Too Many Women

CHAPTER Thirty

“Yes, turtledove,” I said, “you may have another Martini if it’s okay with Emily Post in the middle of a meal, and further if you don’t get dizzy. I need your head clear.” I had been with Gwynne enough to know that with the third or fourth drink her lovely eyes had a slight tendency to protrude and also to acquire a film of excess moisture. Also she was inclined to start cussing. I preferred her pure and angelic and had told her so frankly.

We were eating shad roe and avocado salad in a corner booth at Frisbie’s.

“I don’t get dizzy,” she pouted. “A girl like me can’t afford to. My head is always clear, and what do you want it clear for? Some more crap about that awful night, that Friday night I’ll never forget? Out of bed to police headquarters! I never thought I’d come to that, I can tell you!” “Neither did I,” I said earnestly. “No, it’s not about that awful night, or at least not about your part of it.” I took time out to tell the waiter to bring the Martini, and, to be sociable, more bourbon for me.

“The reason I’ve been hesitating,” I said, “is that it’s extremely confidential.

On the other hand, I badly need your advice. I have a fair idea of what your opinion of Hester Livsey is, but-well, is she actually a little batty? What do you think?” Gwynne snorted. I had told her she should give up snorting. “That girl batty? I should say not! What’s she trying to put over on you?” “That’s just it,” I said in a puzzled tone. “I can’t figure it that she’s trying to put anything over. I can’t figure it at all.” “I bet she is. What’s she done?” I hesitated. I gazed seriously at the lovely blue eves. “This is very confidential, Gwynne darling.” “Sure.” “I’ve told Mr. Wolfe, and he has given me permission to consult you.” “For God’s sake go on and spill it!” “Well-I suppose-Hester Livsey told me this morning that she knows who killed Waldo Moore. She said she has known for a long time.” Gwynne’s fork, with a hunk of avocado, stopped halfway to her mouth. “She told you she knows?” “Yep.” “No!” “So she told me.” “Jesus!” The fork with the avocado slowly descended to the plate and rested there.

“I don’t wonder you’re impressed, darling,” I said sympathetically. “So am I.

She was telling me when Hoff butted in and chased me. I went to tell Mr. Wolfe about it, and we’re up a stump because we don’t know her well enough. He thought I should consult someone who is well informed and trustworthy and who knows all about her. Obviously that meant you. Is she batty or what?” The waiter came with the drinks. Gwynne looked at her Martini as if it were a complication she was not prepared for, then picked it up and downed it in two gulps.

“Is she batty?” I persisted.

“She is certainly not.” Gwynne used her napkin. “My God, how awfully audacious!

Did she say who it was?” “No. She might have, I don’t know, if Hoff hadn’t interrupted us. What do you-” “Did she say the-the same one killed Naylor too?” “Not in so many words, but it amounted to that.” “Did she say how she knows?” “No, but I think she will. That’s what I want to ask you about, how to handle her. If she’s not merely off her nut she must have-” “I’m late,” Gwynne declared. She pushed her plate away, upsetting the salt shaker. “I only have an hour and I’ve got to get-” “No you don’t,” I said firmly. “I need help. I need advice, and I’m depending on you.” I glanced at my wrist. “You’ve got a good ten minutes. What about her?

Would she say a thing like that just to get even with someone? What’s she like?”

“She’s a snooty conceited bitch.” I kept her there the full ten minutes, but got no further useful information regarding Hester Livsey or anyone or anything else. Gwynne didn’t really put her mind on it. She was too anxious to get back to her work.