Of course, it wasn’t okay. I didn’t relish the thought of having to ask a fourteen-year-old what had transpired that morning, considering what might have transpired. It was not so much the thought of the futility of expecting useful answers that troubled me, as the possibility of inducing a fit of hysteria that would bring parents down upon my ears.
Yet some fourteen-year-olds these days—or perhaps any days. After all, Juliet was fourteen—
No, that was silly, and I had no time to follow up at the moment. It was almost four and it was time to find Nellie of Hercules.
11 NELLIE GRISWOLD 3:55 P.M.
Although I didn’t know her, I had no trouble detecting her at the Hercules booth. She had been described as «nice» with that particular roll of the masculine eye which gives that bland word an unmistakable flavor, and what I saw fit that exactly.
She was five feet ten or eleven inches tall, with her brown hair at shoulder length, with a narrow waist that rather emphasized the caboose effect of her rear end. Her breasts were perfectly shaped and were encased in a brassiere of the type chosen by women who strongly suspect their breasts to be perfectly shaped. Her nose was a little long and her eyes a little small, which meant she was no raving beauty, but they did combine to give her face an open look of good nature that substituted surprisingly well.
I said, «Miss Griswold.»
I had put on my badge to get into the exhibit area and she looked at it, then said excitedly, «Mr. Just! I admire your books very much.»
There’s no such thing as a better opener than that, and she went on immediately to improve on it.
She said, «You know that Hercules is interested in doing a paperback of your new book.»
«I don’t know.» I said.
«The Valiers have shown us some of what you’ve done and it’s made a good impression on our editor in chief. I read it, too, and I love it.»
And I love you, lady. She looked so damned good to me at that point that I would have given my second-best typewriter to be able to forget Giles and invite Nellie to dinner, and maybe end up by not doing right by our Nell, if she were willing.
But Giles came first just at that moment and Project Nellie had to be postponed. I said, «That’s great, but if you don’t mind, I won’t count my chickens. We’ll see how you and Hercules like it when it’s done.»
«Will that be soon?»
«If I can be left alone at my typewriter, maybe two months. In actual fact, probably four. But look, would you answer some questions?»
«What kind?» She seemed just interested, not in any way suspicious.
«Well, you were at the autographing session yesterday with Devore and Asimov—»
«Yes. Asimov is one of our outstanding authors, you know.»
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She did not use the adjective. Typical of Isaac to throw it in.
Darius Just
She used it to me often enough. Being overliteral is not the surest way to the truth.
Isaac Asimov
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«I know,» I said. «But it’s Devore I’m interested in. You brought him a pen, I understand.»
«Oh, yes, and what a bummer that was. Were you there?»
«No, I wasn’t.»
«Well, let me tell you what happened.» She was the first person I had questioned on the subject who seemed eager to talk.
I said, «Please.»
She said, «I was there mostly for Asimov, making sure he had enough books and that things were going smoothly.»
«He was a little annoyed you weren’t opening books for him,» I said, getting in the needle just a bit on Isaac’s behalf.
She dismissed it with a wave of the hand. «I was more useful keeping the line in order. Besides, whatever Isaac said, he loved it. You know him, he just eats it up; he can sit there signing books for twelve hours, grinning and scribbling. So my attention wandered to Giles Devore and, boy, he was different. He looked as though he were suffering.»
«He was,» I muttered.
She paid no attention to the comment. «His pen ran out of ink and for some reason Teresa Valier, who was next to him, didn’t have any spares, which I thought was pretty irresponsible of her, but then he changed pens with the man in front of him. It looked as though the trouble was all over and then came crisis number two the second pen went dry.
«Devore seemed to fall apart. He just sat there with his face working and Teresa simply ran off the stage. Well, the line stopped and I could see Asimov getting out of his seat and beginning to look nervous, and I was in charge of him. So I dashed over to Devore with another pen. I had plenty.
«He took it automatically, as though he weren’t really there. He didn’t even look down as he started to write with it. After a second or two, though, he stopped and said in a thin whisper, ‘It’s red.’ I had given him a red-ink ball-point, you see. It was crisis number three. I said, ‘It’s all right. Fans like it red.’ So he started writing again.
«By then, Teresa was back and she had a pen, but it wasn’t needed. Devore was continuing to sign in red and there was no more trouble. Of course, when the session was over, he threw my red-ink pen against the wall and walked away without talking to anybody, so he was clearly annoyed. I guess I was lucky he didn’t throw it at me.
«And then, two hours later, he was dead and I—Oh my, you were the one who found him, weren’t you?»
I nodded. «Yes, but never mind that. What were you going to say?»
«Just that I wondered if he was so upset that he couldn’t keep his footing in the tub, and that maybe it was my red pen that was the last straw.»
I said, «Everyone wants the credit. The fact is that I had his set of pens and I didn’t get it to him. If I hadn’t muffed it, there would have been no trouble, so if there’s credit, it’s all mine.»
She looked sympathetic (she was clearly a very warm girl, and I made another silent check mark in her favor) and she said, «That’s too bad.»
«Never mind. Listen, Nellie, tell me, was there anything in what he did, or said, or looked like, or anything, that gave you the impression that it was anything at all, other than the pens going dry or being red, that was upsetting him?»
She thought a while, then shook her head wistfully. «If it was anything else, there’s no way of telling that I can think of.»
«Okay, one more question. Did you see who it was who brought him into the room?»
«You mean at the beginning of the autographing session?»
«Yes.»
She shook her head again. «I didn’t even see him come in.»
I stood there for a moment, frowning. No one had seen him come in with a woman and yet the distinct and overpowering impression that he had done so remained. Who had told me that?
I remembered! It was quite sudden. I saw the face; I heard the voice. It was the checkroom woman. When Giles had come to question her about the package to which he had no check, he had been urged on by the woman accompanying him. She even called her by some name.
It was like having the roof cave in and every bit of plaster fall on my head. I said, «Look, Nellie, when you were near Giles, did you, at any time, hear him mention me, express anger in any way about me?»
«No. As far as I recall, he never said a word that I heard except ‘It’s red.’»
«Thanks,» I said. «Thanks. I think I’m in love with you, so keep me in mind.» And I ran from the exhibit area, as well as I could for having to dodge people.
12 GORDON HAMMER 4:15 P.M.
It was getting riskily late, but I had to take time to clear up the loose ends. Unless I were certain, I wouldn’t have the clout to drive it home.