The Missing Heiress

Chapter 19

The early edition of the Gazette, an evening paper, usually hits our front stoop a little after noon, and this day was no exception. I brought it in and found the item, headlined “Man Shot Dead in the Village,” on page four. The five-paragraph piece added nothing to what we already knew. I handed the paper to Wolfe, who read the item and made a face. “We will be hearing from our clients, of course,” he said.

“Assuming they get this edition, or if there has been something about the killing on the radio, which is a strong possibility, and—” I was interrupted by the phone.

“Goodwin, I just learned about Maureen’s brother,” Eric Mason said sharply. “What do you know about it?”

“Probably not much more than you do,” I replied, neglecting to tell him I had been on the scene.

“I want to know what you and Wolfe are going to do about this. And more important, have you gotten anywhere on finding Maureen? I have this feeling that nothing is going on.”

I cupped my mouthpiece and whispered to Wolfe, “Mason’s on the line, and he’s hot. Want to talk to him?”

“Hello, Mr. Mason, this is Nero Wolfe.”

“I just told Goodwin that it seems like you have gotten nowhere in finding Maureen. And now, with her brother dead, the situation is worse, it’s dire. Good God, she may not even be alive, for all we know.”

“We have no reason whatever to believe Miss Carr is deceased,” Wolfe said. “And we continue to explore new avenues in locating her.”

“You sound like you are stringing me along.”

“I am sorry you feel that way, sir. If you prefer, we can negate our relationship, which would free you to find other means of attempting to locate the woman.”

There was no response on the line for what seemed like a minute but was less than half that. The silence was broken by a loud exhale, and then, “No... sorry, my nerves were already frayed, and now, with what happened in the Village last night... no, go on with your work.” Mason hung up without waiting for a response.

“I had better call Lily and bring her up to date,” I told Wolfe, who nodded his approval.

“I hope I’m not disturbing something important,” I said after she picked up.

“Not at all, my dear. As you are all too aware, I tend to start my day slowly. I am just now finishing breakfast — a very hearty and delicious breakfast, although probably not of the same quality as you receive each morning from Fritz.”

“Still, I do not think you’re being deprived. I would like to start your day — even though it is after noon — on a positive note, but I have some disturbing news: Maureen’s brother, Everett, was shot dead last night in Greenwich Village.”

“Oh, Archie. What... happened. Who... who did it?”

“Sorry to say we don’t have any answers yet, nor do the police. There apparently were no eyewitnesses. And before you ask, we still don’t have any leads regarding Maureen.”

“I should call Sofia. I haven’t talked to her for a few days, and I’m sure that if she had heard anything, she would have let me know.”

“Good idea to check in with her,” I said. “Let us know what, if anything, you are able to learn.”

We heard from Saul Panzer two days later. He called and identified himself as I was in the office after breakfast. “This sounds like a local call, which means you are not sunning yourself on some Riviera beach that looks like a travel agency poster advertising France.”

“No such luck, although it was tempting to stay at least another day,” Saul said. “The hotel was top-notch, and the service was something I could easily get used to. I can stop by and report when Mr. Wolfe comes down from the roof, assuming there are no objections.”

None whatever, I told him. And sure enough, he already was settled in the red leather chair with coffee when Wolfe strode into the office at just after eleven, settled into his reinforced chair, and rang for beer. “I trust your flights were without incident,” he asked Saul.

“Everything went smoothly, thanks. And as I told Archie, the living is good down there in the South of France. But then, you don’t want to hear me spout a travelogue.”

“Perhaps not, but I am comforted to learn that this assignment did not prove to be a trial. Before we continue, are you aware that Everett Carr was shot dead in Greenwich Village three nights ago?”

Saul took in air and shook his head. “No, what are the details?”

“We will supply them later. What did you learn on your trip?”

“First, that Elaine Musgrove is a peach, and I don’t toss that word around recklessly. She welcomed me to her villa as if I were an old friend. When I told her the current situation, she was genuinely concerned about her classmate,” Saul said, consulting his notebook. “‘Just after I had left New York and got down here for a two-month stay,’ she said, ‘Maureen cabled and asked me if she could stay at my house in the Village for a while.’

“‘I was puzzled by her request, since her own place on Park Avenue is every bit as nice as what I’ve got downtown. But she seemed agitated over the telephone, which is unlike her, and it was quickly clear to me she did not want to talk about whatever her problem is. I knew she wouldn’t make a request like this without a very good reason, so I told the caretaker to make sure that she got a key.’

“We talked a lot more and even had dinner together one night,” Saul said, “and it was easy to see how close these two have been, going way back to their college years. Miss Musgrove said she had no idea what might have driven her longtime friend to go into hiding. At that point, I asked about the brother and she looked uncomfortable.

“‘Maureen almost never talks about him,’ she said. ‘It’s not as though she’s ashamed of him, exactly, more like she’s disappointed. Everett never married, not that it’s such a bad thing, but he doesn’t seem to need or want companionship of any kind. His behavior makes him the classic example of a loner.’

“I asked if he is an alcoholic,” Saul continued, “and she said that seems likely. But she added that given what she had learned from Maureen, he had a serious addiction, not to drugs but to gambling, particularly horse racing, which is no surprise to us, of course.”

“Did Miss Musgrove say she had met Everett Carr?” Wolfe asked.

“She had, but only on a few occasions. To her, he seemed withdrawn, sullen, possibly suffering from some sort of depression, and he obviously was not interested in his appearance. ‘Seeing him, it was hard to believe that he had come from a wealthy family,’ she said, adding that his sister had a pained look when she was with him.”

“I should think so,” I said. “It’s hard to see someone going down the drain before your eyes.”

“Well, from what you have told me, he is all the way down that drain now,” Saul observed. “Give me the details.”

We filled him in on the Greenwich Village shooting and on Cramer’s visit to the brownstone. “Maybe Everett’s death will flush his sister out from her hideaway, or is that wishful thinking?”

“No, I do not believe it is,” Wolfe said. “Word will by some channel reach Miss Carr about her brother’s death, if it has not already, and she will emerge from what may be a self-imposed exile.”

“Good point,” Saul said. “By the way, I should have mentioned this sooner — Elaine Musgrove gave me a key to her house.”

I started to bark Yes, damn it, you really should have mentioned it sooner! but before I could spit the words out, Wolfe said, “I was hoping to hear that, Saul. A visit to that residence is in order.”

“You heard the man, Archie. Let’s go.”

“Saul, I must intercede here,” Wolfe said. “There will be plenty of time to make that trip to Greenwich Village after lunch. Today’s carte is broiled shad with sorrel sauce and Fritz’s special bread. There will be enough for three.”

“Now you heard the man, Mr. Panzer,” I said. “I vote with my employer.”

“I gracefully yield to the majority,” Saul said with a salute, and we went to the dining room.

It was after two thirty when we climbed out of a cab at Elaine Musgrove’s home on Eleventh Street. “Looks quiet,” I remarked and Saul nodded. He pulled out the key he had gotten in France and opened the front door. We tiptoed in, guns drawn, as if we were expecting company, but we were met only with silence.

By preagreement, I took the ground floor while Saul went upstairs to do his prowling. From everything I saw, the place appeared to be immaculate. Living room, formal dining room, den, and kitchen all were for company. Not even a layer of dust, which would have been expected in the time the lady of the house had been absent.

I went one up one flight and found Saul in what looked like a sitting room, opening drawers and turning over cushions. “Did Miss Musgrove ever tell you that she had a cleaning woman?”

“I asked, and she said, ‘Why should I bother? Each time I come back from France or elsewhere, I have someone come in and do a thorough dusting and sweeping, and she then comes every week after that. Why should I bother keeping the house in pristine condition when I am away? After all, who is here to appreciate it?’”

“The lady has a solid argument,” I told Saul. “But that being the case, why do things seem so spotless here now?”

“Archie, I have been asking myself that for the last few minutes. So far, I haven’t seen any signs of dust.”

“Which means someone — presumably Maureen Carr — has been here recently, very recently.”

“And yet, when I went through the bedrooms, everything was neat and tidy,” Saul said. “I couldn’t see any sign of recent habitation — except...”

“Habitation, now there’s a word Nero Wolfe would use. Wait — what do you mean, except?”

“No matter how well a place gets swept and cleaned up, one thing that is damned near impossible to get rid of is cigarette smoke, and it was definitely in the air in one of the guest bedrooms.”

“So maybe Maureen is a smoker,” I said, “although in the few times I have seen her, I don’t recall seeing her with a cigarette.”

“What about her late brother?” Saul asked.

“Yes, of course!” I said, slapping my forehead. “When Carr’s body was searched, the cops found an opened package of cigarettes, Luckies.”

“Which makes it highly possible that both sister and brother had been camping out in the Musgrove residence.”

“And before they made their exit — maybe because Hirsch and his thug had paid them a visit — Maureen must have done some fast tidying up.” Saul and I continued going through the house from top to bottom without turning up anything significant, although for the record, I also smelled cigarette smoke in one of the rooms.

“Sorry to say this, Archie, but I don’t think that we are any closer to finding Maureen Carr than we were before.”

“Maybe not, although it’s just possible that she has returned to her Park Avenue digs.”

Saul lifted a shoulder. “Hey, it’s worth a visit, at least to see the guy who works in front, the one you said you’ve met.”

We hailed a taxi, whose driver seemed to be in training for the Indianapolis 500 auto race. I shouldn’t complain, though, because he never hit a car, a bus, or another cab, although at least part of the reason for that good fortune was the skill and the honking of the other drivers on the streets he raced along, changing lanes as if he were indeed on that storied Indiana “brickyard.”

When, with a screech of brakes, we pulled up in front of Maureen Carr’s building, I paid the hackie. I was pleased to see Seamus, the doorman, standing erect at his post out front. “You may not remember me,” I told him as the taxi roared away.

“Ah, but I do,” he said with a pleasant Irish lilt and a tip of his billed cap. “I have been told that I have a good eye for faces, and a good memory as well. You would be Mr. Goodwin, if I am not mistaken, and you were here not so very long ago with Sofia and Miss Rowan.”

“You are correct. This is my very good friend Mr. Panzer, and we are here to ask if you have seen Miss Carr since the last time I came.”

“Ah, I of course know Mr. Panzer and have for years, I am happy to say. As for Miss Carr, I have not encountered the lady now for several weeks. I do hope her absence from here is not a cause for concern. She has been away before, of course, but usually not for this long a period.”

“Has Sofia come during that time, other than when we were here along with Miss Rowan?”

“Yes, once, and Miss Rowan also came again, to pick up mail on two occasions. I hope I was not overstepping my authority by allowing her to go upstairs. She showed me a key.”

“Oh no, not in the least,” I assured him and thanked him. He then flagged us a cab, and as we pulled away, I looked out of the back window, seeing the concern etched on his usually smiling face.