“It must have been horrible,” Andy said, shuddering a little.
“I don’t imagine it was pleasant. Dave still thinks the goddamned ray gun did it.”
“Oh, not really.”
“You know Dave. I think he believes in BEM’s, too. He doesn’t know that bug-eyed monsters left the science-fiction scene a dozen years ago.”
“I was worried about you,” Andy said. She fluffed out her blonde hair, then walked to a cigarette canister on the end table, taking one and lighting it quickly. She blew out a wreath of smoke. “Really worried, Jon.”
“Oh? That’s awfully nice of you.”
“I could hardly get the new Cracklies limerick going.”
“That denotes real worry,” I said. “I’ve got it, though. Want to hear it?”
“Sure. Shoot.”
“Buy Cracklies, by crackie! Over and over again, repeated. Like?”
“I’m an eggs-for-breakfast man,” I said.
“I think it’s good. Considering the worrying I did.”
“You had no cause for worry.”
“You seemed pretty damned worried,” Andy said, turning suddenly.
“Huh? I don’t follow.”
“When you called.”
“When I called?” I lifted my eyebrows. “Sorry,” I said, “wrong number.”
“Well, no one even asked me.”
“Asked you what? Make sense, Andy.”
“Asked me about what you’d told me.”
I let out a deep breath. “I’m sorry, ma’m, but I missed the first reel. Want to start from scratch?”
“When you called this afternoon,” Andy said, impatiently.
“Honey,” I told her. “I didn’t call this afternoon. And if I’d made any calls, they’d have all been to my lawyer.”
Andy stared at me curiously for a few moments? Then she smiled and said, “Jon, really, there’s no need for any cloak and dagger. I won’t tell anyone, if you’re worried about it, and you needn’t deny having called.”
“Won’t tell anyone what? Goddamnit, Andy, I didn’t call you. The last time I spoke to you was at the agency.”
Andy looked extremely puzzled. “Well now isn’t that strange,” she said.
“It certainly is,” I agreed. “Did someone call and say it was me?”
“Well, no. But the voice... well, I just assumed it was you.”
“What did this mysterious caller say?”
“He said, well he said, ‘Is this Andy?’ and I said, ‘Yes, it is.’ ”
“That’s all?”
“No, of course not. He said, ‘Listen and listen hard, Andy.’ That’s when I figured it was you calling.”
“What else did he say?”
“He said, ‘I want you to forget everything I told you this morning. Everything, understand? Especially when the police start asking questions.’ ” Andy shrugged. “Golly, I was sure it was you.”
“What did you answer?”
“I said, ‘Okay, Trigger, I’m a clam.’ Honestly, Jon, I thought it was you clowning around.”
“What happened then.”
“He just hung up. I thought that was strange, and then later, when the news about Cynthia reached the office I figured you wanted me to keep quiet about what you’d told me, about quitting the job. I thought... I thought maybe you were involved.”
“For Pete’s sake!”
“Well, how was I supposed to know? It sounded like you, and I thought immediately of you, and besides I was in the middle of that damned Cracklies limerick.”
She looked as if she were ready to start bawling, so I went to her and took her into my arms, and she snuggled her head against my chest.
“You’re a rotten louse, Jonathan Crane.”
“I know,” I said.
“And I knew you when your damned name was plain Johnny Kransen.”
“I know,” I said.
“And I was worried.”
“You’re a doll.”
“Sure.”
“You are. I mean it. You’re a doll on wheels.”
“Sure.”
“Do you still want dinner and a movie?”
“Yes,” timidly.
“Then go fix your face. Come on, doll.”
“Don’t call me ‘doll.’ I’m not one of the office dolls you flirt with every day.”
“I know you’re not.”
Andy tried to keep a stern face, but the smile broke through like filtered sunshine. “I’ll powder up, you rat,” she said.
“Hey!” I said, snapping my fingers. “Whoever called you was obviously someone who’d told you something this morning. Who’d you speak to this morning?”
Andy batted her eyelashes. “Lots of people,” she said.
“Who?”
“Cynthia. You.”
“Who else?”
“Dave Halliday, I guess. Yes, he came in to see Cynthia about oxygen on...” Andy paused. “Oxygen on Mars?”
“Yes. Did he say anything to you?”
“Sure, lots of things. But I don’t remember them all.”
“Anything important?”
“No. No, unless... well, I’ve heard a million people say that.”
“Say what?”
“Well, he said, well, he was complaining about the oxygen business. He said, ‘Someday I’m going to murder that meddling witch.’ ” Andy paused again. “Only he didn’t say witch.”
“Who else did you see?”
“Artie Schaefer. Stopped by for some film stuff, I think. He came into my office to say hello.”
“Anything from him?”
“I can’t remember. Just the usual pleasantries, I guess.”
“Marauder? The Cadet?”
“No, neither of them. At least, if they were at the agency, I didn’t see them.”
“Felix Nechler?”
“Why, yes. Isn’t that curious? He told me he wanted to see Cynthia about a job. He’s a nice old duck, isn’t he?”
“Did he say anything else?”
“Well, Cynthia’s secretary spoke to him, and he was pretty angry afterwards. She told him Cynthia was very busy and would be leaving for the studio in a little while. Pretty shabby treatment.”
“He probably came down to catch her there then,” I said.
“Was he there when she...”
“Yes.”
“Jon...”
“Yes?”
“You... you didn’t kill her, did you? I mean...”
“Me? Hell, I haven’t killed anyone since last Wednesday.”
“Seriously, Jon. I... I’d like to know.”
“You are the craziest female I’ve ever met,” I told her. “No, I did not kill anyone.”
Andy smiled. “I’d have brought you cigarettes and a cake with a file in it.”
“You probably would.”
“So undying is my love. I’ll go powder up, and you’d better be here when I come back, you rat.”
“There’s a cute number down the hall,” I reminded her.
“How do you know?” she said suspiciously.
“There’s always a cute number down the hall.”
Andy considered this seriously. “I’ll be ten seconds,” she promised, and she wasn’t seven minutes over that.
5.
When my doorbell chimed noisily at twenty minutes past ten the next morning, I was still in bed. I frowned at the alarm clock until I realized it was innocent, and then pulled on a robe over my pajamas and walked through the living room.
I opened the door a crack, and Detective-Sergeant Hilton’s inscrutable face peered back at me. Another inscrutable face was behind his.
“My partner,” he explained. “Ed Matthews.”
“Mrfff,” I said.
“May we come in? Hope we didn’t wake you?”
“No,” I said grumpily. “I had to get up to answer the door anyway.”
Hilton’s face remained inscrutable, and I decided I’d save my knife-edged wit for a worthier audience. “Come on in, boys.”