I had turned. Trella’s brother bore as little resemblance to her as Wyman Jarrell did to his father. He was big and broad and brawny, with no stuffing at all between the skin and the bones of his big wide face. If his size and setup hadn’t warned me I might have got some knuckles crushed by his big paw; as it was, I gave as good as I got and it was a draw.
“Muscle man,” he said. “My congratulations. Trust the filly to arch her neck at you. Ten to one she told you about the squirrel.”
“Roger,” Lois told me, “is horsy. He nearly went to the Kentucky Derby. He even owned a horse once, but it sprang a leak. No Pimlico today, Roger?”
“No, my angel. I could have got there, but I might never have got back. Your father has told Western Union not to deliver collect telegrams from me. Not to mention collect phone calls.” He switched to me. “Do you suppose you’re going to stick it?”
“I couldn’t say, Mr. Foote. I’ve only been here two hours. Why, is it rough going?”
“It’s worse than rough. Even if you’re not a panhandler like me. My brother-in-law is made of iron. They could have used him to make that godawful stuff in the lounge, and I wish they had. Look at the Derby. I was on Iron Liege, or would have been if I had had it. I could have made myself independent for a week or more. You get the connection. You would think a man made of iron would stake me for a go on Iron Liege? No.” He lifted a hand to look at it, saw it was empty, and dropped it. “I must have left my drink inside. You’re not thirsty?”
“I am,” Lois declared. “You, Mr. Green? Or Alan. We make free with the secretary.” She moved. “Come along.”
I followed them into the lounge, and across to a portable bar where Otis Jarrell, with a stranger at each elbow, a man and a woman, was stirring a pitcher of Martinis. The man was a wiry little specimen, black-eyed and black-haired, very neat in charcoal, with a jacket that flared at the waist. The woman, half a head taller, had red hair that was either natural or not, a milk-white face, and a jaw. Jarrell introduced me, but I didn’t get their names until later: Mr. and Mrs. Herman Dietz. They weren’t interested in the new secretary. Roger Foote moved to the other side of the bar and produced a Bloody Mary for Lois, a scotch and water for me, and a double bourbon with no accessories for himself.
I took a healthy sip and looked around. Wyman, the son, and Nora Kent, the stenographer, were standing over near the fireplace, which had no fire, presumably talking business. Not far off Trella was relaxed in a big soft chair, looking up at a man who was perched on one of the arms.
Lois’ voice came up to my ear. “You’ve met my stepmother, haven’t you?”
I told her yes, but not the man, and she said he was Corey Brigham, and was going to add something but decided not to. I was surprised to see him there, since he was on my list as the guy who had spoiled a deal, but the guests had been invited by her, not him. Or maybe not. Possibly Jarrell had suggested it, counting on bringing me home with him and wanting me to meet him. From a distance he was no special treat. Leaning over Trella with a well-trained smile, he had all the earmarks of a middle-aged million-dollar smoothie who would slip a headwaiter twenty bucks and tip a hackie a dime. I was taking him in, filing him under unfinished business, when he lifted his head and turned it left, and I turned mine to see what had got his attention.
The snake had entered the room.
Chapter 3
OF COURSE IT COULD have been that she planned it that way, that she waited until everyone else was there to make her entrance, and then, floating in, deliberately underplayed it. But also it could have been that she didn’t like crowds, even family crowds, and put it off as long as she could, and then, having to go through with it, made herself as small and quiet as possible. I reserved my opinion, without prejudice-or rather, with two prejudices striking a balance. The attraction of the snake theory was that she had to be one if we were going to fill our client’s order. The counterattraction was that I didn’t like the client and wouldn’t have minded seeing him stub his toe. So my mind was open as I watched her move across toward the fireplace, to where her husband was talking with Nora Kent. There was nothing reptilian about the way she moved. It might be said that she glided, but she didn’t slither. She was slender, not tall, with a small oval face. Her husband kissed her on the cheek, then headed for the bar, presumably to get her a drink.
Trella called my name, Alan, making free with the secretary, and I went over to her and was introduced to Corey Brigham. When she patted the vacant arm of the chair and told me to sit I did so, thinking it safer there than it had been in the studio, and Brigham got up and left. She said I hadn’t answered her question about leg of lamb, and she wanted to know. It seemed possible that I had got her wrong, that her idea was merely to function as a helpmate and see to it that the hired help liked the grub-but no. She might have asked it, but she didn’t; she cooed it. I may not know as much about women as Wolfe pretends he thinks I do, but I know a coo when I hear it.
While giving her due attention as my hostess and my boss’s wife, I was observing a phenomenon from the corner of my eye. When Wyman returned to Susan with her drink, Roger Foote was there. Also Corey Brigham was wandering over to them, and in a couple of minutes there went Herman Dietz. So four of the six males present were gathered around Susan, but as far as I could see she hadn’t bent a finger or slanted an eye to get them there. Jarrell was still at the bar with Dietz’s redheaded wife. Lois and Nora Kent had stepped out to the terrace.
Apparently Trella had seen what the corner of my eye was doing, for she said, “You have to be closer to appreciate her. She blurs at a distance.”
“Her? Who?”
She patted my arm. “Now now, I don’t mind. I’m used to it. Susan. My stepdaughter-in-law. Go and put an oar in.”
“She seems to have a full crew. Anyway, I haven’t met her.”
“You haven’t? That won’t do.” She turned and sang out, “Susan! Come here.”
