Her father saw her at the same time I did. “Noreen, honey, I didn’t know you were here.” He got up and moved toward her. “How are you, baby?”
She tensed, drawing back from Doyle, and his face registered something between hurt and puzzlement. “Noreen’s been staying here for the last couple of days,” Megan said to Lily and me, either ignoring the father-daughter byplay or oblivious of it. “I thought that would be... better.” Her tone implied that no one else was capable of giving the young woman comfort and protection.
“Hello, Nor,” Lily said, smiling. “I think you remember Archie Goodwin.”
“Oh... yes, yes,” she said absently, turning to Carmella and asking for coffee. The maid scurried off silently to get another cup. Noreen ran her fingers through her disheveled hair, looking around self-consciously with the realization that she was half-dressed in a room full of fully clothed people, one of whom — me — was a virtual stranger. She thought about it for a few seconds and shrugged, then took two steps toward me, smiled as if we were old friends, and held out a hand, which I took. Now, that’s aplomb.
Another level of realization was kicking in, though, as she completed the awakening process. She frowned and turned toward her mother. “Why is everyone here?”
Megan got up and went to her, but it was clear from their awkward embrace that mother and daughter were hardly soulmates. “It’s because of Michael. He’s been... well...”
“God, stop beating around the bush!” Doyle made a pistol-shot sound by slamming a fist into a palm. “She’s an adult, regardless of the way you insist on treating her. Noreen, Michael is being held by the police. From what we know right now, and that’s pretty sketchy, your brother has confessed to killing Barton Linville.”
That really put Noreen’s aplomb to the test, and she came through like Reggie Jackson with runners at second and third and the game on the line. “Michael? That is totally preposterous,” she pronounced firmly, fully awake now and sticking her chin out and shaking her head as she looked from face to face. “Does anybody really believe Michael could do... that?”
“Of course not, darling,” Megan said softly. “And that’s what we were talking about when you came in. Mr. Goodwin has been giving us the benefit of his vast knowledge regarding criminal procedures and such.” After I set down the preceding sentence, I realized it sounded like Megan was being sarcastic, but that really wasn’t the case. The gravity of the situation had fully whacked her, and it seemed apparent that any anger she had felt toward me earlier had been overridden by her concern about her son.
“God, where’s a cigarette?” Noreen snapped, her eyes darting around the room.
“Right here.” Good old Pamsett, who in an earlier era could have made a dandy living playing Fred Astaire’s Man Friday, flicked open a silver case, and after Noreen had selected a cigarette, he put his Dunhill to work with a smooth motion that probably took years to perfect.
Noreen indulged herself in a deep drag, then looked doubtfully at me. “So, you’re the expert. I assume you know all about... everything. I mean, what happened with Sparky and me. What do you think?” Her aplomb had begun to slip, and her hostility, at least toward me, was rising.
I shot a glance toward Lily, who nodded in the manner of Nero Wolfe, which is to say an eighth-inch dip of the chin. “I know you had a difficult situation a while back,” I said evenly.
“You put it very diplomatically,” she responded with a tight smile that had no happiness behind it. “What do you think about Michael’s situation?”
“As I was saying before you came in, your brother is in a grade-A pickle. First off, he apparently has confessed. Second, up to now he has refused legal assistance, which means he’ll get a public defender unless someone finds him a lawyer. That’s not good. And the way things are looking, he’s going to need plenty of horsepower in the courtroom. Third, you’d better believe the D.A. will put a lot of muscle behind this; after all, the son of a big-name, big-money family has been murdered — on the Upper East Side, no less — and the media will be all over him to come up with a quick conviction. And as I was also telling your mother and father, on top of it all, you’re sure to be questioned — probably today — about you and Linville.”
“I’ll handle that when it comes along,” Noreen said in a voice just above a whisper, breathing deeply and making her hands into fists. “We’re getting a top lawyer, of course?” She directed the question to her father.
“Damn right we are; I’m about to make some calls. Can we get Michael out on bail, Goodwin?”
“Depends on several things, including how forceful your defense attorney is and whether your son has a previous record. Does he?”
“Of course not!” Megan was on her feet again. “I don’t think he’s ever had anything more than a parking ticket, and hardly any of those. I told you, he’s as gentle as a lamb.”
“You’ve made your point, Megan,” Lily inserted with quiet force.
I smiled in Lily’s direction to show that I appreciated the reinforcements. “Given the circumstances — and assuming you hire a good lawyer — there’s a strong chance he’ll get out on bond,” I told Megan. “But that’s only my assessment.”
“This is crazy,” Noreen said. “I know Michael was furious when he found out what happened to me, but no way would he do something so... awful.”
“So your mother has stated. But think for a minute about how the whole business looks,” I said. “I don’t believe it needs to be spelled out for anyone.”
“No, no. We’ve got to do something — I mean besides hiring some big-deal damned lawyer. Innocent people have gotten convicted before, correct?”
“More than once,” I agreed.
“Mr. Goodwin,” Noreen implored, sliding in next to me on the sofa and gripping my upper arm so hard it almost hurt, “I want to hire Nero Wolfe. He’ll cut through all of this garbage and figure out who really was the murderer, won’t he?”
“That’s ridiculous!” Megan was glaring first at her daughter and then at me, presumably for putting the notion in Noreen’s mind.
“What’s ridiculous about it, Mother? Mr. Goodwin, doesn’t Nero Wolfe say he’s a genius? Don’t you say he’s a genius?” There was a hint of hysteria in Noreen’s voice — and her eyes. But there was nothing wrong with her strength, as her hand continued digging into my arm.
“Mr. Wolfe has been called a genius on occasion,” I conceded. “And there are times when even I am forced to concur, albeit reluctantly.”
“Mother, you know Michael isn’t a murderer.” Noreen released my arm and padded over to Megan. “Daddy knows he isn’t, I know he isn’t. But if he goes on trial—”
“She’s right,” Lily put in. “None of us yet has the details of what Michael told the police, but from what little we do know, a trial could be a real crapshoot, even if he had Clarence Darrow defending him.”
“You’re actually suggesting she should hire Wolfe?” Megan sounded as appalled as if someone had suggested that Bloomingdale’s start selling tractors and cattle feed.
Noreen set her jaw. “Mother, I have the money, if that’s what’s worrying you. I’m aware that he’s expensive.”
“Money’s the least of our problems right now, Noreen.” Megan’s voice was sharp enough to slice a diamond. “How do you think it would look if you brought in a private detective who positively wallows in publicity and—”