“I think I should talk with Miss Potts.”
“Stone, she’s very very discreet.”
“Nevertheless, Dick, if you want me to get to the bottom of this…”
“Oh, all right; I’ll have her call you.”
“Good. Are there any other… intimates I should talk with?”
“None. Get back to me.” Hickock hung up.
Ten minutes later, she was on the phone. “This is Tiffany,” she said. “A mutual friend says we should talk.” Her voice was quiet, shy.
“May I come and see you?” Stone asked.
“Sure; when?”
“Half an hour?”
“I guess I can get myself together by then.” She gave him the address. “It says Dunhill on the bell. Ring twice, then once; the intercom’s not working.”
The townhouse had a limestone facade and only four bells; each apartment occupied a floor, and Hickock’s mistress was on the third. Tiffany Potts had done very well for herself. Stone rang the bell twice, paused, then once more. The lock clicked, and he was inside a mahogany-paneled foyer. The elevator door stood open; he took it to the top floor.
She was smaller than he had thought she would be, less blonde, and prettier; the scandal sheet had been right about her bustline. She was wearing well-fitted jeans and a chambray shirt. She stepped back and held the door open. “Please come in,” she said, offering her hand. “I’m Tiffany Potts.”
The apartment was quite handsome – crown moldings, nice curtains, good furniture, good pictures, lots of books. She showed him to one of a pair of sofas facing each other before the fireplace. “You have a very nice place,” Stone said. “Who’s your decorator?”
“I am,” she said shyly.
“You have very good taste.”
She rewarded him with a small smile. “Thank you.”
“What did Mr. Hickock tell you about me, Miss Potts?”
“Please call me Tiff; everybody does. He said you’re looking into this DIRT thing for him. Are you a private detective? You don’t look like what I’d imagined.”
“I used to be a police detective, Tiff; now I’m a lawyer.”
“What should I call you?”
“Stone will be just fine.”
“I like that name. Names are important to actors.”
“Is Dunhill your professional name?”
“Not really; Dick didn’t want my name on the bell. I chose Dunhill; it’s sort of a joke. Believe me, I wouldn’t call myself Tiffany Dunhill; it sounds like a stripper.”
Stone smiled. “You’re an actress?”
“An actor,” she corrected. “A student, really.”
“Where are you studying?”
“At the Actor’s Studio.”
“That’s very impressive; you’d have to be very promising to be accepted.”
“Dick got me the interview, but I got in because of my audition,” she said. “I expect all you know about me is what you read in that DIRT thing, but I’m not a bimbo, Stone. I have talent as an actor.”
“Have you appeared in anything yet?”
“Two off-Broadway plays, one of them a lead; I got good reviews.”
“Do you mind answering my questions?”
“No; Dick said to tell you the truth.”
“How long have you known Dick?”
“About fourteen months. He came to a backer’s audition for one of the plays I did.”
“Did you start seeing him right away?”
“No; I knew he was married, so I refused to go out with him. But he came to our opening a few weeks later, and to the party afterward, and I really liked him. I decided to overlook his wife. I know that doesn’t sound very moral, but I’m a big girl; I take full responsibility.” She waved a hand. “He gives me this, and I give him… companionship. Sex is only part of it. He leads a very pressured existence, and he’s able to relax completely with me. I don’t expect him to leave his wife; at some stage it will end, but right now it suits us both.”
“How often do you see him?”
“Somewhere between once and three times a week, depending on when he can get away.”
“Where do you go?”
“Usually here. I cook for him. Once or twice he’s picked me up at the Studio, and we’ve gone out for dinner in the Village.”
“On any of these occasions did you run into anybody who knew him?”
“No. When he’s not wearing a business suit, he’s really quite anonymous.”
“Anybody who knew you?”
She shook her head.
“Has there ever been a mention of you two in any of the gossip columns?”
“Not once; not until this DIRT thing. Dick is very upset about it; his wife doesn’t seem to know yet, but he thinks she’ll find out now, that some ‘friend’ will mention it to her. The fact is, he loves his wife. He just needs something more than she’s giving him.”
“Tiff, have you ever had the feeling that somebody was following you?”
Her brow wrinkled. “No, I haven’t; do you think somebody might be?”
“It’s a possibility; after all, whoever is publishing this sheet seems to know where you live.”
She looked worried now. “I hadn’t thought about that. Do you think I’m in any danger?”
“No, I shouldn’t think so. In fact, you may have already heard the last of this. Whoever’s doing it just wanted to needle Hickock; I don’t think you were the target.”
She looked relieved.
“Have you ever discussed your relationship with Dick with anyone else – a friend, maybe – somebody at the Studio?”
“No, never; it’s always been our secret. God, I wouldn’t want anybody I know to think that I’m the mistress of a married man, which is – let’s face it – what I am. I come from a small town, where people don’t do this sort of thing. I would never want this to get back to my parents. They wouldn’t understand at all.”
“I don’t think it will get back to them,” Stone said. He handed her his card. “I don’t want you to get paranoid about this, but if you ever feel that someone is following you, or if anyone tries to photograph you on the street, please go straight to a pay phone and call me. I’ll try to find out who it is.”
“Thank you, I’ll do that,” she said.
Stone stood up. “Well, that’s all I need to know for the moment,” he said. “I’m sorry to intrude on your privacy.”
“That’s all right,” she said, smiling. “To tell you the truth, if I weren’t seeing Dick, I’d welcome the intrusion; sometimes I get a little lonely.” She opened the door and held out her hand. “I hope you’ll come and see me if I ever get in another play.”
Stone took her hand. “I’m sure you will, and I’d like that very much.”
She closed the door behind him, and he took the elevator down. He liked the girl; he thought Hickock was a lucky man. If his wife didn’t find out about Tiffany Potts.
Chapter 20
Arnie Millman came out of the movie house on Third Avenue and checked his watch; nearly five. Arnie had spent the day at the movies because he didn’t have any work to do. It kept him out of the house, and that was okay with his wife. Tonight was her bridge night, and his apartment would be full of cackling hens. He always ate out on her bridge night, but he wasn’t hungry yet.
It occurred to him that he wasn’t all that far from the address Stone had shown him, Amanda Dart’s place, where the secretary, Martha, worked. Maybe he’d give Stone a couple of free hours; after all, he had nothing else to do until dinner-time. He walked briskly uptown and west, until he came to the apartment building where Amanda Dart lived.
He hung around outside until Martha came out, just after five-thirty. She was as Stone had described her – plump and a little on the plain side – and he began to follow her home. Except she didn’t seem to be going home. Martha lived on Third Avenue in the Sixties, but she crossed Third and walked uptown to Second Avenue in the Eighties. Her step was light; Arnie thought she must be in a very good mood.