Murder in E Minor

13

I’m sure Fritz’s poached salmon with mousseline d’homard was superb, but for the third straight day I was eating without tasting. I envy Wolfe’s facility for totally shutting out business whenever he crosses the sill into the dining room; that afternoon he put away three big helpings of the salmon, all the while holding forth on how future historians might view the presidency of one Richard M. Nixon. I threw in a few comments here and there, but on balance I was hardly a good conversational partner. As strong as my own feelings are about the man from San Clemente, I couldn’t get my mind off Maria Radovich and Jason Remmers and Gerald Milner, the last of whom was at that very moment sitting in the South Room eating the same food we were.

It seemed as if lunch lasted six hours, but finally we were back in the office with coffee, which meant business was fair game again. “Look,” I said, swiveling in my chair to face Wolfe, “how long are we going to keep our houseguest? I can’t see that he’s doing us any good here.”

Wolfe sipped his coffee and set the cup down deliberately. “I agree that the time has come to turn Mr. Milner loose. My principal reason for housing him was to give Mr. Cohen and his newspaper an advantage over their competition on the story. They now have that advantage, so he should be told that he is free to go.”

What Wolfe was actually saying was that I should suggest to Milner that he pack. Heaven forbid that Wolfe himself have to tell a guest to leave. I was about to make a remark when the doorbell rang.

“Probably Cramer,” I said, “back again to try talking us off the case. Are you available?”

He grunted. “Yes, I’ll see him.”

But it wasn’t the inspector’s mug I saw when I looked through the one-way panel. I wouldn’t have wanted to try guessing her age, although her well-coiffed white hair told me she’d already been around awhile when I first saw the light of day back in Ohio. Her skin looked as good as a teenager’s, though, and if pressed for a single adjective, I would have called her elegant. She was wearing a black coat with a white fur collar that had to have set her back a few bills. Whoever she was, I concluded she was no immediate threat, so I slid off the chain lock.

“Yes?” I said, swinging open the door.

“I would like to see Mr. Wolfe,” she said. “I realize I don’t have an appointment, but I know he is at home most of the time.” Her voice seemed tinged with French, although as Wolfe has pointed out a number of times, I’m out of my league when it comes to languages and accents.

“I don’t know if he can be disturbed right now,” I said, stepping back and letting her in so I could close the door against the November gusts. “I’ll ask, though. Who should I say is calling?”

“My name is Alexandra Adjari,” she said.

It registered, of course, and I turned toward the open door to the office. When I got there, Wolfe was on his feet, looking past me into the hall with an expression I’d never seen him wear. I was trying to read it when she eased past me. “Hello, Nero, it’s been a long time,” she said, holding out a gloved hand.

“Alexandra,” he answered, shaking hands across the desk. “I recognized your voice instantly.”

“Even though you hadn’t heard it in heaven knows how many years?” she said with a laugh. A nice laugh. “I don’t believe you, Nero, but thank you for saying it. You’re looking well.”

Wolfe gestured at himself. “As you can see, I’ve added layers through the years — insulation against life’s myriad assaults.” He turned toward me. “This is Mr. Goodwin.”

She took my hand with a firm grasp and smiled. “I assumed so when I saw him at the door. I’ve read a good deal about both of you through the years. I see the New York Times frequently.”

Wolfe dipped his head a full inch, which is for him a sweeping bow. “Please,” he said, indicating the red leather chair. I took her coat and hung it up, and when I got back, he was asking if she’d eaten.

“Yes, thank you, I had lunch on the plane coming over. I’ve only just been in New York an hour or so. I started making arrangements to come as soon as I heard about Milos. As you can imagine, it’s big news in London, too.”

Wolfe nodded, and at his suggestion, Alexandra agreed to have coffee. After Fritz had served her and she’d taken a first sip, he readjusted himself and dabbed the corner of his mouth with a handkerchief. “You’ve come for the memorial services?”

“Partly,” she said, “but also to be with Maria Radovich. I’m very fond of her, and I thought she might need some comforting, having no relatives other than Milos. I tried to call her after I checked in at the Churchill, but there was no answer at their apartment.”

“Mr. Goodwin knows her whereabouts,” Wolfe said, “and can tell you how to reach her. I can assure you she’s in the care of friendly and sympathetic persons. As far as memorial arrangements, details are not yet firm.”

Alexandra waved her hand. “That’s not my main concern,” she said. “Let the dead bury their dead. I know that must sound callous, considering that I was married to the man for seventeen years, but as I think you know, it was a marriage in name only after the first three years or so. We were separated the rest of the time, and we were divorced...” — she paused to think — “... more years ago than I care to remember. I don’t think I’ve even seen Milos more than four or five times in all the years since then. I can still remember what you told me after I decided to marry him — can you?”

Wolfe nodded and took another sip of coffee.

She went on. “You said we wouldn’t last five years together, and that I should reconsider. In the early months after the wedding, I laughed to myself about that, thinking how wrong you were. But by the end of that first year, I knew what a mistake we’d made, how totally unsuited we were to each other. When I was with him constantly over a long period of time, I found that Milos was hard to love, harder still to like. Fortunately, his music took him away so frequently that we stayed together longer than we would have otherwise. Even at that, the marriage was an almost total disaster. The only good things I can think of were that we didn’t have any children and that because of Milos, I came to know Maria.”

She paused for some coffee. “Long after we divorced, Milos came to London as conductor of the Philharmonia, and I met him at a reception. We were polite to each other, and he introduced me to Maria, who was then about thirteen. I liked her right away, and she seemed fond of me, too. I know Milos tried to discourage her from being friendly with me, at least at first, but Maria has her own mind, and we grew close over the next several years. Since she moved here with Milos, we write to each other only occasionally, but I still think of her often. It’s because of Maria that I came. Now that I’m here, though, I find another purpose: In my room at the hotel was a copy of today’s New York Gazette, and it said that you’re investigating Milos’s murder, that you’re not satisfied the right man has been arrested. Is that correct?”

“It is,” Wolfe said.

“The newspaper also said you’re acting on Maria’s behalf.”

“Also true,” Wolfe said. “I’m sure she’ll tell you as much when you meet.”

“I have never met her beau, of course, but I suppose it’s natural she would think him innocent. You must also be convinced of his innocence.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I am,” Wolfe said, “although I can offer no other candidate at the present time.”

“I’m sure your reasons are good. I know Maria has limited funds of her own, at least until the estate is settled, but I have no such constraint. Nero, I want to employ you to find Milos’s murderer, and you may set whatever fee you wish.”

I looked at Wolfe. We already had a client, albeit one whose assets would hardly qualify her as a preferred customer at Metropolitan Trust. But in the last few hours, two heavy hitters had stepped up and asked to join the team. I waited for his answer, although I knew what it would be.

“I appreciate the offer, but—”

“I know, you’re wondering why I would do this for a man for whom I had no feelings all these years. I suppose it’s because of Maria, and because he was my husband once. And perhaps because of my own conscience. I was as much the cause of the marriage’s failure as he.”

“What I started to say,” Wolfe replied, “was that I appreciate the offer, but even Miss Radovich is only a token client. As you well know, I owe Milos Stefanovic my life.”

She nodded and looked thoughtful. “Yes, that day in Cetinje, the police, the blockade...”

“I was a consummate fool,” Wolfe said. “I made every possible mistake, but Milos appeared from somewhere with a rifle and a pistol. He must have killed three of them.”

“Five, he said, when he told me the story later. But I seem to recall that you saved him at least once also, Nero.”

Wolfe turned a palm over. “I suppose one could say we all saved each other on numerous occasions. But nothing as marked as what happened that afternoon. It is a debt, and I dislike being in debt.”

“You’ve changed very little,” Alexandra said, smiling again. “Even then, you hated owing anything to anyone. Well, if you won’t take my money, you certainly have my moral support, for what that’s worth.”

“Thank you,” Wolfe said, bowing again. I was beginning to get worried about him. Three times this week he had stood when women entered or left the office, if you count twice for Maria, and I’d lost track of the number of times he’d bowed. If this trend kept up, he’d soon start helping women on with their coats or opening the front door for them.

“Nero,” Alexandra said, “I’ve come to New York a number of times through the years, and I’ve often thought of calling or stopping by. For some reason, I never did, but I always told myself I would one day. And I promised myself that when I did, I would ask to see those famous orchids. Is that presumptuous?”

Wolfe raised his eyebrows. “Presumptuous? Quite the contrary. Mr. Goodwin will tell you that I rarely deny that request. If you feel rested, we can go now,” he said, lifting himself from the chair.

“I certainly do,” she replied, and they made for the hall. “You’ll stay for dinner, of course,” Wolfe asked.

“I’d like that, if it’s no imposition,” Alexandra replied.

“In this house, a meal is always—” The rest of Wolfe’s sentence was chopped off by the closing of the elevator door.

I sat back down in my chair and stared at the wall. She and Wolfe went back a long way, and the relationship obviously hadn’t been a casual one. Well, I’ll be damned, I said to myself, or maybe it was out loud. I thought I had long ago learned everything I was going to know about Nero Wolfe, but here was something new. I smiled and started in on some of the office work that had been piling up.

I’d been at it about ten minutes when the phone rang. It was Wolfe, from the plant rooms. “I wanted to remind you that Mr. Milner is free to go, and indeed, he’d probably like to leave soon so he can visit Miss Radovich. Also, I know you see Saul regularly to play cards. What about Fred — is he still working?”

“Yes, or at least he’s trying. Bascomb uses him once in a while, but I know things have been slow for him.”

“Can you have both of them here tomorrow, say, at eleven?”

“I can certainly try,” I said. “And by the way, I may have forgotten to mention that I’m dining at Miss Rowan’s tonight.”

“Satisfactory,” he said, hanging up.

I allowed myself another grin. You may think the “satisfactory” was in response to my trying to deliver a pair of men to the office the next morning, but it was really his reaction to knowing there would be only two at the dinner table in the brownstone. And for the record, I didn’t have a date at Lily Rowan’s, although I was pretty sure I could wangle one. While I was at it, maybe I could hook an invite for Milner as well, since there was a certain party at Lily’s that he wanted to see. I turned back to the phone.