I stood in the hall while she went back into her rooms. Cornelia was calming down but still pissed. Mrs. Plaut returned and handed me the world’s largest muffin, or a small cake.
“Grandma Willitt’s recipe for okra muffins,” she said. “Tastes almost as good, but I used Crisco instead of butter. There’s a war on.”
“I know,” I shouted, holding the muffin in two hands.
“Return the tinfoil,” she said, pointing at the muffin.
I nodded and she went into her rooms, closing the door. I took a step toward the front door and Mrs. Plaut reappeared. She had a gun in her hand and it was aimed in the general direction of my crotch.
“Smith and Wesson thirty-eight Police Model Ten with a square butt. Neuter you in a flash.”
I stood there with the okra muffin in my hand and smiled.
“Better weapon than that Police Special of yours,” she said. “Belonged to the Mister.”
“Like the robe,” I shouted.
“Like everything in the house including the house,” she said.
“I’ve got to get going.”
“Give my hellos to your sister,” Mrs. Plaut said, her weapon still aimed in my general direction. “I like her.”
I retreated through the front door to the sunrise. No one shot at me. I headed for my car, wondering if I should drop the muffin and put my hand on my gun.
When I got to the Crosley, I knew something was wrong. The rear window was back, I went to the side of the car and looked in. The glass on the rear seat had been cleaned up. Someone had even done a not-too-bad job of painting the bullet streak on the roof.
I got in the car. There was an envelope on the passengerside seat. My name was on the envelope. I opened it. There were five crisp hundred-dollar bills in it and a handwritten note:
Peters. I clean up after myself. Take the money and forget the investigation. I don’t want to clean up blood. Last night was a warning. There will be no more.
There was no signature. I put the note back in the envelope and looked at the bills. I folded them, shoved them in my pocket, and drove back to the Farraday Building.
My hope, as it had been at Mrs. Plaut’s, was that it was still too early for any of the tenants to be in, though I knew Jeremy would be up and about with his soapy bucket and patient determination, ready for combat with grime.
I parked in front. There were plenty of spaces and I didn’t expect to be there very long.
The door of the Farraday was locked. I figured it was no later than seven or seven-fifteen. I used my key and went in. The dim lights were still on and the Farraday was silent. I went up the stairway slowly, trying to make sense out of what was going on. I had no success. I did have five hundred dollars and a note. Everybody was giving me money-Astaire, Forbes, the guy who shot at me. I was rapidly gaining some sense of financial security. My love life had shown a definite and surprising improvement. And I had no idea who killed Luna Martin or Willie Talbott.
There were no lights on in the offices of Minck and Peters, but the door was open. Could be lots of reasons. Shelly or Violet had forgotten to lock it last night. Someone was inside waiting to kill me. Or, most unpleasant to contemplate, Shelly had arrived painfully early. When I opened the inner door I found that the worst had come to pass.
Shelly was in his dental chair. Violet was leaning over him, their faces close together. The lights were out and the venetian blinds were closed, letting in hints of sunlight.
“Good morning,” I said.
Violet jumped away from Shelly and Shelly blinked twice at me and shifted in his chair. He didn’t have his white smock on yet. All he was wearing were his trousers, a shirt, and a dazed look.
“Toby?” he asked.
“Put your glasses on, Shel,” I said.
Shelly groped in his pocket and came up with his thick, heavily fingerprinted glasses. He perched them on the end of his nose. “Toby,” he repeated, only not as a question.
“Dr. Minck has had a tragedy,” said Violet, who was wearing a tight-fitting dress that matched her name.
“Mildred threw me out,” Shelly cried.
“And Dr. Minck called and asked me to come in early to give him some support,” explained Violet, checking her hair for strays.
“It’s not what it looks like, Toby,” Shelly said.
“I know,” I said. “If you touched Violet, and I can’t imagine her letting you, her husband would be through that door when the war was over to batter your misshapen body with his lethal fists. Am I right, Violet?”
“One hundred percent, Mr. Peters, but Dr. Minck has been a gentleman.”
“A despondent gentleman,” Shelly said, putting his head in his pudgy-fingered hands. “A depressed gentleman. A gentleman on the verge of breakdown. A gentleman. .”
“How many times has Mildred thrown you out, Sheldon?” I asked.
He shrugged and threw up his hands.
“Five? Ten? More?”
“This one is different, Toby. She accused me of. . you know, with Mrs. Gonsenelli. She just saw her picture and. .”
“Saw her picture?” I asked.
“In my wallet,” Shelly explained.
“You carry Violet’s photograph in your wallet?”
“Behind my driver’s license. How was I to know Mildred would go through every card in my wallet?” he said, almost weeping.
“Can I get you coffee?” Violet volunteered.
“Black for Dr. Minck, cream and sugar for me.”
I reached into my pocket for change but Violet waved me off, saying, “You can pay me when I get back and you pay up for the fight.”
“Mauriello wasn’t trying,” I said.
“He lost,” Violet said reasonably, moving toward the door. “You’ll be all right, Dr. Minck?”
Shelly was choked with emotion. He couldn’t speak through his tears. He waved her on and she went out the door.
“Shel,” I said. “You can stop. She’s gone.”
Shelly looked over the top of his glasses, saw that I was telling the truth, and said angrily, “Five more minutes, Toby. Five more and she would have felt so sorry for me that. .”
“I don’t think so, Shel. Did Mildred really throw you out?”
“Yep,” he said, getting out of the chair. “But she’ll get over it. Always does. Toby, I love that woman.”
“Which one?”
“My wife.” Shelly searched the floor for his shoes, found them, and picked them up.
“I’m checking my messages and then I’m out of here.”
“I think maybe the police believed me,” Shelly said, grunting into his shoes as he sat in his dental chair. “A captain named Cawelti came by the house last night. One of the reasons besides Violet that Mildred threw me out. Wanted to know why Luna Martin pointed at me before she fell down dead. Told him I didn’t know. Asked a lot of questions about you.”
“We’re old ballet-school classmates,” I said.
“You went to ballet school?” Shelly had paused in putting on his shoes and looked at me as if I had surprised him with a secret identity.
“Sure, before I became a cop. Starred in
“No,” he said.
“No,” I agreed.
