Confess, Fletch

Twenty-two

“Who’s there?”

“The big, bad pomegranate.”

It was eleven-thirty Saturday morning.

Fletch had had to go a little out of his way to find a hardware store on his way home from Newbury Street. He had bought a screwdriver, a pair of pliers, and a small can of household oil—all of which he had left in the truck.

After putting the truck in the River Street garage, he had cut through the alley and up the iron, cement-walled back stairs to his apartment.

He had forgotten Mrs. Sawyer would be there. Naturally, she had locked the back door.

“You go away,” she shouted through the door. “Nothing gets picked up on Saturdays.”

“It’s Mister Fletcher, Mrs. Sawyer! Please open up.”

“What are you doing out there?”

The two bolts slid free of the door.

,“Well, look at you!” she said. “Out caterwauling all night! Where’s your coat? You’re, wet like a puppy.”

“Good morning.”

“You have a European countess sleeping in your own bed, and you’re not even home to enjoy it.”

“In my bed?”

“She calls herself the Countess del Gassey.”

“She should.”

“I’ve never seen so much luggage. She expect to be buried here?”

“She slept in my bed?”

“Didn’t you leave her there?”

“I did not. Where is she?”

“She said something about going shopping, Then she said something about going to the museum and visiting some galleries.”

“Great.”

“I fed her, and she’s gone. Mercy, Lord, was she hungry! You’d think no one had fed her in a month.”

“No one has.” The bright, white kitchen was a complete contrast to the cold, dark, wet truck. “I’m wet.”

“Your hair looks like you spent the night tunneling through a haystack. Maybe that’s what you were doing. You want something to eat?”

“Sure would. Where are the countess’s things?”

“You’ll see. All over the apartment. I never met such a bossy woman. She talked to me like I was a platoon.”

“Would you move everything of hers into a guest room, please? And then close the door. Tight.”

“I’m not sure it will all fit! You want breakfast, or lunch?”

“Anything warm would be great. By the way where are the telephone books?”