Alan and I picked up our hats and quietly left the ballroom after Wilchinski had gone down with Mrs. Verte. Mr. Bennett had sat back down at the table, looking stunned and hurt. Miss Eye and Mr. Gillingham went back onstage, presumably to rehearse some more or just talk about what had happened. We took the elevator back down to the eighth floor and then to our room.
Alan tossed his hat on the dresser and flopped down on the bed nearest the window, unbuttoning his jacket.
“Gee, I never would have guessed Mrs. Verte killed him. She didn’t seem the type, and I thought she was one of the few people who actually liked him.”
“That was her intent, of course, to make us think she liked him, that she had no motive.”
“What finally tipped you off?”
“When I was reciting basic French words to you, I remembered that green was verte. Then you mistaking Henning for Hemming got me to thinking that things aren’t always what they first appear to be. And I kept coming back to that blank look Blount had when Mrs. Verte mentioned her maiden name was Dousman. Of course, at first we thought his look was because of Mrs. Verte’s off-color joke, but Blount didn’t seem the type to be offended by something like that.”
“Golly, you put the pieces together well.”
“And just in the nick of time. Wilchinski was losing patience.”
“He never seemed to have much patience to begin with. So what’s going to happen to her?”
I shook my head, putting my hat on the dresser next to his and checking my reflection in the dresser mirror. “I’m not sure, though it’s possible she may get off.”
“Really?”
I shrugged as I ran a comb through my hair. “Wilchinski still seemed intent that it was an unknown robber.”
“Yeah, but if her fingerprints are on the watch…”
I put my comb away and turned to Alan. “If Wilchinski even bothers to check. He said he would, but I have my doubts. I don’t think he likes my butting in, figuring things out when he didn’t, making him look bad. And in his opinion, Blount was a nasty little man that deserved to be murdered.”
“But that’s not right, Heath.”
“I agree, but I think we’ve done all we can. People don’t always get what they deserve, and they don’t always deserve what they get.”
Alan started fiddling with his tie absentmindedly. “I suppose that’s true.”
“Maybe Wilchinski will surprise us. Maybe he’ll look for the fingerprint, make the arrest, and press charges. Maybe she’ll go to trial.”
“And if she does? If she’s found guilty?”
“She could go to the gas chamber.”
Alan looked away from me. “Wowzer.”
“The fact remains she murdered someone in cold blood, with intent. As I said before, we must not, cannot judge.”
“What if she’s not found guilty? Or if Wilchinski decides to let her go?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. She’ll go back to New York and all this will be forgotten, I suppose. She’s a strong woman.”
“What about Mr. Bennett?”
“Good old Mr. Bennett. I feel sorry for him, but he’s relatively young yet. Who knows, he might still find one of those librarians. Since the war, eligible men are in short supply, you know. I doubt there will be any need to disclose what Blount did to him and why, even if Mrs. Verte does go to trial. The prosecuting attorney will focus on Rose Dousman, the fingerprint, and Mrs. Gittings’s testimony, along with ours, I imagine.”
“Jeepers, you think Mrs. Gittings would testify?”
“Hard to say. The defense attorney may argue she’s not a fit witness. Nevertheless, I think Mr. Bennett’s career and reputation will be safe. Certainly Miss Eye and Mr. Gillingham have nothing to gain by exposing him.”
“I’m glad. He’s a good man.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m glad, too. He made a few mistakes, but he’s learned from them. As for Miss Eye and Mr. Gillingham, their secrets will be safe, too. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if they both have long, happy careers.”
“Wouldn’t that be something? We could say we knew her when.”
I laughed. “Yes, and we have her autograph,” I said, removing the program from my pocket and setting it on the nightstand.
Alan took his out and set it next to mine for safekeeping. “What about Mrs. Gittings?”
“I worry about her most of all, but I think she will be all right, also. The man she hated is gone. Maybe we can come down here once in a while and visit her.”
“I’d like that,” Alan said, turning on to his side and propping himself up on one elbow.
“I thought you might,” I said, smiling.
“It certainly has been a weekend. Say, you never got the tie for your dad.”
“I’ll pick one up in Milwaukee when we get back tomorrow, probably get it on sale.”
“That’s a good idea. This trip sure didn’t turn out exactly how I’d pictured it. Maybe my lucky rock isn’t so lucky after all.”
“Oh, I don’t know. We solved the murder, didn’t we?”
“Yeah, I guess we did. But still, maybe it’s time I place it on a shelf in my apartment.”
“You sure?”
“You’re all the luck I need, Heath.”
I grinned. “You know what? This is our last night in Chicago—why don’t we put our tuxes on, and I’ll take you to the Pump Room for dinner, and then we’ll go clubbing? We’ll find some nice girls to dance with and we’ll dance close by, pretending we’re dancing with each other.”
Alan didn’t say anything for a bit. He sat up, hands on his knees, and stared at the carpet, his feet on the floor. Finally, he looked at me, his eyes moist. “No, let’s stay right here in our room tonight instead, order room service, turn on the radio, and dance. Just the two of us.”
I cocked my head in surprise. “But we could do that back in Milwaukee, Alan.”
“I know, but I don’t want to pretend to dance with you. I want to dance with you. I’ll even let you lead.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Life’s too short to just pretend, and we have to do enough of that every day.”
I went over to the dresser and turned the radio on, letting it warm up as it buzzed and crackled to life. A little fine-tuning and soon the sounds of the Andrew Sisters swelled forth. I put out my hands to him. “Then let’s do it, Alan. No pretending tonight.”
His face was beaming as he got to his feet and came into my arms. “If you’re waiting for me, you’re wasting your time.”