‘And what the hell did I do it for? Just to get a husband!’
‘You got one?’ Alma Hunter asked, her eyes showing her interest.
‘Yes.’
Miss Hunter was discreetly silent. Mrs. Cool resented the implications of her silence. ‘It wasn’t that way at all,’ she said. ‘But hell, this isn’t the time for a dissertation on my private life.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Miss Hunter said. ‘Really, Mrs. Cool, I didn’t mean to be prying. I was just terribly interested. I’m — well, I have problems of my own — I don’t like to hear people talk cynically about marriage. I think that when a woman really works to make a success of marriage, she can make the home so attractive that the husband wants to be there all the time. After two―’
‘And why the hell should a woman do that for any man?’ Bertha Cool interrupted in a calm, level voice. ‘My God, men don’t own the world.’
‘But it’s a woman’s place in life,’ Alma Hunter said. ‘It’s part of the biological structure.’
Bertha Cool looked over the tops of her glasses. ‘If you want to talk biological urges,’ she said, ‘talk with Donald. He knows all about the courtship of microbes.’
‘Men aren’t microbes,’ Alma Hunter said.
Bertha Cool sighed, and the sigh rippled the loose flesh of her stomach and breasts into jelly-like action. ‘Now listen,’ she said, ‘my marriage is the one thing on earth I am touchy about. Some day Donald’s going to hear from someone all about what a bitch I was and how I treated my husband. I’ll probably tell him the whole story myself, but I’ll be damned careful I do it after office hours — unless I do it on your time, dearie — but for God’s sake don’t get married with the idea of putting a man upon a pedestal and yourself down on your hands and knees, scraping cobwebs out of the corner. You keep on doing that, and some day a cute little trick will look up at your husband with big blue eyes, and you’ll find that you’re in the place you made for yourself, just a damn floor scraper with rough hands, sharp features, and calloused knees — I know what you’re thinking, that your husband won’t be like that, but all husbands are like that:
‘But, Mrs. Cool—’
‘All right, if you want to go into details, listen to what happened in my case. And you listen, too, Donald. It’ll do you good.’
‘It doesn’t make any difference to me,’ I said. ‘For all I care, you could have—’
‘Shut up,’ she said. ‘I’m your boss. Don’t interrupt me when I’m talking.’ She turned back to Alma Hunter and said, ‘You get that idea about husbands out of your head, or you’ll be unhappy as long as you live. My husband was an average specimen — as husbands go, and that’s not very far. I kept on my diet until the glamour wore off, then I commenced to look across the breakfast table at him and wonder what the hell I was getting in return for what I was giving. He could eat peaches and cream, in a big bowl of oatmeal swimming in butter, ham and eggs, coffee with thick cream, with two teaspoonfuls of sugar, and never put on a pound. He ate breakfasts like that right in front of my face. I sat across the table from him with my stomach begging me on its bended knees for just one spoonful of oatmeal, and I broke off dry toast and nibbled at little pieces of it so one piece would last through my husband’s breakfast.
‘And then the day came when he told me he had to be away in Chicago on business. I was suspicious and hired a detective to shadow him. He took his secretary and went down to Atlantic City. I got the report by telephone on Monday morning just as we were sitting down to breakfast.’
Alma Hunter’s eyes were sparkling.
‘You divorced him?’ she asked.
‘Divorced, hell!’ Mrs. Cool said. ‘Why should I divorce the worm? He was my meal ticket. I just said, “God damn you; Henry Cool, if you’re going to take that peroxided hussy down to Atlantic City over weekends and make me like it, I’m going to eat what I please and make you like it.” So I dished myself out a big bowl of oatmeal, put so much butter on it that it was simply swimming, poured on thick whipping cream, put lots of sugar on top of that, and scraped the bowl clean before my husband had got up his nerve enough to try and lie to me.’
‘Then what?’ Alma asked.
‘Oh,’ she said airily, ‘he kept on lying, and I kept on eating. After that, we worked out a pretty good basis of companionship. He kept on supporting me, and I kept on eating. He kept on playing around with the peroxide secretary until she tried to blackmail him. Well, of course I couldn’t stand for that, so I went down and gave the little bitch a piece of my mind, and sent her on her way with her ears pinned back. And then I picked him a secretary.
‘One who offered no possible temptation, I suppose,’ Alma Hunter said, with a smile.
‘Not at all,’ Mrs. Cool said. ‘I was getting pretty fat by that time, and decided Henry should have a break. I picked him a good-looking little trick that I’d known for three years. I had enough on her so she didn’t dare to blackmail him. And I swear to you, dearie, I don’t know to this day whether Henry ever made her or not — but of course he did. I know that she liked to play around, and Henry just couldn’t keep his hands off a woman. But she was a damn good secretary; and Henry seemed happy; and I ate anything I wanted. It was a wonderful arrangement — until Henry died.’
She blinked her eyes, and I couldn’t be certain whether it was a gesture or if there were tears glinting in the corners. Abruptly she was back to business. ‘You want a summons served. I’ll serve it. Now what the hell more is there to talk about?’
‘Nothing,’ Alma Hunter said, ‘except the matter of fees.’
‘This Sandra Birks has money?’
‘She’s not wealthy, but she has—’
‘Make me a check for a hundred and fifty dollars,’ Mrs. Cool interrupted. ‘Make it out to Bertha Cool. I’ll send it down to the bank. If the check’s any good we’ll find Morgan Birks. When we find him, we’ll serve him. If we find him tomorrow, it costs you a hundred and fifty bucks. If it takes more than seven days, it costs you twenty dollars a day for every extra day we put in. No matter what happens, you get no refunds. Frankly, if we can’t find him in seven days, I don’t think we can ever find him. No use you throwing good money after bad. I’m telling you now.’
‘But you’ve got to find him,’ Alma Hunter said. ‘It’s — it’s imperative.’
‘Listen, dearie. The whole police force is trying to find him. I’m not saying we can’t. I’m not saying we can. I’m just telling you how you can keep costs down.’
‘But the police force doesn’t have Sandra helping them. Sandra can—’
‘Do you mean that Sandra knows where he is?’
‘No, but her brother does.’
‘Who’s her brother?’
‘His name’s Thorns, B. Lee Thorns. He’s going to help Sandra. She’s at the train, meeting him. He knows who Morgan’s girl friend is. You should be able to locate him through the girl friend.’
Bertha Cool said, ‘All right. As soon as you get the money, we start.’
Alma Hunter raised her purse. ‘I’ll give you cash right now.’
‘How’d you happen to come to me?’
‘Sandra’s lawyer said you’d get results, that you took cases that the other detective agencies wouldn’t touch-divorce cases and things of that sort, and—’
‘Who in hell is he?’ Bertha Cool interrupted. ‘I forgot to look at his name. Donald, hand me those papers — no, never mind, just read me the name of the lawyer.’
I looked down at the bottom of the jacket. ‘Sydney Coltas,’ I said. ‘He has his office in the Temple Building.’