Tessa popped up from her chair as if she werea student in class. “I helped with that part.”
“Yes, you did. Thank you, Tessa.”
“So why did they fight?” Watson repeated.
I crossed to him and spoke softly. “This nextexplanation is just intuition on my part, but the newspaper accountsays the authorities found the woman in a well and that certainlysuggests foul play. I think Parton thought the husband, Andrews,had something to do with it.”
I turned to the others. “I mean, people don’tusually fall into wells accidentally, or choose one in which tocommit suicide. She didn’t die peacefully in bed, or in a hospitalof some disease. Someone killed her and dumped her body in thatwell, and I don’t blame Parton for thinking Andrews did it.”
“Bravo,” Holmes said, and he clapped hishands together.
I didn’t know whether he congratulated me forhaving deduced the real truth, or said it sarcastically, as heoften did with Inspector Lestrade in the Doyle stories. Did he havea totally different interpretation of the evidence, and I’d beridiculed in front of everyone?
I didn’t find out, because, at five minutespast eight, my doorbell sounded.
I hurried to the wall buzzer and pressed itto let our visitor come up. In the light of the several lamps I’dturned on in my sitting room, I observed a young man of at leastsix feet, with a sturdy frame and a pleasant face topped by thickbrown hair cut very short. He wore a uniform, and I assumed it wasan Army uniform, but couldn’t identify what branch.
We introduced ourselves, except for Holmes,of course, and while Tessa, Parton and I settled into chairs nearthe fireplace, Watson took the sofa. Holmes sat at the round diningtable, his chair facing us.
After a few seconds of silence, Parton turnedto Watson, as if expecting him to make the first move, but Watsonreferred him to me.
“I’ll be asking most of the questions,” Isaid.
Parton looked around. “What about the...? Themessage said you’d return the necklace if I came.”
”All in good time. Let’s get acquaintedfirst. This is my apartment, and, as you know, Mr. Watson and Iwere inside the flat on Lyon Street where a Mr. Andrews, er, died afew nights ago.”
I took a breath before continuing. “AlthoughI didn’t actually see you that time, you and I also met when youput a gun in my back and asked for the return of your backpack andcell phone.”
“I remember,” he said, “but you told me youdidn’t have my backpack.”
“I didn’t. I still don’t. However, before thelandlord of the building took it away from me in order to turn itover to the police, I looked inside and saw several items whicheventually led us to you.”
“I didn’t kill Andrews,” Parton blurted outnext.
“We know you didn’t shoot him. The latestnewspaper articles indicate he died of a broken neck and a severeblow to his head.” I paused again. “However, you did fire a gun athim. It missed, but the neighbor upstairs heard it and called thepolice.”
“I went back for my stuff, but the policewere already there, and I had to pretend to be just a drunkstumbling down the street in order to get away.”
Holmes didn’t give me any questions for theman, so I continued asking my own.“Why did you go back lastnight?”
“I was still looking for the backpack. I’ddropped it in the hall outside the flat when I ran out, but itwasn’t there any more, so I went inside and...“
”Yes,” Watson added, “and ran into MissHolmes and me.”
“What were you two doing there?”
“Looking for the bullet you fired. Itapparently missed Andrews and lodged in the wall, and the policefound it. We saw the marks where they dug it out.”
“So they know I didn’t kill Andrews.”
“Yet it’s attempted murder, isn’t it?” Watsonsaid.
“I guess if you’d given my gun to thepolice...”
Watson interrupted again. “But you know wedidn’t.”
“Luckily I got my hands on it before youdid.” Parton wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Still,your message said you have an amber necklace that you’ll return tome. Why did you think I lost an amber necklace?”
“We’ll tell you,” I said, “but we want toknow the truth first.”
“What truth?”
“Why you wanted to kill Andrews.”
Parton shifted in his chair. “I don’tunderstand. You’re not the police, but I did see a sign next toyour doorbell downstairs that said, ‘Private Investigations.’ Isone of you a private eye, and if you are, who hired you to findme?”
“I’m studying to be one,” I admitted. “Thatis, I plan to, but this case... Well, if you must know, it’sbecause of a bet. We knew a body had been found in that flat, andhad a bet that I could identify the murderer before the policedid.”
“A bet?” Parton repeated, in a voice thatindicated he thought it ridiculous. Which, at that moment, I agreedwith.
I quickly changed the subject. “So mygrandmother, Mrs. Reynolds...” I pointed to Tessa. “...knew thelandlord and he let us in. The body had been removed by then.” Mytone dropped. “One thing sort of led to another.”
“You mean about finding my backpack?”
“The couple upstairs found it, and, when Isaid I’d hand it over to Mr. Kostitch, they gave it to me. I usedmy cell phone and took some pictures of the contents beforeKostitch took it from me.”
“So that’s how you got my cell phone.”
“I didn’t intend to keep it, but itaccidentally got in my purse.” That sounded so lame, I wanted tomelt into the floor.
“Is that how you got my home phonenumber?”
“Yes,” Watson answered, “but not youraddress. Where do you live, by the way?”
“If you don’t know, I’m not going to tellyou.”
“We know your area code, and that means youlive in Chicago.”
“Chicago’s a very big city.”
“We also know your last name.”
“You didn’t get that from my cell phone.”Parton got up and paced the floor. “You’re not the police, so Idon’t have to tell you anything.”
“Unless you want to know about thenecklace.”
He sat down again. “Okay. So you went to thatflat last night just to snoop around?”
“To look for the missing bullet. We found
