Archie in the Crosshairs

Chapter 13

All right, now what?” I asked Wolfe as we cradled our receivers and I continued to pretend the pain in my shoulder was a figment of my imagination.

“Now you call Miss Hutchinson, of course, and inform her briefly of last night’s activities. One would think she must be wondering what transpired.”

Wolfe picked up his phone again while I dialed her number. She answered after several rings. “Oh, Archie, how... how is everything?” She sounded breathless. “I’ve been waiting to hear from you. What happened with... you know?”

“Do you read any newspapers?” I asked. “Or listen to the radio?”

“No, no, I don’t do much of either, I never have. Why do you ask?”

“For one, we still have your money. The individual who was sent to pick it up is dead.”

“Dead! How? Who was it?”

“Miss Hutchinson, this is Nero Wolfe. I would like you to visit us at tonight at six o’clock. Would you find that to be an imposition?”

“No... but can’t you tell me now what has happened?”

“I would much prefer that we converse face-to-face. Also, as Mr. Goodwin just said, we have your money and wish to return it.”

“But what do you mean, what has—”

“I have other business at the moment, but Mr. Goodwin will remain on the line and tell you as much as he deems necessary before your arrival here.”

So once again, Wolfe had left me holding the bag, so to speak. I cupped the mouthpiece as I asked, in a near-whisper, “Do you want her to come via the back route again?”

He shook his head and mouthed the words front door.

I had difficulty getting rid of Cordelia. She wasn’t hysterical, but she was close, repeating the same questions three or four times. I patiently put her off, explaining that some subjects were better discussed in person. That did not persuade her, so I finally had to use a variation on Wolfe’s “I have other business” spiel and politely, but firmly, ended the conversation, promising that her questions would be addressed that evening.

“So, am I to gather that we are no longer under a state of siege?” I asked after hanging up.

Wolfe readjusted his bulk and frowned. “I am operating under the assumption that Mr. McManus was the individual commissioned to end your life. Do you agree?”

“That thought certainly had occurred to me,” I said, “although it is possible that more than one person has it in for yours truly.”

“No doubt given our occupation, others might wish to exact retribution against you. But murder I find to be highly unlikely in more than one situation. However, you are the individual who has been targeted — and wounded — and I would not presume to advise you as to how to protect yourself.”

“I’ve gotten this far in life, and I’m still upright and above ground; I’ll take my chances. Right now, I’m damned tired of sneaking out the back way like some guy hastily dashing out of a woman’s bedroom as her husband comes in the front door. You are the one who has the brains in this operation, as you are so often eager to point out. Do you have any idea who might have commissioned McManus to dispatch me?”

“Not at the moment,” Wolfe said as he picked up his current book.

“Do you have any special instructions regarding Miss Hutchinson’s visit?” I asked.

“None,” he said. “Let us hope she is happy to be reunited with her money.”

At five minutes to six, the doorbell rang. I was pleased that Cordelia, our maybe-client, was on time, although I was not surprised. I swung open the door and gave her an exaggerated bow, just because I felt like it.

She stood on the stoop as if she were riveted to the spot, her eyes unblinking. “Archie, what has happened?”

“We will give you a report. Please come in.”

She gingerly — I don’t what else to call it — stepped across the threshold and into the front hall, clutching her purse as if it might suddenly fly out of her grip. With a gentle hand on her elbow, I steered her toward the office, although she seemed reluctant to move ahead.

“As you can see, Mr. Wolfe is not here yet. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee, tea, or maybe a glass of wine? Our selection is very good,” I said as I motioned her toward the red leather chair.

“No, thank you... No.” Cordelia sat and stared up at me as though I didn’t look right to her.

“I did shave this morning, didn’t I?” I asked as I ran a hand across my cheek. “And I hope I washed behind the ears. And I also hope that I remembered to properly knot my tie.”

Cordelia blushed. “I’m sorry, I’m still...” Her unfinished sentence hung in the air.

“Ah, of course. You have to still be stunned about everything that happened last night.”

She opened her mouth to reply but stopped as Wolfe stepped into the room. “Miss Hutchinson,” he said, moving behind his desk, sitting, and ringing for beer. “I trust Mr. Goodwin offered you refreshments.”

“Yes, he did. Nothing for me, thank you.” She still seemed trancelike.

Wolfe considered her. “How much do you know about the events of last night in Central Park?”

“Very little,” she said, shifting in the chair, “except that Archie told me someone was killed and that you still have the money.”

“To say the least, the operation did not go as planned,” Wolfe replied as he opened the first of two beers Fritz placed before him and poured it into a pilsner glass, watching the foam settle. “Mr. Goodwin delivered the valise with the money to the base of a specific tree, per the instructions you received. As he walked away, he was shot in the shoulder and fell.”

“Oh, oh! How awful!”

“Let me continue, please. The man who shot Mr. Goodwin was then shot — fatally, by an unknown gunman. The body has been identified as that of Noah McManus, who had an extensive criminal record. Does that name have any significance to you?”

“No, should it?” Cordelia asked.

Wolfe raised his shoulders and let them drop. “Not necessarily, although it seems apparent that he was sent by the blackmailer to retrieve the money. Unless, of course, he was the blackmailer.”

“His name means absolutely nothing to me,” Cordelia stressed.

“Just so. This brings us to the money, which we will return to you. Archie, please.”

I went to the safe and pulled out the attaché case, laying it on my desk and opening it.

“Miss Hutchinson, I invite you to count the currency and verify that it all is there,” Wolfe said.

She got up and eyed the bundles of dough in the case. “I don’t feel that is necessary,” she said. “I trust you both.”

“I insist,” Wolfe said. “Sit at Mr. Goodwin’s desk. This will take a while.”

Cordelia reluctantly parked in my chair and began the count while I wandered out to the kitchen for a glass of milk and to watch Fritz finish preparations for dinner: lobster in white wine sauce with tarragon, along with a celery and cantaloupe salad.

By the time I sauntered back to the office, our guest had just finished her audit. “It is all here,” she said to Wolfe.

He nodded, if you consider his slight dip of a chin as a nod. “Archie, type out a receipt for Miss Hutchinson to sign. Word it thusly: ‘Received from Nero Wolfe, seventy-five thousand dollars in cash.’”

“Is this really necessary?” she asked as she vacated my chair and moved over to the red leather one. “I said before that I trust you.”

“Nonetheless, we must maintain a businesslike relationship,” Wolfe replied.

“But I feel guilty. I have still never paid you anything, Mr. Wolfe.”

“Would you be more comfortable if I asked for one thousand dollars?”

“Yes, yes I would,” she said, pulling out a checkbook and starting to write. “But what about the blackmail? Will you continue to represent me? I can give you a retainer, and knowing your reputation, I am sure it should be for far more than a thousand dollars.”

“No, the amount I quoted will be sufficient for now,” Wolfe said. “Do you feel that after last night’s events, the blackmailer will continue to beset you?”

Cordelia shook her head. “I... just don’t know. I can’t say.”

“Let us see what, if anything, develops in the next few days, Miss Hutchinson. For now, Mr. Goodwin will escort you home in a taxi. You should not be venturing forth alone with that amount of money in your possession.”

As usual, Wolfe had volunteered me for a task without bothering to inform me in advance. This would, of course, mean my having a late dinner in the kitchen, since Wolfe does not delay his own dining for anything less than an earthquake — which New York rarely, if ever, gets — or a power failure. Now that I think of it, we once did have the lights go out in the middle of dinner, and on that occasion, the lord and master of the house simply had Fritz bring a candelabra into the dining room.