Palmer rubbed his fat little hands together.
“It’s important if you call a movie deal worth ten million dollars, a paperback deal worth a million dollars and, of course, foreign rights. Mr. Hamel has signed all these contracts, and the book is promised to be delivered in four months’ time.”
I strangled a whistle. Eleven million dollars for writing a book! Man! I thought, are you in the wrong racket!
Talking to me, Parnell went on, “These letters have broken Mr. Hamel’s concentration.”
“He’s just stopped writing!” Palmer said, his voice shrill. “I’ve told him these letters are written by some sick crank and he should ignore them. If the book doesn’t make its dateline, the movie people might sue.” He waved his hands. “Mr. Hamel says he can’t continue to write until he is completely satisfied that there is no truth in this crank’s insinuations. He wants his wife watched.”
Another dreary wife-watching case, I thought. Hours of sitting in a car with nothing happening for days, then suddenly, something does happen, and if you’re lulled by the sun and boredom, you lose her. Wife watching was my least favourite assignment.
“No problem,” Parnell said. “That’s what we are here for, Mr. Palmer. I agree with you that Mr. Hamel’s wisest move would be to show these letters to his wife, but, you tell me, he is emphatically against this?”
“I’m afraid so. He thinks it would be insulting.” Palmer moved irritably. “There it is. He wants her watched, and a weekly report sent to him.”
“He doesn’t trust his wife?”
“He has had a previous, most unfortunate experience which has made him distrustful.” Palmer hesitated, then went on, “Nancy isn’t his first wife. Three years ago, he married a woman of Nancy’s present age. This woman felt neglected, and in my opinion, rightly so, and Hamel caught her with some young playboy, and there was a divorce.”
“Rightly so?” Parnell quizzed.
“When Mr. Hamel is writing, he cuts himself off from any social contact. His working hours are from nine to seven, and during that time, no one is permitted to approach him. He even has his lunch served in his workroom. For a young, newly married woman, this routine can be and, of course, with his first wife, was, a disaster.”
The telephone bell buzzed on Parnell’s desk. Frowning, he answered, said, “Okay, in ten minutes,” and hung up. He looked at Palmer. “I suggest you go with Anderson and give him a description of Mrs. Hamel, who her friends are, what she does with herself during the day if that is known.” He stood up. “There is nothing to worry about, Mr. Palmer. Please tell Mr. Hamel he will receive our report, delivered by hand, in seven days’ time. When Anderson has all the information you can give him, would you be good enough to see Miss Kerry who will explain about our fees and the retainer.”
Palmer looked glum.
“I hope this isn’t going to be too expensive.”
Parnell’s fleshy face creased into a wintry smile.
“Nothing that Mr. Hamel can’t afford. I assure you of that.”
I led Palmer down the long corridor and into my office. Chick hurriedly removed his feet from the desk and dropped the girlie mag into a desk drawer.
I introduced Palmer and Chick and they shook hands. As I was thirsting for a drink, I said, “Make yourself at home, Mr. Palmer. Have a Scotch?”
I saw Chick’s face brighten, then fall as Palmer said, “No — no, thank you. Scotch I find a little heavy for me at this time of the day. Perhaps a pink gin?”
“Let’s have some drinks, huh?” I said to Chick.
While he was fixing two Scotches and a pink gin, I sat Palmer down in the client’s chair, then took my place behind my desk.
“I’d like to fill my colleague in,” I said. “He and I work together.”
Palmer nodded and accepted a double pink gin that Chick thrust at him.
Every office was equipped with a cocktail cabinet, but the operators weren’t supposed to drink, except with clients. We got around that problem by buying our own bottles of Scotch, and keeping them in our desk drawers.
I outlined to Chick what Parnell had told me.
“So we watch Mrs. Hamel, and she is not to know she’s being watched... right?” I looked at Palmer who nodded. I could see by Chick’s expression he, like me, was dismayed to be landed with a wife-watching assignment.
“Let me have a description of Mrs. Hamel,” I said.
“I can do better than that. I have brought a photograph of her,” and opening his brief case, Palmer produced a ten by six glossy which he handed to me.
I regarded the woman in the photograph. Quite a dish, I thought. Darkish hair, big eyes, slender nose and full lips. To judge by the way her breasts pushed against her white shirt, she was nicely stacked. I handed the photo to Chick who scarcely suppressed a whistle.
“How about her daily routine, Mr. Palmer?”
“She rises at nine, leaves the house to play tennis with her close friend, Penny Highbee, who is the wife of Mark Highbee, Mr. Hamel’s attorney. She usually lunches at the Country Club, then apparently amuses herself either with the boat or goes fishing or meets other friends. This is what she tells Mr. Hamel.” Palmer lifted his fat shoulders. “I have no reason to doubt her, but Mr. Hamel thinks her afternoons should be checked. He doesn’t query her playing tennis with Mrs. Highbee. That, he thinks, would be too dangerous to lie about.”
“These letters, Mr. Palmer.”
“I have them.” Again he dipped into his briefcase and produced two blue-tinted envelopes and his business card which he gave me. Then he looked at his watch. “I have another appointment. If there is any further information you need, contact me. Mr. Hamel is not to be disturbed.” He started for the door, then paused. “It is understood that this unfortunate affair is strictly confidential.”
“That is understood, Mr. Palmer,” I said, giving him my boy scout’s smile. I conducted him to Glenda’s office. “Miss Kerry will explain our terms.”
“Yes — yes, of course.” He looked glum. “I am quite sure this is all a waste of time and money, but Mr. Hamel is important people. I must get him working again.” He stared at me through his green sunglasses. “If you do happen to get an adverse report on Mrs. Hamel — I am sure you won’t — then alert me immediately. There is a lot of money involved.”
Ten percent of eleven million dollars was a lot of loot, I thought, as I ushered him into Glenda’s office. I was getting the idea that Palmer was worrying more about his commission than about Hamel and his wife.
Glenda was at her desk. Although she wasn’t my favourite woman, she was restful on the eyes. Tall, dark and good looking, wearing a dark blue frock with white collar and cuffs, her hair immaculate, she looked what she was: one hundred percent efficient and a go-getter.
“Mr. Palmer,” I said, and leaving Palmer to face Glenda’s steely smile, I returned to my office.
Chick was reading one of the poison pen letters, his feet on his desk. I saw he had replenished his drink so I replenished mine before sitting down.
“Listen to this,” he said, and read, “While you are writing your trash, your sexy wife is having it off with Waldo Carmichael. A race horse will always beat a cart horse, especially an old cart horse.” He looked at me as he reached for the second letter. “This one is a real niftie,” and read, “ ‘Carmichael does it a lot better than you do, and Nancy loves it. Sex is for the young: strictly not for the elderly.’ ” He dropped the letter on his desk. “Both of them signed: Your Non-Fan. I guess if I was his age and got this crap, I could go in a corner and make whimpering noises.”