“I’m not protecting anyone,” Towner said, curtly. “You get proof that someone committed this crime and you’ll find me backing you, to the last dollar I’ve got.”
“I may hold you to that,” the lieutenant said stiffly and walked out. As he left the office he had to step aside for someone who came swinging in.
Linda Towner.
“Dad,” she said, then saw Johnny. “Mr. Fletcher, I was hoping to run into you. I thought perhaps you could talk me into buying your lunch.”
Johnny grinned. “There’s been a slight change in my situation since last night.”
“Oh, you talked Dad out of firing you? I was tempted to make a bet with Dad that you would, but then you see I know him so much better than I know you...”
“Be quiet a minute, Linda,” growled Harry Towner. “I have a discussion to conclude with Mr. Fletcher.” Towner cleared his throat noisily and glared at Edgar Bracken. “You say you want Bracken’s job, Fletcher?”
“Me? I wouldn’t touch it. A sales manager sits in his office all day. I wouldn’t like that.”
“The counter sorters sit at a bench all day,” said Towner. “Although sometimes they stand.”
Out in the factory, bells rang signaling the lunch hour.
“Excuse me a moment,” Johnny exclaimed and left the office. He strode to Nancy Miller’s desk, handed her a couple of dollars. “I’m in a big conference, Taffy,” he said, “but hand this money to my pal, Sam Cragg, as he comes out. Tell him to have a good lunch and I’ll see him afterwards...”
“Conference with the duchess?” asked Nancy.
“The Duke. I’ve already turned down the sales manager’s job.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Uh-uh, I’m going to get something bigger. Tell you about it later.”
He patted her shoulder and returned to Towner’s office. In his absence, Edgar Bracken had slipped out.
“All right, Fletcher,” said Harry Towner. “What job do you consider better than the sales manager’s?”
“Factory detective. I want to devote my full time to finding the murderer of Al Piper.”
“But the police will take care of that,” protested T owner.
“Maybe they will,” said Johnny, “and maybe they won’t. They’ve got a lot of cases to solve. Besides, they’re police and people clam up when a policeman’s around. Me, I’m one of the boys, a counter sorter like the rest of them. I’ve an unusual knack of stirring things up.”
“So I’ve noticed,” offered Linda Towner. “That’s one of the reasons I like you.”
“Linda!” exclaimed her father.
Johnny chuckled. “Why don’t we talk it over at lunch?”
“Can’t,” said Harry Towner. “I’m having lunch at the club with some of the directors of my tannery.”
“Well, I’m not,” declared Linda. “I’m having lunch at the Fluttering Duck.”
“That’s a coincidence,” exclaimed Johnny. “I was planning to have lunch at the Fluttering Duck myself. That is, I was going to have lunch there if I settled this little business with Mr. Towner.”
“It’s settled,” said Towner. “I think you’re making a mistake turning down the sales manager’s job, but perhaps we can talk about that again, after this mess is cleared up.” He grunted. “I have an idea you’ll do as well as the police.”
“I won’t do any worse.” Johnny coughed gently. “It’s customary for a detective to get a retainer. Five hundred, shall we say...?”
“Five hundred!” cried Harry Towner.
“And say, another five hundred when I hand you the murderer.”
Harry Towner opened his mouth to blast Johnny but suddenly shook his head and reached for his wallet. “All right, that order you got amounted to around three thousand. A five hundred dollar commission isn’t too much.”
“The order is for free,” said Johnny, “you’re paying me for detective work.”
“Call it anything you like. Here’s your money...”
He handed Johnny four one hundred dollar bills and two fifties.
“My car’s outside,” said Linda Towner.
Nancy Miller had apparently gone out to lunch, for her desk was vacant. Johnny was just as glad that she did not see him leaving with Linda Towner.
Parked at the curb, in the only available space — in front of a fire hydrant — stood a canary yellow convertible Cadillac.
“You drive?” Linda asked Johnny.
“Only jalopies,” replied Johnny. “Those fenders are too big for me.”
She got in behind the wheel and Johnny climbed in beside her. She started in second gear and by the time she reached the next corner was doing forty-five.
“That wild story you told Dad last night,” Linda said, “was that really just to get a free dinner?”
“Yes and no. We needed the dinner, but more than that I needed to sell myself to your father. One day of sorting counters was about enough.”
Linda laughed. “Dad didn’t want to believe it, even after Elliott told him what you had done to him at lunch. And now you talked Dad into believing you’re a detective.”
“It so happens that that’s one thing I’m good at,” Johnny declared. “For instance, did you know that the man in the black Chevvie’s having an awful time keeping up with us?”
Linda started to look over her shoulder, but Johnny exclaimed, “No — don’t. Look in the rear vision mirror.”
Linda followed his order. “There’s a black coupe behind us, all right, but what makes you think it’s following us?”
“Turn left at the next corner.”
Linda gunned the motor of the Cadillac, then made a left turn that caused the tires to screech, Johnny looking in the mirror, saw the black Chevrolet careen wildly as it almost missed the turn.
“Now make a complete turn around the block and get us back on Larrabee,” Johnny said. “If he’s still with us then, he’s following.”
Three minutes later they were back at their starting point and the black Chevrolet was seventy feet behind them. “Okay,” said Johnny, “he’s following us.”
“I can lose him,” cried Linda.
“What’s the good of that? Then I’d only worry about him. Continue on to the Fluttering Duck.”
Chapter Twelve
Ten minutes later Johnny and Linda got out on Wabash, turning the yellow Cadillac over to the doorman of the Fluttering Duck. The black Chevrolet was double-parked a short distance away.
They entered the restaurant and the headwaiter immediately escorted them to a table.
“I’ll have a dry Martini,” Linda said, as they were seated.
“Beer for me,” said Johnny.
“Beer!”
He grinned. “I’m a working man. By the way, are you sure you didn’t have a lunch date today with Freddie?”
“Why, no. And if you don’t mind I’d just as soon not talk about him.”
“Well,” said Johnny, “we don’t have to talk about him, but I’m afraid you’re going to have to talk to him, because here he is.”
Fred Wendland, his hair nicely pomaded, was bearing down on them. His face had a sullen, unhappy expression.
“Linda,” he said, “I thought I might run into you here.”
“Oh, did you?” Linda asked coolly.
Wendland pulled out a chair. “D’you mind?”
“Yes,” said Johnny.
Wendland had not even looked at Johnny so far and if he heard him he gave no sign. He sat down. “I called your home and the butler told me you’d gone into town with your father. It’s about tomorrow night, the fraternity’s asked the alumni to a housewarming, for the new house and I thought—”
“Which team are you on?” Johnny asked. “Fraternity or Alumni?”