“Tell that to the deaf, dumb and blind,” Louis said. He snatched up the catalogue and flounced out.
Feeling in need of another snack, Kendrick plodded to the refrigerator and regarded the various dishes set out in readiness, then selecting a lobster tail, he returned to his desk and sat down to think.
In his usual show-off manner, Lepski arrived home, pounded up the path, threw open the front door and charged into the living-room.
He had had a splendid day telling Beigler and Max Jacoby how Carroll had inherited money, how he had insisted they should spend it on a trip to Europe. He bored the two men to distraction, but this was his big moment, and neither of them could stop him. Finally, Beigler suggested he should go home and leave them to cope with whatever crime happened, and if there was anything important, he would be called.
“Hi, baby!” Lepski bawled. “I’m back! What’s for dinner?”
Carroll was lying on the settee, her shoes off, her eyes closed.
“Must you shout?” she complained. “I’m exhausted.”
Lepski gaped at her.
“Have you been jogging or something?”
At this hour, Carroll was usually coping in the kitchen, preparing dinner. To see her lying on the settee, inactive, was a shock to Lepski.
“There are times, Lepski, when I think you are stupid,” Carroll said tartly. “I have been arranging our vacation, and let me tell you, I have been at it all day.”
“Yeah: tough. What’s for dinner?”
Carroll glared.
“Can’t you think of anything else except food?”
Lepski leered at her.
“Well, there is another thing, baby, but I’d get the old routine: not now, later. What’s for dinner?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been at the American Express all day and I am tired.”
Lepski regarded his wife, then recognizing the signs he decided the situation had to be handled with tact and soft soap.
“Poor baby. All day, huh? How’s it going? What have you fixed?”
“Miranda has her ideas and I have mine!” Carroll exclaimed. “She couldn’t get into her silly head that we want to travel first class. She kept on and on about charter flights.”
“What’s wrong with charter flights, for God’s sake?”
“Lepski! This is a vacation to end all vacations! We are travelling first class!”
“Fine... fine. Yeah, you’re right, baby.” Lepski shifted from one foot to the other. “What’s for dinner?”
Carroll sat up, her eyes stormy.
“I don’t know! I don’t care! If you say that again I will divorce you!”
“Don’t know, huh? Okay, let’s have a drink.” Lepski went to the liquor cabinet. He opened the doors, then started back. “Where’s my Cutty Sark?”
“Will you please sit down and listen to what I have arranged?” Carroll said, her voice suddenly on the defensive.
“Where’s my Cutty Sark?” Lepski bawled.
“Can’t you think of anything but food and drink? For goodness sake, sit down and let me tell you what I have arranged.”
Lepski stared at her accusingly.
“You have been around to that drunken old sot, Mehitabel Bessinger, and you’ve given that old fake my Cutty Sark.”
To his surprise, Carroll looked sheepish.
“Now, Tom. I’m sorry about your Scotch. I shouldn’t have gone to see her. I have come to the conclusion you are right. She does drink too much.”
Lepski gaped at her.
For years now, Carroll had put her faith in this old clairvoyante: a large black woman who foretold the future. Twice she had given Lepski, through Carroll, clues to killers which he had ignored only to find, later, she had been right. Up to now, Carroll had sworn by her. This sudden change startled Lepski.
“What are you saying?” he demanded, sitting down.
“Well, Tom, I thought it might be a good idea to consult her about our trip,” Carroll said, looking anywhere but at him.
Lepski made a noise like a fall of gravel.
“So to oil her works, you took my bottle of Cutty Sark?”
“Yes, Tom, and I am sorry. I will buy you another bottle. I promise.”
This was so unexpected, Lepski dragged his tie down and released the collar button on his shirt.
“Okay. So what happened?”
“She got out her crystal ball and she seemed to go into a trance.” Carroll put her hands to her eyes and released a long, exhausted sigh. Lepski wasn’t the only one who could be a show-off. “I really think the poor old dear was a bit tiddly.”
“Hold it. Did she get out her goddamn crystal ball before or after she got at my Cutty Sark?”
“Well, she does need a little stimulant before she can read the future.”
“So she banged back half the bottle, huh?”
“A little more than half. Anyway, she talked a lot of rubbish. She said on no account were we to go on this trip. She said I must cancel all my arrangements and stay home. She said we would meet dangerous people and there was a woman named Catherine who would cause us a lot of trouble. She wasn’t sure about the name. She said she couldn’t see clearly. The crystal ball was misty.”
Lepski released a snort that would have startled a bison.
“I bet it was. I would be misty too if I had knocked back more than half of a bottle of Scotch.”
“I am a little worried, Tom. Mehitabel has always been right in the past. Do you think we should go? Should we cancel the trip?”
Lepski recalled his bragging, bending Beigler’s and Jacoby’s ears back. They would laugh themselves silly if he backed out of a de luxe European trip. What excuse could he make?
He got up and went over to Carroll and patted her gently.
“Forget it, baby. The old sot was drunk. She was trying to keep you here. Who else gives her a bottle of Cutty Sark?”
“But it does worry me, Tom. What does she mean about a woman named Catherine? That we would meet dangerous people? I asked her and asked her, but she just sat there, moaning and shaking her head.”
Lepski patted her again.
“Forget it! We’re going to have the greatest vacation of our lives! Now, come on, baby, forget that old rum-dum. We’re going to have a ball!” Seeing Carroll relaxing, he smiled hopefully, then asked, “What’s for dinner?”
Ed Haddon paid off a taxi outside a modest motor hotel on the highway leading to Washington’s downtown area. He was dressed conservatively in a dark business suit and he carried a briefcase. He paused to look at the balcony leading to the entrance to the hotel, but not seeing the man he had come to meet, he walked up the path, heading for the hotel’s lobby.
“Ed!”
A soft voice made him pause and look sharply at an elderly clergyman who was sitting on the balcony and smiling at him.
This clergyman appeared to be in his late sixties with a round, pink-and-white face, wispy white hair and a benign smile that would attract children and elderly ladies. He was heavily built: the body of a man who liked his food and of medium height. He wore half-moon glasses. Kindness and Christianity oozed from him with the gentleness of a saint.
Haddon stared suspiciously, then he said in a hard, cold voice, “Were you speaking to me?”
The clergyman laughed: a nice, mellow sound that would cheer the faithful.
“Is it as good as that, Ed?” he asked.
“Jesus!” Haddon moved forward and stared. “That you, Lu?”
“Who else? Not bad, huh?”
Haddon stared again, then moved on to the balcony.
“It’s really you?”
The clergyman nodded and patted a chair by his side.
“Good God!” Haddon said. “It’s marvellous! What an artist!”
“Well, yes, you can say that. It’s my best so far. I got your message. So, the deal’s on?”