“Go to hell, Escamillo. I got you into this.”
“You did not. X did, and he’s going to regret it. Now. Where is Mr. Wolfe?”
“I think at Woody’s. We’ll stop there. Yesterday and today he has spent more time at Woody’s, and at the ranch, than he has at the cabin.”
“Why the ranch?”
“Because that girl’s there. Peggy Truett. Carol got her last night — she lives in Timberburg — and brought her to the cabin. Jessup was there, and they questioned her for more than two hours. In your room. Around eleven o’clock Jessup came to the big room and phoned Carol and told her they were coming with Peggy Truett. They went in Jessup’s car. It was after midnight when he brought Wolfe back. They told me nothing, not a damn thing, and this morning I left for Helena before seven o’clock. With this car. I haven’t been back, but about two hours ago I called Carol, and she said Wolfe had been there nearly all day talking with Peggy Truett, and he was still there, and he had asked her if she would drive him to Woody’s around five o’clock. So I think he’s at Woody’s but he may still be at the ranch. You know him better than I do. Peggy Truett may be his type.”
“He hasn’t got a type. It’s a filter job.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s similar to what I asked you to do about Saturday night, only he steps it up by asking questions. It’s the opposite of filtering coffee. With coffee you’re after what goes right through, but with her he’s after what doesn’t go through, or doesn’t want to. Then you don’t know whether Haight has seen him or not.”
“No. Does that matter?”
“Probably not. Only if those two have conversed I have missed something I would have enjoyed. Let’s see, what else? Oh. Jessup said you went to Farnham’s and took pictures, and that nobody objected but Farnham, but of course he would. Did anybody want to object but decided not to? I assume you were aware that you were pinch-hitting for me.”
“Of course. You might have seen signs that I missed. Jessup made it an official request, but he explained that it was a request and anyone who wanted to could refuse without giving a reason. Very neat, I thought. You and the genius are making a man of him. Sitting still like this I do seem to notice a slight — uh — aroma. Kind of exotic. Will it go?”
“No, it’s permanent. Our future contacts will have to be outdoors in a strong wind. You sent the prints to Saul?”
“Did I. I was up and dressed at six o’clock, and I got them on the ten-o’clock plane. He should have them by now. You think it was one of them, don’t you?”
“I don’t think anything. I have no right to think until I earn it by doing a little work.” I started the engine and moved the pointer to D. “And take a bath.” We bumped back onto the blacktop.
It was ten minutes to seven when we rolled to a stop in front of the Hall of Culture and I climbed out and crossed to the screen door and entered. There was no one in the Gallery, but the door at the rear, to the kitchen, was standing open, and I went and stuck my head in. Woody was on a stool at the counter, stirring something in a bowl, and Wolfe was standing at his elbow, watching. With Wolfe in it, the kitchen looked smaller than it was. I stepped in and said, “Just in time.”
Wolfe looked at me, took a step for a closer look, and growled, “Satisfactory.”
My nerves were a little raw. “What’s so damn satisfactory about it?” I demanded.
“You’re here, you’re intact, and you have your tongue. ‘Just in time.’ Yes, you are. You are just in time for Mr. Stepanian’s favorite dish, hunkiav beyandi. He says it was originally Armenian, but the Turks have claimed it for centuries. It’s kebab served with eggplant stuffed with a purée which the Turks call Imam Baïldi — ‘Swooning Imam.’ Onions browned in oil, tomatoes, garlic, salt and pepper. Was that jail dirty?”
“Yes.”
“Are you hungry?”
It was understandable that he didn’t want to report with Woody there, and apparently there was nothing so urgent that it couldn’t wait until he had tasted hunkiav beyandi.
“Certainly I’m hungry,” I said, “but first I have to scrub, and Miss Rowan phoned Mimi to have some filets mignons out. She thought you might be hungry too.”
“If you will excuse me,” Woody said, “there is my tub and shower and plenty of hot water, and I would be honored. You know how glad I am to see you, Archie. As Mr. Wolfe says, it is satisfactory.”
“And I’m glad to see you, Woody.” To Wolfe: “So I’ll come back later. Around nine?”
He looked at the clock on the wall. Right at home. “I expect telephone calls. And I must make one. Nine or ten, any time. Or Mr. Stepanian can take me; he has kindly offered to. I suggest that you bathe and eat and go to bed.”
“That’s a wonderful idea,” I said. “Gee, it’s a good thing I stopped, I never would have thought of it. See you tomorrow. Good night, Woody.” I turned and walked out.
As I opened the car door Lily said, “He’s not coming?” but I waited until we were on the way to answer.
“Some day,” I said, “I will brown him in oil and sprinkle garlic on him. He is expecting phone calls. He suggested that I bathe and eat and go to bed. So either he has got something hot started that he thinks he doesn’t need my help with, or he is cooking up one of his screwy charades that he knows I wouldn’t like. Listen to me. That shows the frame of mind I’m in. You don’t cook a charade. Now as I lie and soak in a tub of water just hot enough, I won’t be making careful plans for tomorrow; I’ll be wondering what the hell we’re in for. From now on ignore me. Pretend I’m not here. If there was a dog at the cabin to come bouncing to greet me, I’d kick it.”
She said nothing for a mile, then: “I could go and borrow Bill Farnham’s dog.”
“Fine. Do that.”
As we turned into the lane: “But you’re going to eat.”
“You’re damn right I am. I’m starving.”
The ignition-key routine at the cabin was not to bother about it in the daytime, but the last one using the car in the afternoon or evening was supposed to take it in and put it at a certain spot on a shelf in the big room. So I took it, to show Lily and whom it might concern, meaning me, that I was through with it for the night. If Woody reneged on his offer to drive Wolfe home, he could walk.
I ate. Clean as a scraped trout, shaved, shampooed, manicured, teeth brushed, clad in a handsome gray silk belted toga with black dots, over white pajamas with no dots, I sat in the kitchen with Lily and ate turtle soup, two filets mignons, hashed-brown potatoes, bread and butter, milk, spinach with mushrooms and Madeira, honeydew melon, and coffee. Twice Diana came and asked if she could get us anything and we said no thanks, and the third time, when Mimi was pouring coffee, she asked if she could have some and we said yes. As she sat she said she had been dying to ask me about being in jail, and so was Wade; and she called him and he came.
I told them about the jail, making it pretty damn grim, putting in some bugs that were apparently attracted by the disinfectant, and a couple of lizards. Then they asked about the finding of Sam Peacock’s body, and then the big question, who killed him and why? On that, of course, I said that their guess was as good as mine, or better, since I had been in the clink; and I suggested a game of pinochle. I said a friendly game of pinochle would help to get my mind off of the ordeal I had been through. I did not say that it would be satisfactory, for me, to have Wolfe come and find me enjoying myself, with no concern for trivial things like murders; I merely thought it. Lily knew, of course; as we rose to go to the big room a corner of her mouth was up with that understanding smile that means, any woman to any man, How well I know you.