“Yes,” Regan said truthfully.
“You know, I take a lot of footage and then boil it down to the most interesting sound bites.”
“I understand,” Regan said, then lowered her voice in a way that indicated she wanted to make Stanley a confidant. “Bring a lot of tape tonight, would you? I’ll pay for it. Your camera can be another set of eyes for us. You never know what we’ll pick up.”
Stanley beamed. Maybe I’ll get a network show out of this, he thought.
When Regan left, she hailed a cab uptown. It was four o’clock, and even though it felt cold and wintery, the days were getting longer and longer. Springtime was just around the corner.
Of course, April is the cruelest month, she thought. Although I think that for certain people March is a strong contender. Certainly for Nat and Ben.
I so want to help Thomas, she thought. But it seems as if he just makes things worse for himself. If someone from Lydia’s party stole the diamonds or killed Nat, it’s because Thomas allowed Lydia to invite strangers into the club.
But there was no sign of forced entry. Anyone who ended up in Nat’s apartment, Nat must have known.
Regan took out her notebook. She jotted down a few thoughts. Talk to Clara again. Find out if there was anything she saw in the apartment that might indicate the presence of another woman. Get a list from Thomas of everyone who lives in the club. Talk to the waiter who served Nat, Ben, and Thomas lunch. Find out who Nat’s lawyer is. Where is the will? Finally, she wrote: Talk to the owner of the Snoopy purse.
For some reason, I think she’s going to be pretty interesting, Regan mused as she leaned her head back and stared out the window.
27
When Maldwin and his posse returned to Lydia’s apartment, he found her in the master bedroom with the covers over her head.
“Miss Lydia,” Maldwin said to her. He knew that something was up. “May I bring you some tea?”
“I don’t think tea will solve my problems,” Lydia declared as she lowered her quilt.
Maldwin sat on the side of the bed. It was not something a butler of the old school would have done, but Maldwin believed that butlers of the twenty-first century should practice compassion for their employers. He felt he was Lydia’s protector, confidant-in a way, her soul mate, even if she did occasionally drive him crazy. “What is it, Princess?” he asked.
“Burkhard called.”
“That no good…”
“Why was I ever attracted to him in the first place?” Lydia implored.
Good question, Maldwin thought, but he tried to appear thoughtful. “At first Mr. Whittlesey gave an impression of class and breeding.”
“Someone with class doesn’t stick the lady with the check all the time…”
“I understand.”
“Someone with class doesn’t threaten to take things I said in private and twist them around.”
“You mean about making fun of your clients?”
“Maldwin!”
“Sorry.”
“He was only interested in my money. He thought he could manipulate me because he went to college and I didn’t. But I’ve got street smarts.”
“That you do, Miss Lydia.”
“I’m afraid, Maldwin.”
“There’s no reason to be afraid,” Maldwin said, even though he didn’t believe it.
“I’ve invested so much of my money in this business. I want you and me to be a big success in New York City. We’ll have our fingers on the pulse of dating and butlering for the third millennium. Burkhard could destroy that for me.”
“We won’t let him,” Maldwin said firmly.
Lydia sat up. “How was your day?”
“A challenge. I’m afraid Vinnie and Albert do not have personalities suitable to a life of private service.”
“I could have told you that.”
Maldwin ignored her. “I thought they would be acceptable because my butler school is one for the changing times. It is impossible to think that you’re going to find students who fit the mold of the classic English butler-the perfect Jeeves who seems like an aristocrat himself.”
“Those two are far from it,” Lydia agreed. “But as they say, good help is hard to find. I’m lucky I found you.”
Maldwin winced. He hated to be thought of as “help.” He ran the damn place as if it were his own. He cleared his throat. “As Meister Eckehart said, ‘Everyone is born an aristocrat.’ Unfortunately most people lose their charm in childhood.”
“Who’s Meister Eckehart?”
“A wise man.” Maldwin stood. “We will prevail. Sunday night Stanley Stock’s program will air, and I’m sure that on Monday the phone will be ringing off the hook. We’ll get through this weekend and all its unpleasantries.”
“And if Burkhard shows up for the party tomorrow night?”
“We’ll handle it. I think we should focus on our party tonight.”
Lydia pulled the covers back over her head. “I knew I should have taken that other apartment I looked at. I wouldn’t be dealing with this right now!”
“Regrets are a waste of time,” Maldwin said. “Now get dressed. We’ve got to make your gathering tonight the best one yet.”
28
Back at their rented room, Georgette was sitting at the all-purpose table, examining the loot that she had procured from Ben’s apartment.
It wasn’t much.
She still couldn’t believe that that woman, whoever she was, came in to take Ben’s food. Talk about nerve. Well, at least she didn’t see me. Who knows how long she’ll be locked up there?
Georgette giggled. She looked up when she heard the key in the lock. Blaise came in looking as grumpy as he had when he left.
“What’s all that?” he asked, pointing at the cuff links and foreign coins and silver brush-and-comb set.
“You’ll be so proud of me,” she said.
“Why?”
“Remember the spare key ring I stole from Nat?”
“Yes.”
Georgette sat up straight, excited by what she had to report. “I had taken Nat’s key off of it But I got to thinking today. So I came home and looked at the other keys. In tiny letters, two were marked B.C.”
Blaise’s face remained impassive.
“Don’t you get it? Ben Carney! Nat’s best friend! The one who
