why, yes.”
“I haven’t seen you since your wedding.”
“Are you a friend of Alan’s?”
“We were in the Air Force together,” Fletch said. “In San Antonio. I haven’t seen Alan in years.”
“You’re very clever to have recognized me.”
“How could I forget? May I sit down?”
Fletch had left his car in the club parking lot and had gone around the building past the kitchen door to the service entrance to the locker rooms. The freshest sign on a locker door said Underwood. A new member. They and their guests could not yet be well known to the club staff.
When he had come onto the tennis pavilion, the headwaiter had said, “Pardon me, sir. Are you a guest of the club?”
Fletch had answered, “I’m a guest of the Underwoods.”
“They’re not here, sir. I haven’t seen them.”
“They’re coming later.”
“Very good, sir. Perhaps you’d like a drink while you’re waiting?”
Fletch had spotted Joan Stanwyk.
“We’ll put it on the Underwood bill.”
“A screwdriver, please.”
He sat at Joan Stanwyk’s table.
“I’m afraid my memory isn’t so good, although it should be,” Joan Stanwyk said. “I can’t remember your name.”
“No one can,” Fletch said. “The world’s most forgettable name. Utrelamensky. John Utrelamensky.”
“John I can remember.”
On the table was a Polaroid camera.
“Are you from this area, John?”
“No. Butte, Montana. I’m here on business. In fact, I’m leaving on a midafternoon plane.”
“And what business would that be?”
“Furniture. We sell to hotels, that sort of thing.”
“I see. Too bad you won’t be able to see Alan. He’s at a flying convention in Idaho.”
“Alan still flying?”
“Relentlessly.”
“Unlike some of the rest of us, he really enjoyed it. I’ll never forget the time he buzzed a house in San Antonio with a training jet.”
“He buzzed a house?”
“He never told you? Shattered glass. The police were out after him. He was severely reprimanded for it.”
“Funny the things husbands don’t tell you.”
“I expect he’s not too proud of it.”
“How nice to meet an old friend of Alan’s. I mean, meet again. Tell me more.”
“Only wrong thing I ever knew of him doing. We weren’t that close, anyway. I just happened to be out here the week of the wedding, bumped into him and he said, ‘Come along.’”
“But surely you’re a good deal younger than my husband?”
“Not much,” Fletch said. “I’m thirty.”
“You look young for your age.”
“The furniture business has been good to me.”
“Well, I’m sure Alan will be sorry to have missed you.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“Oh?”
“We had a political difference at your reception.”
“About what?”
“I made some crack about big business. Alan didn’t like it a bit.”
“How could you?” There was mockery in her eyes.
“I was younger then. I had not yet received a corporate paycheck.”
“Did you say anything about his marrying the boss’s daughter?”
“No. Is that what he did?”
“He married the boss’s daughter—me. He’s a bit sensitive about that. That’s probably why he got so angry.”
“I see. I hadn’t realized that. I guess I really goofed.”
“Never mind. He’s been accused of it enough times. Poor Alan spends all his available time proving he married me for myself and not for Poppa’s business.”
“He works for your father?”
“I’m not sure at the moment who works for whom. Alan runs the place. Dad runs tennis tournaments. In fact, these days Dad does pretty much what Alan tells him.”
“Alan always was very competent.”
“Remarkably.”
“What sort of a business is this, anyway?”
“Collins Aviation.”
“I never heard of it. Sorry.”
“You wouldn’t have, unless you were in the aviation business. It makes parts for airplanes the actual airplane manufacturers put together.”
“Not exactly a dry-cleaning shop.”
