“Fingers,” he said. “He’s not trying to kill me, cut off my fingers?”
“No.”
“Can I believe you? I mean, really believe you?”
“Have I ever lied to you, Sheldon?”
“Many times,” Shelly said, looking around the office for his smock. “Wait, maybe Luna Martin wasn’t pointing at me before she died. Maybe she was pointing at someone behind me. After all, she was dying.”
“There wasn’t anyone behind you,” I reminded him.
An idea struck me. There had been no one behind Shelly but there was. . something. Then the idea seemed stupid.
The outer door opened and Violet called, “Someone open the door. My hands are full.”
I moved to the door and opened it. Violet came in with two paper cartons of coffee.
“When you finish the coffee,” she said, handing me one, “rinse it and put it in the wastepaper bin in your office.”
“I have a wastepaper bin in my office?”
“War effort,” she said seriously. “Dr. Minck said it was okay.”
I looked at Shelly. He was, with Violet’s return, once again on the verge of suicide. Violet handed him the other carton of coffee. He took it and touched her hand, saying, “God bless you, Violet. I don’t know how I would have gotten through the morning without you.”
Violet smiled, patted his hand, and turned to face me. “Calls,” she said, looking up at the ceiling and biting her charming lower lip. “A Mr. Astor, said you had his number. And a Mr. Forbes. Forbes left a number. I put it on your desk. He said he had to see you first thing this morning. Said it was very important. And a Mr. Canton called. Said you owe him money and would you please pay. Only he didn’t say ‘please.’ ”
“That it?” I asked, moving to my office and trying not to spill coffee.
“That’s it,” she said, following.
“Don’t leave me,” Shelly called.
“Be right back,” Violet said.
Shelly was sobbing now and looking around the dental office as if he had never seen it before. “Oh Death,” he wept. “Where is thy sting.”
I went into my office. Violet followed me and closed the door. In the corner was a cardboard box already half full of newspapers and old dental magazines.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Peters,” she said. “Dr. Minck is a cuddly puppy dog. And I know a fake cry when I hear one. He won’t touch me.”
“Good,” I said, moving behind my desk and looking down at the message from Forbes.
“You’ve got a glow, Mr. Peters,” she said.
“A glow?”
“Like you’ve. . I mean like. . You have a date last night?”
“Yes.”
She shook her head knowingly. I reached into my pocket.
“Good coffee,” I said. “How much do I owe you?”
“Twelve dollars,” she said.
I handed her one of the five one-hundred-dollar bills that had been in the envelope.
“I don’t have change for this.”
“I don’t want change. I want you to go out and find another job. I’ll give you some leads if you want them.”
“I can take care of myself,” she said. Violet had married Angelo “Rocky” Gonsenelli, middleweight contender, four days before he shipped out. She had taken care of herself till now and it was none of my business. “You don’t want change?”
“No,” I said.
“You’re not fishing for. .”
“No,” I said.
“Good,” she said happily. “You don’t know how much I need this. Thanks. Remember to drop the cup in the wastepaper bin when you’re finished.”
And she was gone.
I drank my coffee, looked out the window, tossed the cup in the general direction of the box in the corner, missed, retrieved the cup, and dropped it on top of yesterday’s
“Yes?” a man’s voice answered after the fourth ring.
“Forbes?”
“What?”
“Peters.”
“Peters. Get to the hotel. Room 813. Now. I’ve got something I want you to bring to the cops. It’ll mean a bonus for you.”
He hung up. I looked up at the Dali painting that covered one wall. The two babes were still content, in their beaming mother’s arms.
I looked at the wall in front of me. Phil and I still stood next to my father in the photograph, and our dog Kaiser Wilhelm looked directly at the camera. I suddenly wondered who had taken that photograph. I pulled out my notebook and wrote the question for Phil on a fresh sheet.
I called Fred Astaire. A woman answered after five rings. I gave her my name and about twenty seconds later Astaire was on the phone.
“I think I’ve got that problem taken care of, as I told you last night,” he said.
“Maybe,” I said, “but Luna Martin and Willie Talbott are still dead. Someone took a shot at me last night and left a note on my front seat telling me to stop looking for Luna’s killer.”
“That wasn’t the problem I was referring to,” said Astaire. “But it certainly tops mine.”
I told him about the call from Forbes and he said he’d meet me at the Monticello.
“I don’t think you should go,” I said. “But what I think doesn’t matter, does it?”
“It matters,” Astaire said, “but it doesn’t determine. Look, I’ve got a day before the fund raiser and then I have to go on that bond tour. I’d like something settled here before I go. See you at the hotel.”
He hung up and so did I.
In the dental office, Shelly was now wearing his smock and shoes. The cigar had not yet appeared. Violet was holding his coffee cup and Shelly was back in the chair still sobbing. Violet and I exchanged looks and I was gone.
Chapter Eleven: Do Come A-Waltzing Matilda
Cotton Wright was on duty at the Monticello Hotel parking lot. I pulled in, got out, and handed him the keys to the Crosley. He tried to place me and scratched at the metal plate in his head.
“Your head humming?” I asked.
“Lots and loud. You a veteran?”
“Yes,” I lied.
Cotton beamed and pursed his lips, plunging his hands into the pockets of his overalls. “I could tell,” he said. “I’ll park you someplace special. You know I’m a veteran?”
“I know,” I said. “You told me.”
“I did?”
“Not today.”
“The Maginot Line is gone,” Cotton confided, looking around to be sure no one was listening.
“I’ve heard,” I whispered back. “You know Mr. Forbes?”
Cotton held up his right hand and mowed down the fingers one by one. “Always gives me half a dollar,” he
