Adelaide St. John Plumb was a small unprepossessing woman who carried her head cocked graciously to one side and spoke in a breathy little-girl voice. "So good of you to come." Brown hair plastered flat against her head in uniform waves contrasted absurdly with her pale aging skin, a network of fine wrinkles. So did the penciled eyebrows and red Cupid's-bow mouth. She was wearing a peach chiffon tea gown and long strands of gold beads.
Her guests rose. Mary said, "Miss Plumb, may I present James Qwilleran." "So happy to meet you," said their hostess.
"Enchant‚!" said Qwilleran, bending low over her hand in a courtly gesture. Then he drew from his pocket a perfect Bosc pear with bronze skin and long, curved stem, offering it in the palm of his hand like a jewel-encrusted Faberge bauble. "The perfect complement for your beautiful apartment, Mademoiselle." The Countess was a trifle slow in responding. "How charming... Please be seated... Ferdinand, you may bring the tea tray." She seated herself gracefully on an overstuffed sofa in front of the tortoiseshell tea table. "I trust you are well, Mary?" "Quite well, thank you. And you, Miss Adelaide?" "Very well. Did it rain today?" "Yes, rather briskly." The hostess turned to Qwilleran, inclining her head winningly. "You have recently arrived from the east?" "From the north," he corrected her. "Four hundred miles north." "How cold it must be!" Mary said, , 'Mr. Qwilleran is spending the winter here to escape the snow and ice." "How lovely! I hope you will enjoy your stay, Mr..." "Qwilleran." "Do you play bridge?" "I regret to say that bridge is not one of my accomplishments," he said, "but I have a considerable aptitude for Scrabble." Mary expressed surprise, and the Countess expressed delight. "How nice! You must join me in a game some evening." Ferdinand, wearing white cotton gloves, placed a silver tea tray before her-cubistic in design with ebony trim - and the hostess performed the tea ritual with well-practiced gestures.
"Mr. Qwilleran is a writer," said Mary.
"How wonderful! What do you write?" "I plan to write a book on the history of the Casablanca," he said, astonishing Mary once more. "The public library has a large collection of photos, including many of yourself, Miss Plumb." "Do they have pictures of my dear father?" "Quite a few." "I would adore seeing them." She tilted her head prettily.
"Do you have many recollections of the early Casablanca?" "Yes indeed! I was born here - in this very suite - with a midwife, a nurse, and two doctors in attendance. My father was Harrison Wills Plumb - a wonderful man! I hardly remember my mother. She was related to the Pennimans.
She died when I was only four. There was an influenza epidemic, and my mother and two brothers were stricken. All three of them died in one week, leaving me as my father's only consolation. I was four years old." Mary said, "Tell Mr. Qwilleran how you happened to escape the epidemic." "It was a miracle! My nurse - I think her name was Hedda - asked permission to take me to the mountains where it would be healthier. We stayed there - the two of us - in a small cabin, living on onions and molasses and tea... I shudder to think of it. But neither of us became ill. I returned to my home to find only my father alive - a shattered man! I was four years old." Ferdinand's clumsy hands, in white gloves the size of an outfielder's mitt, passed a silver salver of pound cake studded with caraway seeds.
The Countess went on. "1 was all my father had left in the world, and he lavished me with attention and lovely things. I adored him!" "Did he send you away to school?" Qwilleran asked.
"I was schooled at home by private tutors, because my father refused to allow me out of his sight. We went everywhere together - to the symphony and opera and charity balls. When we traveled abroad each year we were entertained royally in Paris and always dined at the captain's table aboard ship. I called Father my best beau, and he sent me tea roses and cherry cordials... Ferdinand, you may pass the bonbons." The big hands passed a tiny footed candy dish in which three chocolate-covered cherries rested on a linen doily.
Qwilleran took the opportunity to say, "You have a handsomely designed apartment, Miss Plumb." "Thank you, Mr..." "Qwilleran." "Yes, my dear father designed it following one of our visits to Paris. A charming Frenchman with a little moustache spent a year in rebuilding the entire suite. I quite fell in love with him," she said, cocking her head coquettishly. "Artisans came from the Continent to do the work. It was an exciting time for a young girl." "Do you remember any of the people who lived here at that time? Do you recall any names?" "Oh, yes! There were the Pennimans, of course. My mother was related to them... and the Duxbury family; they were bankers... and the Teahandles and Wilburtons and Greystones. All the important families had complete suites or pieds-…-terre." "How about visiting celebrities? President Coolidge? Caruso? The Barrymores?" "I'm sure they stayed here, but... life was such a whirl in those days, and I was only a young girl. Forgive me if I don't remember." "I suppose you dined in the rooftop restaurant." "The Palm Pavilion. Yes indeed! My father and I had our own table with a lovely view, and all the serving men knew our favorite dishes. I adored bananas Foster! The captain always prepared it at our table. On nice days we would have tea on the terrace. I made my debut in the Palm Pavilion, wearing an adorable white beaded dress." "I enjoy that same view from my apartment," Qwilleran said. "I'm staying where Dianne Bessinger used to live. I understand you knew her well." The Countess lowered her eyes sadly. "I miss her a great deal. We used to play Scrabble twice a week. Such a pity she was struck down so early in life. She simply passed away in her sleep. Her heart failed." Qwilleran shot a glance at Mary and found her frowning at him. Furthermore, Ferdinand was standing by with arms folded, looking grim.
Mary rose. "Thank you so much, Miss Adelaide, for inviting us." "It was a pleasure, my dear. And Mr. Qwillen, I hope you will join me at the bridge table soon." "Not bridge," he said. "Scrabble." "Yes, of course. I shall look forward to seeing you again." Ferdinand followed the two guests to the foyer and whipped out a dog-eared pad and the stub of a pencil. "Friday, Saturday, and Sunday is full up," he said. "Nobody's comin' tomorrow. She needs somebody for tomorrow." He looked menacingly at Qwilleran. "Tomorrow? Eight o'clock?" It sounded less like an invitation and more like a royal command.
"Eight o'clock will be fine," Qwilleran said as they stepped into the waiting elevator. Once in its rosewood and velvet privacy they both talked at once.
He said, "Where did she find that three-hundred-pound butler?" Mary said, "I thought you didn't play games, Qwill." "Her hair is like Eleanor Roosevelt's in the Thirties." "I almost choked when you handed her that pear." "She doesn't even know that Dianne was murdered!" As they stepped out of the rosewood elevator on the main floor, the workaday crowd was pouring through the front door. They stared at the privileged pair.
Qwilleran said, "I'll walk out of the building with you, Mary. I want to check the parking lot. I've been here since Sunday, and five different cars have been parked in my space." As they approached the lot he asked, "May I ask you a question?" "Of course." "What do you think was the artist's motive for killing his patron?" "Jealousy," she said with finality. "You mean he had a rival?" "Not just one," she replied with a knowing grimace. "Di liked variety." "Were you friendly with her?" "I admired what she was trying to accomplish, and I admit she had charisma, or people would never have rallied around SOCK the way they did." Qwilleran stroked his moustache. "Could there have been anything political about her murder?" "What do you mean?" They had arrived at the entrance to the parking lot, and Mary was looking at her wristwatch.