Presently Paige herself came down the hall from the shower, muffled in a white terry-cloth robe with a large white towel wrapped around her head.
“Vic! What are you doing here?”
“Hi, Paige. I came to talk to you. When you’re dressed I’ll take you out for coffee or gin or whatever you drink this time of day.”
The honey-colored eyes widened slightly: she wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of orders, even when given in a subtle way. “I’m not sure I have time.”
“Then I’ll talk to you while you get dressed.”
“Is it that important?”
“It’s extremely important.”
She shrugged. “Wait for me here. I’ll only be a few minutes.”
The few minutes stretched into forty before she reappeared. The other two women came out together, carrying on a vigorous conversation about someone named Larry. They glanced at me and one of them broke off to say, “She’s about halfway through her makeup” as they passed.
Paige presently emerged in a gold silk shirt and white full skirt. She wore a couple of thin gold chains at her throat with little diamond chips in them. Her makeup was perfect-rusty tones that looked like the delicate flush of Mother Nature-and her hair framed her face in a smooth pageboy.
“Sorry to keep you waiting-it always takes longer than I think it will-and the more I try to hurry the longer it seems to take.”
“You people work up a good sweat. What was that you were rehearsing this afternoon? It looked pretty grim.”
“It’s one of Ann’s flights-Ann Bidermyer, the director, you know. Pavane for a Dope Dealer. Not in the best taste but it’s a good role. For Karl too. Gives us both a great chance to show off. We open with it tomorrow. Want to see it? I’ll get them to leave a ticket for you at the box office.”
“Thanks… Anyplace around here to talk, or do we need to head farther south?”
She considered. “There’s a little coffee shop around the corner on Victoria. It’s a hole in the wall but they have good cappuccino.”
We went out into the brisk spring evening. The coffee shop seated only six people at tiny round tables on spindly cast-iron chairs. They sold fresh coffee beans, a vast assortment of tea, and a few homemade pastries. I ordered espresso and Paige had English Breakfast tea. Both came in heavy porcelain mugs.
“What were you looking for in my cousin’s apartment?”
Paige drew herself up in her chair. “My letters, Vic. I told you that.”
“You’re not the kind of person who embarrasses easily-I just can’t picture you getting that worked up about some letters, even if they are personal… Come to think of it, why would two people in the same city write each other anyway?”
She flushed below the rouge. “We were on tour.”
“How did you meet Boom Boom?”
“At a party. A man I know was thinking about buying a share in the Black Hawks and Guy Odinflute invited some of the players. Boom Boom came.” Her voice was cold.
Odinflute was a North Shore tycoon with a flair for business matchmaking. He’d be the ideal person to bring together buyers and sellers of the Black Hawks.
“When was that?”
“At Christmas, Vic, if you must know.”
I’d seen Boom Boom a couple of times during the winter and he’d never mentioned Paige. But was that so strange? I never told him who I was dating either. When he got married, at twenty-four, I first met his wife a few weeks before the wedding. That was a little different-he’d been slightly ashamed to introduce me to Connie. When she left him three weeks later and received an annulment, he’d gotten gloriously drunk with me, but still hadn’t really talked about it. He kept his private life emphatically private.
“What are you thinking, Vic? You look very hostile, and I resent it.”
“Do you? Henry Kelvin was killed last night when some people broke into Boom Boom’s place. They tore it apart. I want to know if they were looking for the same thing you were. And if so, what?”
“Henry? The night watchman? Oh, I’m so sorry, Vic. Sorry to get mad at you, too. If you’d only told me, instead of playing games with me… Was anything stolen? Could it have been a robbery?”
“Nothing was taken, but the place was sure chewed up pretty thoroughly. I think I saw everything Boom Boom had in his files and I can’t imagine what value any of it would have to anyone besides a hockey memorabilia collector.”
She shook her head, her eyes troubled. “I don’t know either. Unless it was a robbery. I know he kept some share certificates there, even though I kept telling him to put them in a safe deposit box. He just couldn’t be bothered with stuff like that. Were those gone?”
“I didn’t see them when I was there on Tuesday. Maybe he did take them to a bank.” Another point to check with the lawyer Simonds.
“They were probably the most valuable things in the place, barring that antique chest in the dining room. Why don’t you try to locate them?” She put her hand on my arm. “I know it sounds crazy about the letters. But it’s true. In fact I’ll show you the one your cousin wrote me while we were away, if that’s what it will take to convince you.” She rummaged in her large handbag and unzipped a side compartment. She pulled out a letter, still in its typed envelope, addressed to her at the Royal York Hotel in Toronto. Paige unfolded the letter. I recognized my cousin’s tiny, careful handwriting at once. It began, “Beautiful Paige.” I didn’t think I should read the rest.
“I see,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
The honey-colored eyes looked at me reproachfully and with a hint of coldness. “I’m sorry, too. Sorry that you couldn’t trust what I said to you.”
I didn’t say anything. I didn’t doubt Boom Boom had sent the letter-his handwriting was unmistakable-but why was she carrying it around in her handbag ready to show to anyone?
“I hope you’re not jealous of me for being Boom Boom’s lover.”
I grinned. “I hope not too, Paige.” Of course, that might explain my suspicions. Maybe to Paige at any rate.
We took off shortly after that, Paige to an unknown destination and I for home. What a thoroughly dispiriting day. Kelvin dead, the encounter with Mrs. Kelvin, and an unsatisfactory meeting with Paige. Maybe I was just a tiny bit jealous. If you were going to fall in love, Cousin, did it have to be with someone that perfect?
I couldn’t figure out where Boom Boom would have kept his most private papers. He didn’t have a safe deposit box. Simonds, his attorney, didn’t have any secret documents. Myron Fackley, his agent, didn’t have any. I didn’t. If Paige was right about the stock certificates, where were they? Whom had Boom Boom trusted besides me? Perhaps his old teammates. I’d call Fackley tomorrow and see if he could put me in touch with Pierre Bouchard, the guy Boom Boom was closest to.
I took myself out to dinner at the Gypsy, a pleasant, quiet restaurant farther south on Clark. After the frustrating day I’d had I was due some peace and quiet. Over calf’s liver with mustard sauce and a half bottle of Barolo I made a list of things to do. Find out something about Paige Carrington’s background. Get Pierre Bouchard’s phone number from Fackley. And get back down to the Port of Chicago. If Henry Kelvin’s death and Boom Boom’s were connected, the link lay in something my cousin had learned down there.
This was one of the rare occasions when I wished I had a partner, someone who could dig into Paige’s background while I disguised myself as a load of wheat and infiltrated Eudora Grain.
I paid the bill and headed for home and a free phone. Relatively free. Murray Ryerson, crime reporter for the Herald-Star, had left for the night. They took a message from me at the city desk. I also left my name and number on Fackley’s phone machine. There was nothing more I could do tonight, so I went to bed. A life of nonstop thrills.
