“I really don’t give a damn how it would look,” Noreen cried. “All I care about is Michael.”
I was watching a battle of wills between two women who at least at the moment seemed to be as flexible as an iron reinforcing bar. Once again, Doyle stepped between them. “Honey, that’s really all any of us cares about right now,” he told Noreen, putting his arm around her. “If you want Wolfe on the case, I’ll pay for it.”
Noreen yanked away, and her eyes blazed. For an instant I was looking at a younger Lily. “No you won’t, Daddy! I’m the reason Michael’s in trouble, and I’m going to do something about it. Mr. Goodwin, I want to see Nero Wolfe.”
Megan turned away with a theatrical moan of frustration. I’d almost swear Lily was enjoying the show. Under her grim expression, a light danced in her eyes.
“You’re assuming a lot,” I told Noreen. “Mr. Wolfe works only when he feels like it, and he doesn’t feel like it very often. That’s part of what makes my job so much fun.”
“Then you have to help me persuade him,” she said, fixing me with her baby blues. “How soon can we see him? I can be presentable in ten minutes. Let’s go.”
I gave her a long look with my own baby blues, then glanced at Lily, who smiled mockingly, as if to say: You’re the one who claims to know women, pal; don’t think you’re going to find any help in this corner.
“I’ll compromise,” I said to Noreen. “I will talk to Mr. Wolfe — alone — about taking you on as a client. I can’t guarantee anything; he does what he wants to do, and when he wants to do it. But it works better when I handle him my way. If you don’t believe me, ask your aunt; she’s known him for years.”
Noreen threw a glance at Lily, who backed me up with a real nod, not one of those eighth-of-an-inch numbers. Noreen’s shoulders sagged. “All right,” she sighed. “You’ll talk to him this morning?”
“As God and Ed Koch are my witnesses,” I said, checking my watch. “In fact, I’d better leave now. He will be walking into his office in thirty-seven minutes, and I’d like to be there to greet him.”
“And tell him about Michael. And me?” Noreen asked hopefully.
“Noreen, you’re making a mistake — a big one,” Megan cut in. “You’re—”
“For God’s sake, leave her alone!” Doyle boomed. “She’s capable of making decisions without your damn meddling.”
Megan was about to return the salvo when I jumped in. It was that or hang around all day watching the James family bounce rocks off one another’s noggins. “When I see an opportune time, I’ll talk to Mr. Wolfe,” I promised Noreen, ignoring her sparring parents. “As somebody — don’t ask me who — once said, ‘Timing is everything.’ And on this, you’ll have to leave the timing to me.” As I rose to go, I sent a look in Lily’s direction.
“Megan, Doyle, I really must be leaving too,” La Rowan said, getting up. “And good-bye, honey,” she added with warmth, reaching for Noreen, who buried her face in Lily’s shoulder and clung to her a moment.
When we were alone in the southbound elevator, the woman of my life turned to me and rubbed a finger along her graceful chin. “Okay, I caught your not-so-subtle message,” she said. “After all, regardless of what you think, I’m not totally dense. What’s the problem?”
“Michael,” I answered as the elevator disgorged us into the palatial lobby. There was a break in the conversation while the doorman flagged us a cab. “What about him?” Lily said when we were headed south in the taxi of one Luis Ramirez, who had artistically decorated his dashboard with three pairs of pink baby booties.
“I have never met your half-nephew, or whatever the proper terminology is, so I’m flying on instruments,” I told her. “And I want your best guess — as in: Did he or didn’t he?”
“Kill Linville? Archie, I honestly don’t know, but to put it into terms that you’re comfortable with, I’d say it’s nine-to-five that Michael’s innocent. Now, I grant you those odds come courtesy of the suspect’s aunt, or half-aunt if you prefer, so you can do your own weighing.”
“You like the guy?”
“Michael? Absolutely. He’s high-grade. Serious, hardworking — he’s in an executive-training program at Metropolitan Trust’s headquarters building down on Wall Street.”
“Personality?”
Lily’s eyes flicked over a display of cocktail dresses in a store window. “Pleasant and engaging, but bordering on the stuffy, which is too bad, although even as a kid he was somewhat that way. But I think that stuffiness has increased since he’s been at the bank.”
“Not surprising,” I observed. The word “kill” had gotten Luis Ramirez’s attention. He was leaning at such a slant to get an ear near the opening in the Plexiglas divider that I was a little worried he might topple over. “What’s his social life like?”
Lily considered a moment before answering. “He dates a fair amount, but no one special as far as I know. I’m not aware that he runs with a particular crowd — I think it’s mostly people he went to school with and from the bank and the financial district. And he’s one good-looking guy.”
“Again not surprising, especially considering his father.”
She gave me an enigmatic look. “Interesting you should say that.”
“I didn’t realize I was being any more interesting than usual.”
“Archie, I feel like I’m exposing you little by little to the foibles — and skeletons — of our family. There’s, well, some doubt as to whether Doyle is really Michael’s father — at least in Doyle’s mind.”
“Continue, please.” Luis Ramirez was practically quivering with curiosity. We nearly sideswiped a delivery truck.
“Megan apparently had something of a fling ages ago, about the time Michael came along. What little I know about it is from Doyle; we’ve become pretty close through the years. Needless to say, Megan and I have never discussed the subject.”
“I hate to sound like a broken record, but that’s hardly surprising. Does Michael know anything about this?”
“Unfortunately, yes, and he blames his mother. And I also know, again from Doyle, that it stimulated more than a little discussion between him and Megan years ago.”
“Undoubtedly. But they stayed together for a long time after that?”
“It was one of those marriages that staggered on long after it was dead. The old story — they kept it together mainly for the kids.”
“And who is Noreen’s father?” I asked.
“Oh, Doyle — I don’t have any doubt about it,” Lily stated. “By the time she arrived, three years after Michael, Megan’s silly liaison had ended. Actually, my impression is that the marriage improved for a few years there.”
“I assume the liaison was not with Pamsett.”
“Good Lord, no. He’s relatively new on the scene. He’s a widower, plenty of assets, comes from pharmaceutical money. They met working together on some benefit or other.”
“He seems pleasant enough.”
Lily shrugged. “I guess so. ‘Urbane’ and ‘cultured’ are a couple of good words to describe him, but he’s not my type.”
“Meaning I’m not urbane and cultured?”
“You, my dear, have more savoir vivre than ought to be legal for any one person. And if you don’t know what that means, you can always ask your boss.”
“I have a pretty good idea.” I sniffed, feigning offense, then grinning. “Anything else I ought to know about these intriguing relatives of yours?”
“Heavens, isn’t that enough?”
“Yeah, I guess so. I feel like I’ve wandered into an episode of Dynasty. Well, here ye be, lady,” I said as the cab pulled up in front of her building. “I’m off to see whether the Living Legend can be persuaded to get involved with the misadventures of the Jameses.”