Confess, Fletch

The third call came while he was eating the hash.

“Fletcher. Darling.”

It was Countess de Grassi. The Brazilian bombshell. Sylvia. Andy’s stepmother.

“Hello, Sylvia.”

“You didn’t return my call, Fletcher.”

“What call? Where are you?”

“In Boston, darling. I called earlier and left a message.”

“Oh, that Mrs. Sawyer,” Fletch said.

He took the message off the desk, crumpled paper, and threw it hard against a drape.

“I’m at the Ritz-Carlton.”

“You can’t afford the Ritz-Carlton, Sylvia.”

“I’m the Countess de Grassi. You can’t expect the Countess de Grassi to stay in, what do you call it, fleabag.”

“However, the Ritz-Canton will expect the Countess de Grassi to pay her bill.”

“You’re being very unkind, Fletcher. This is none of your business.”

“What are you doing here, anyway, Sylvia?”

“What did Angela tell me? You came to Boston to visit your family in Seattle? Even I have a map, Fletcher. I came to visit your family in Seattle, too.”

“Sylvia, what I’m doing here doesn’t concern you even a little.”

“I think yes, Fletcher. You and Angela are, how do you say, pulling some game on me.”

“What?”

“You aim to deprive me of what is rightfully mine.”

“What are you talking about?”

“First that terrible thing happens to Menti darling, and then you two conspire about me.”

“As the grieving widow, aren’t you supposed to be in Rome? Or Livorno?”

“You and Angela plan to rob me. Cheat me. Menti would be so mad.”

“Nonsense.”

“You come over to the hotel right now, Fletcher. Tell me it’s not true.”

“I can’t, Sylvia. I’m miles from the hotel.”

“How far? How many miles?”

“Eighteen, twenty miles, Sylvia. Boston’s a big city.”

“Come in the morning.”

“I can’t. I’m tied up.”

“What does that mean, you’re tie-up?”

“I have appointments.”

“Lunch, then.”

“I have a lunch date.”

“Fletcher, I come here to catch you. I’ll call the police. They’ll listen to the Countess de Grassi at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel.”

“I’m sure they would. Sylvia, did Menti ever tell you you’re a bitch?”

“You’re a son of a bitch, Fletcher.”

“That’s no way for a Countess to talk.”

“I can say worse things in Portuguese and French.”

“I’ve heard them. All right. I’ll come to the hotel.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow. Late afternoon. Six o’clock.”

“Come to my room.”

“I will not. I’ll meet you in the bar. Six o’clock.”

“Six-thirty I call the police if you’re not here.”

“Don’t use their business phone. It upsets them.”

“What?”

“Shut up.”