As promised, we saw all the tall buildings we could, in spite of the fog and drizzle, which did little to dampen Alan’s enthusiasm. In addition to that, we window-shopped, peeking into all the fine shops and galleries along Michigan Avenue, including the Allegrae Auction House, Tiffany, Cartier, Louis Vuitton, and Wolford. Though tempted, we didn’t buy anything except a few penny postcards Alan wanted to send home. Along the way we took turns taking pictures of each other with Alan’s new camera, posing here and there around the city. After Alan treated us to an early dinner at a charming little Italian place on St. Claire Street, we wandered back to the Edmonton, tired, damp, and bedraggled but deliriously happy.
Back in the comfort of our room, we took turns taking hot showers. As I exited the bathroom in my towel, I noticed Alan at the desk writing out his postcards, some of the Water Tower, some of the Wrigley Building and the Edmonton, and some of Michigan Avenue.
“Who are you sending those to?” I said as I dried off.
Alan looked up at me. “I’m keeping a few for my scrapbook. The others I’m mailing to my landlady, my neighbor, Mrs. Heiges, my friend Bill, and my aunt and uncle in Lanesboro, Minnesota.”
“And what are you telling them?”
“Just what we saw and did today, how the weather is, stuff like that. Can’t fit much on these things.”
“No, I suppose not. Did you mention me?”
Alan looked up at me with those puppy-dog eyes. “Just that I’m here with a good friend.”
“Of course. A very good friend. Well, I think the front desk has stamps. We can drop them off later to be mailed.”
“Good, thanks. Isn’t there anyone you want to send a postcard to?”
I shrugged. “My mom and dad, my Aunt Verbina, and Mrs. Murphy. She’d get a kick out of that. Maybe my cousin Liz in Paris. But maybe our next trip.”
“Suit yourself. I suppose I had better shower and change now, too. I’m pretty much finished.”
“Go ahead. I promise I won’t read your postcards.”
Alan laughed. “I have no secrets. Not from you anyway. I won’t be but a minute.” He got up from the desk and padded off to the bathroom as I started to get dressed.
Once he was showered, he changed into his evening suit, which had been neatly pressed and hung in the closet by the valet while we were out, along with my suit and my tux for tomorrow night.
Feeling somewhat refreshed, we returned to the lobby and dropped his postcards off at the desk after purchasing stamps.
“You’ll probably beat them home, Alan,” I said.
“Maybe, but I wanted to send them anyway. I don’t get out of Milwaukee much.”
“This is just the beginning, good friend. What say we go in search of cocktails next?”
“That is a capital idea.”
We found a seat at a table outside the Acorn Bar with a wonderful view of the lobby and watched the people go by, Alan still somewhat awestruck, which I found adorable. Presently a cocktail waitress came by, and I ordered a dry vodka martini with a pickle. Alan had a beer. She returned quickly enough with the drinks, and Alan again insisted on paying.
“It’s the least I can do, Heath. Honestly.”
“All right, buddy, since you insist.”
“I do.” He gave her a dollar and told her to keep the change. After she walked away, Alan took a swig and looked at me. “Jeepers, twenty-five cents for a beer and sixty cents for a martini. That would have only been seventy-five cents total back in Milwaukee.”
I laughed as I tasted my martini. “Everything’s bigger and more expensive in the big city, Alan.”
The drinks went down easily, and we were both feeling quite relaxed and happy when from just over our shoulders came a singsong voice we had heard before.
“Good evening, gentlemen, monsieurs,” Mr. Blount said.
Keyes and I set our nearly empty drinks down and stood up. “Good evening, sir,” we both replied. “We’re just having a drink. We’ve had a long day out seeing the sights.”
“Oui, traveling and sightseeing is always tiring. You mentioned earlier you just checked in today, yes?”
“That’s right. We checked in, shopped, spent the afternoon being tourists, and had an early dinner. Then we changed and now here we are. It will be an early evening tonight.”
“And when do you go home?”
“Early Monday morning.”
“Ah, bon. So you have the rest of the weekend.” He pulled out his wallet and extracted a business card, which he handed to me. “That is my private number, Monsieur Barrington, in case you change your mind about an evening of entertainment. I can arrange it for you with a moment’s notice. All very discreet.”
I took the card and glanced at it. Victor Blount, Jackson Lake 3-4829. “Thanks, but I don’t think we’ll need any other entertainment.”
He shrugged. “Keep it just in case. One never knows.”
I put the card in my wallet, just to be polite. “Right,” I said.
He smiled his thin little smile. “Très bien.”
“That means ‘very good,’ Alan,” I said, but Alan just rolled his eyes.
“May I join you, gentlemen? I’ve just closed my shop for the evening. and I’m waiting on someone.”
“Of course,” Alan said, though I knew he’d rather he didn’t.
“Merci. Thank you so much. I hope I’m not intruding, it’s just that I hate sitting all alone in big hotel lobbies. I feel so small.” He took a seat across from us as we returned to our chairs.
“No intrusion at all, Mr. Blount,” I said, quite insincerely.
He took out a gold lighter and a matching cigarette case, which looked expensive. He opened the case and held it out to us. “Cigarette?”
“Ah, no thank you. I don’t smoke, neither does Mr. Keyes.”
He took one out for himself and lit up, putting the lighter and case away. “To each their own, that is what I say, Mr. Barrington.”
“I agree.” I motioned for the waitress. “Cocktail?”
“Oh, but of course, mais oui. I’ll buy this round, I insist. Gimlet, extra lime. And another beer for this gentleman, and for you, a martini?”
“Yes, vodka, with a pickle.”
“A pickle? How eccentric, Mr. Barrington. You are a peculiar fellow.”
The waitress took our order, returning presently with the drinks, which Mr. Blount did indeed pay for.
“Thank you, sir,” Alan said, raising his glass.
“Merci,” I said.
“You are both most welcome, my pleasure.” He raised his glass as well. “Do you speak French, Mr. Barrington?”
I shook my head. “Not really. I studied it in high school and I know a few words and phrases. It’s a beautiful language.”
“Oui, the language of love, amour.”
“Mon petit chou. I remember that phrase.”
Blount laughed. “Ah yes, that is a French term of endearment. Do you have a little petit chou back home?”
I blushed. “No, no one back home.” Which was the truth.
“What’s a petit chou?” Alan asked.
“Little cabbage,” I said.
“That’s a funny term of endearment. I don’t think I’d like being called that.”
I laughed. “There was someone in my life once, a long time ago, that I called that.”
Alan’s look clearly said he wanted to know more.
“I’ll tell you about it sometime, Alan.” I pulled out my pocket watch. “It’s ten to eight. Didn’t you say you were meeting someone?”
“Oui, a woman I met just yesterday, in my shop. She is from New York and insisted on meeting for drinks this evening.”
“You must have made a favorable impression on her,” Alan said.
He shrugged his bony shoulders. “I am not a ladies’ man, monsieur. But I have no objections to having a cocktail or two, and she was rather adamant.” He glanced about. “Ah, there she is now.”
He stood and gave a little wave toward a full-figured woman who had just stepped out of one of the elevators. She wore a red velvet cocktail dress, and her platinum blond hair had been twisted into curls and plastered close to her head. About her neck was a rather stunning and very sparkly diamond pendant. If I had to guess, I’d say she was about thirty. Thirty-five at most.
When she spotted him, the woman brightened and quickened her pace in our direction. The three of us stood once more to greet her as she approached.
“Ah, bon soir, Mrs. Verte. I would like you to meet Mr. Barrington and Mr. Keyes. They have just arrived from Milwaukee this morning and are in town for the weekend.”
Mrs. Verte smiled sweetly. “A pleasure, gentlemen. You are friends of Mr. Blount’s?”
“We just met him today,” I said. “Mr. Keyes was in need of a tuxedo, which we purchased in Mr. Blount’s shop this afternoon.”
Blount smiled his thin weasel smile. “Oui, nice customers, Mrs. Verte. Mr. Barrington and Mr. Keyes are on holiday.”
She took a seat at the table, and the rest of us followed suit. “Oh, how nice. I’m here on holiday myself, just for a few days. I grew up in Chicago, but I live in New York now. I’m in town here until Wednesday.”
“Visiting family?” Alan said.
She shook her head, but her hair never moved. “I still have aunts, uncles, and cousins in the area, but no immediate family anymore. I still keep in touch with my uncle Fred. In fact, he sent me an article from the Chicago Tribune last month that they did on the Edmonton. Mr. Blount’s shop was mentioned in it.”
I looked at Blount, who was playing with his mustache. “How nice to get mentioned in the Trib, Mr. Blount.”
“Oui, though it did not do much for my business. A few curious people, but nothing more.”
“There’s no such thing as bad publicity, they say,” Alan said.
“It was a nice article, though they should have had a picture of my shop or me, or both.”
We all chortled politely.
“Will you be seeing your uncle Fred this trip, Mrs. Verte?” I asked.
“Oh, yes. We plan to have lunch tomorrow. He’s my mother’s younger brother. My parents passed away years ago, and my younger sister died just before the war ended.”
“I’m sorry to hear it, Mrs. Verte,” Alan said.
“Thank you, Mr. Keyes. Life goes on, though, as all those families who lost loved ones in the war have found out. My husband was killed in the war, in Italy. The last time I saw him was over four years ago. His body was never recovered.”
“My condolences, Mrs. Verte,” I said.
“Thank you, but he left me quite well off financially, so I can’t really complain.”
“I see,” I said. This woman seemed rather cold. “Did you just get in today?”
She shook her head once more. “No, yesterday. A rather nasty start, I’m afraid. My purse was stolen at the train station here in Chicago.”
“Oh dear,” Alan said.
“It was dreadful, it happened so fast. I had only set my handbag down for a moment, and the next thing I knew it was gone. I just caught a glimpse of a young ruffian running away with it under his arm.”
“You notified the police, of course,” Alan said.
“No, I didn’t. I grew up here, as I mentioned, so I know the police have bigger fish to fry than tracking down purse snatchers.”
“But still, Mrs. Verte, you should have reported it,” I said.
Her head shook once more. “It was a bother, a nuisance, but nothing more than that. Unfortunately, I had my hotel confirmation letter in it along with my letter of credit. Beyond that I lost just a few dollars, some lipstick, and my compact.”
“Gee, that’s terrible, though. What did you do?” Alan said.
“Fortunately I keep most of my money in my train case, so I had cab fare. I came here to the hotel and explained my situation to this very nice assistant manager, Mr. Bennett. He couldn’t have been more helpful or more kind. He took care of everything.”
“The service here is very good,” I said.
“Oh, I should say so. He was ever so charming. And I had my evening bag in my suitcase, so no real loss. Besides, it gave me an opportunity to shop for a new purse today, and I found not one but two.”
“Then all is well that ends well, as they say. Mr. Keyes and I should let the two of you catch up.”
Mr. Blount held up his hand. “Oh no, please don’t go, Mr. Barrington. I would enjoy your company if you are so inclined, and I’m sure Mrs. Verte would, too.”
“Of course, gentlemen, the more the merrier, isn’t that what they say, also?” But her tone and the look she gave me seemed doubtful.
I glanced at Alan, but he gave me one of those “whatever you want” looks, so I agreed. I was curious to learn more about Mrs. Verte.
“Ah, and speaking of the more the merrier, look who is here,” Mrs. Verte said.
A paunchy, odd-looking gentleman in a black pinstripe suit approached. His hair was thinning and gray, making him appear older, but I figure he was probably only in his mid-forties. His large nose was underlined by a gray, bushy mustache.
“Good evening, Mr. Bennett, bon soir,” Mr. Blount said in that singsong tone of his as he, Alan, and I got to our feet.
The man he referred to as Mr. Bennett glared at him sternly. “Good evening, Blount. Gentlemen. How nice to see you again, Mrs. Verte.”
“This is George Bennett, an assistant here at the hotel,” Blount said.
“Junior assistant manager.”
“Ah, yes, junior assistant manager—a jam, no?” Blount laughed. “This is Mr. Barrington and Mr. Keyes, from Milwaukee, and apparently you know Mrs. Verte, from New York. She was just singing your praises a few moments ago. I dare say she doesn’t know you well.” He laughed but Mr. Bennett just glared at him.
“How do you do? I hope you’re all enjoying your stay.” He shook hands with us. “Yes, Mrs. Verte and I met yesterday. I saw her here and thought I would just stop and see how she’s getting along.” He nodded politely at Mrs. Verte.
“Oh yes, Mr. Bennett, very nice, thank you,” Mrs. Verte said. “I don’t know what I would have done without you, you have been so kind.”
“Always a pleasure to assist a damsel in distress, Mrs. Verte.” He smiled and gave a little bow.
Mrs. Verte giggled. “Won’t you join us, Mr. Bennett? We’re just chatting.”
“Thank you, but I just got off duty and it’s been a long day. I should be getting along.”
Mrs. Verte touched his arm ever so slightly. “Oh, of course. Your wife must be waiting for you.”
He smiled at her again. “Actually, I’m a bachelor. Married to my work, I’m afraid.”
She returned his smile, and I could swear she batted her eyelashes. “I see. Well, you must join us for a drink first, Mr. Bennett, at least one. I’m a widow, you see, and I always enjoy the company of nice gentlemen.”
“Well…”
“I’m sure Mr. Bennett has other plans,” Mr. Blount said.
Mr. Bennett looked at him sharply. “I was just going to go to Frank’s Diner for some supper and go home. I could join you all for a drink, if you don’t mind.”
“Wonderful, welcome,” I said.
“Oh, I’m so glad, Mr. Bennett. Come sit next to me, and Mr. Blount, I want you on the other side of me.”
The five of us sat down around the small table, Alan and I next to each other, then Blount and Mrs. Verte, with Mr. Bennett beside her and on the other side of Alan.
“Madam Verte, you look more lovely than the last time I saw you, très charmant,” Mr. Blount said.
She blushed and laughed lightly. “Oh, Mr. Blount, you do say the nicest things. But the last time you saw me was just this afternoon. In fact, yesterday was the first time you ever saw me at all.”
“Mais oui, and you look even more lovely now. As I told another woman today, I speak only the truth.”
“Well, thank you, kind sir.” Mrs. Verte fairly giggled, causing her ample bosom to rise and fall. Mr. Bennett looked annoyed, which was exactly the reaction I suspected Mr. Blount was hoping for. Until Mr. Bennett arrived, he’d been cordial to Mrs. Verte, but certainly not as attentive and complimentary as he was now. I wondered what he was driving at.
“I need that drink,” Bennett said.
“An excellent suggestion, Monsieur.” Blount held up his hand, his diamond rings and matching cuff links shining in the light.
When the waitress appeared, he ordered another gimlet and Alan and I ordered thirds. Mr. Bennett and Mrs. Verte both ordered martinis, dry.
“Put this on my tab, my treat,” Blount said.
“You can afford it,” Mr. Bennett said rather crossly. Then he looked at us. “So, what do you two do in Milwaukee?”
“I’m a police detective. Mr. Keyes here is a police officer. We’re on a long weekend.”
“How interesting.”
I noticed Mr. Blount’s hand shook, and he spilled some of his remaining cocktail. He looked startled. “You are a policeman, monsieur?”
“A detective, yes. Mr. Keyes is a police officer. And the house detective here in the hotel is a friend of mine, Mike Masterson.”
“Oh, I see, I see.” He set his glass down and stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray.
“Something wrong, Mr. Blount?” Mrs. Verte asked.
He laughed somewhat nervously. “Oh no, no, madam. Mr. Barrington just surprised me, that is all. You both looked like nice, respectable businessmen.”
“Policemen and detectives are just normal people, sir,” Alan said.
“Oui, oui, of course, of course.”
The waitress brought the next round of drinks, and Mr. Blount drank almost half of his in one gulp. Mr. Bennett was not far behind.
“Do you enjoy working in the hotel, Mr. Bennett?” Alan asked.
“It has its ups and downs,” he said, still grasping his glass. “One of the ups is meeting charming ladies like you, Mrs. Verte.”
She touched his arm again. “Oh, Mr. Bennett, how nice of you to say. My husband was killed in the war, as I mentioned earlier before you joined us. I’m from Chicago, but I haven’t been back in several years.”
“Welcome home, then, madam,” Mr. Bennett said with a warm smile.
“Thank you. New York is my home now, but it’s nice to be back in Chicago. Have you been here at the hotel long?”
“Fifteen plus years. I hope to someday be the general manager here.”
“How impressive, Mr. Bennett. I’m sure you’ll do well.” She looked at me and Alan. “Do you two visit here regularly?”
“This is my first time in Chicago, Mrs. Verte,” Alan said.
“Oh, how nice. It certainly is a wonderful city. There are some things I definitely miss.”
“Chicago has nothing New York doesn’t have, Mrs. Verte,” Mr. Bennett said.
“Oh, Mr. Bennett, I wouldn’t say that.” She laughed and turned back to us. “I’m in room 812, but the weather’s been so dreadful, I can’t hardly see a thing out the windows.”
“What a small world, Mrs. Verte. We’re in 804, and we got in this morning,” Alan said.
She raised her painted-on eyebrows. “Oh my, such a coincidence. We’re practically neighbors. Well, yesterday morning as soon as Mr. Bennett here helped me get everything straightened out with my letter of credit and hotel reservation and all, I unpacked and decided to pick up a little something for my uncle, who lives up on the north side. So I went down to Blount’s store, and of course there was Mr. Blount himself, ever so charming.”
“You are too kind, madam,” Mr. Blount said, smiling his thin smile.
“Oh, and the clothes are exquisite. I picked up a lovely tie for my uncle, and Mr. Blount even wrapped it for me. The workmanship is outstanding.”
“Oui, the finest silk, the best tailoring,” Mr. Blount added, taking out his cigarette case and lighting up another smoke. “Cigarette, Mrs. Verte?”
“Oh, no thank you. I never do,” she said, shaking her head.
“It seems the cheese stands alone, as you Americans say. I know you don’t smoke, Bennett. And neither do these gentlemen.”
“I’m sure you won’t let that stop you,” Bennett said dryly.
Blount ignored him and blew out a cloud of smoke almost directly at Mr. Bennett.
Mrs. Verte, who was seated between Blount and Bennett, waved the smoke away. “Have you been to his store, Mr. Barrington and Mr. Keyes?” She coughed just a bit.
I nodded. “Ah yes, we were in there today and made some purchases.”
She giggled. “Oh, that’s right. You said that earlier, didn’t you? You bought a tuxedo. How delightful. As it said in the Tribune article, he really does have the most marvelous things, really exquisite taste. Do you shop there, Mr. Bennett?”
“Mr. Blount’s clothes are rather expensive for me, Mrs. Verte, but I have purchased several things from him.”
“Oh, Mr. Bennett, you can’t put a price on quality and style,” Mrs. Verte said.
“My thoughts exactly, dear lady. It is what I always say,” Blount said, still smiling.
I glanced over at him beaming behind his cocktail while Mrs. Verte continued.
“Great minds do think alike, don’t they?”
“Indeed, dear lady. Mr. Bennett, as a matter of fact, is a regular customer of my store, though you wouldn’t know it. He always dresses so drably.”
“Don’t start, Blount,” Mr. Bennett said flatly.
Mrs. Verte giggled again, her hand still on Bennett’s arm. “Oh, I think you dress quite smartly, Mr. Bennett. An assistant manager can’t be too flashy.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Verte.”
“Hmpff,” Blount mumbled as Mrs. Verte continued.
“Anyway, I’m so glad I decided to come back after all these years. And the train trip was delightful. I always find long train trips to be so relaxing. Everything’s just been wonderful, except for that nasty business with my handbag being stolen, of course.”
“You should still report that to the police, Mrs. Verte,” Alan said.
She waved him away with the flick of her wrist. “Oh pish posh, what’s done is done. I’ll never get it back, and besides, if it hadn’t been stolen, I never would have met you, Mr. Bennett, would I have?”
He cocked his head. “Probably not. I don’t mingle with the guests often.”
“So you see? Having that old handbag stolen was actually a good thing. And then yesterday, I also met the charming Mr. Blount, and he invited me for cocktails tonight. And now here we all are, aren’t we?”
“Actually I think you invited me, and such a kind invitation it was, Mrs. Verte.” He laughed and so did she.
“Oh, Mr. Blount, do call me Vivian.”
“Vivian Verte, a lovely name for a lovely woman. It is so lyrical, no? Perhaps I should call you VV, like Gigi. It’s very French.”
“VV, oh I like that. My maiden name was Dousman, so VV is definitely better than VD.” She blushed as she laughed at her little joke, and we all tittered with her, except Mr. Blount. His entire expression and demeanor changed, and he looked rather ill.
Mrs. Verte looked over at him, somewhat alarmed. “Oh dear, I hope I haven’t offended you, Mr. Blount. It was just my attempt at humor.”
He stared at her for some time, his face blank, but finally spoke. “No, no, it is fine, Mrs. Verte, VV. It was a funny joke.” But he sounded less than sincere.
She put her hand on her ample chest. “Oh good. Sometimes I speak without thinking. I only wish you carried women’s fashions, but there are certainly plenty of other stores in Chicago for me. Though I suppose I really don’t need anything new.”
Blount shook his head and tsk’d. “Don’t be absurd, VV. A woman such as you must have only the finest, the newest fashions. Of course, clothes only accent your beauty, really. You need nothing.” He seemed back to his old self.
“Oh, Mr. Blount.” Mrs. Verte giggled again like a schoolgirl, and Mr. Bennett looked slightly sick as he finished his martini. Again I had to wonder what Blount was doing. I didn’t think Blount was interested in women in general, and certainly he wouldn’t be interested in Mrs. Verte.
“I bought this dress just for the trip,” she said, running her free hand across the fabric.
“You look lovely, Mrs. Verte,” Mr. Bennett said. I got the impression he really thought so.
“Thank you, kind sir.”
“Do you have children, Mrs. Verte?” I asked, changing the subject.
Mrs. Verte rolled her eyes. “Thankfully, no. They’re a huge bother and a great expense. I never had time to be changing diapers, wiping snotty noses, or sitting through dreadful school programs and pretending to like them. For some reason or another, I never got the maternal instinct.”
“Oh, I, uh, see,” I said, sorry I had asked.
“I feel the same, Mrs. Verte. I go home to my cat at night, and that’s enough children for me,” Mr. Bennett said.
“Oh. I have a cat, too. Her name is Selket, and she’s all black. Selket was an Egyptian goddess of magic, you know.”
“I did not know that, Mrs. Verte. How very interesting. My cat’s name is Kona.”
“Oh, how nice. Please do call me Vivian, or VV, Mr. Bennett, like Mr. Blount does.”
“Thank you, but then you must call me George.”
“Well, all right, then. Aren’t we all just getting along so well?”
I nodded politely but it certainly didn’t seem that way to me.
Mr. Bennett smiled at her. “Very well. How did you decide on the Edmonton for your trip, Mrs. Verte, I mean Vivian?”
“I did my research, George. The Edmonton is right on Michigan Avenue, close to all the shops, the nightlife, the museums, everything, as you most certainly know. And the article from the Tribune that my uncle sent me helped, too. It all sounded so marvelous.”
“And now you’ve discovered Mr. Blount,” Mr. Bennett finished for her.
“Oh, George, you sound jealous,” she said, her cheeks glowing.
Mr. Bennett’s face was flushed. “Please, Vivian. Some men aren’t worthy of being jealous over.” He looked past Mrs. Verte to the little French man. “It’s no secret I don’t care for you, Mr. Blount, but it has nothing to do with Mrs. Verte, as you’re certainly aware.”
Blount took a sip of his drink and stared back at Mr. Bennett. “Perhaps, monsieur, the feeling is mutual, but I have what you need, no? Good quality tailoring is hard to find.” He smiled that thin weasel smile. “And I pay the hotel good rent for my space.”
Bennett scowled. “Yes, you have what I need, Mr. Blount, but at some point the well will run dry.”
“Ah, well, until then we should drink, drink, drink.” Mr. Blount took several swallows of his cocktail and laughed.
“As for your rent, we could easily lease that space to someone else for more than you pay.”
“Ha. You make me laugh, Monsieur Bennett.”
“It’s not intentional, I assure you.”
“Now, boys, please,” Mrs. Verte said. “Let’s not get unpleasant.”
“There is nothing to get unpleasant about, VV.” Blount took another sip of his drink and then suddenly narrowed his eyes and scowled.
“Something wrong with your cocktail, Mr. Blount?” I asked.
Blount shook his head. “No, monsieur, my cocktail, it is fine. It is her, that is all. Perhaps there is something to get unpleasant about after all. She is out late tonight.”
Mrs. Gittings was making her way slowly and unsteadily out of the Acorn Bar toward us.
“Mrs. Gittings?” I asked.
Blount raised his thin little eyebrows in surprise. “You know her?”
“We ran into her outside your shop this afternoon,” Alan said. “Literally.”
He rolled his eyes. “Ugh. She haunts me. Every day she goes past my store, staring at me through the glass. She’s a drunk, a sot, an old crone, with nothing to do all day but drink and annoy me.”
“I understand she used to work for you,” I said.
“Did she tell you that?” His tone was sharp.
“She did.”
He shrugged his bony little shoulders and took another drink. “It is true, oui, a long time ago. She was a good seamstress once. Then the drinking, you know. I had to dismiss her, of course.”
“How did she take it?” Alan said.
Another drink from his glass, which was now nearly empty. “Not well. She became angry, bitter. She blames me for her failure. She’s even threatened me.”
“Threatened you?” I said, surprised.
“Oui, monsieur. I don’t take it seriously, of course, the ramblings of a drunkard. But still it is unsettling. She is in the hotel every day, as I mentioned, walking slowly by my store, staring in at me.”
“Does she ever go in?”
He shrugged, took yet another sip, drained it at last, and then set the empty glass on the table. “Sometimes. Usually on Saturday afternoons when she knows I’m at my busiest. She comes in, clucking like a chicken, and gives me the evil eye. If I say something to her, it only makes it worse, so I ignore her as best I can. She is not someone you can reason with.”
“If she’s disrupting your business, you should talk to the house detective,” Alan suggested.
“The leased shops are not the responsibility of the hotel, Mr. Keyes,” Mr. Bennett said.
Blount nodded. “Oui, that is true. Besides, monsieur, I laugh at her, as do my customers. Or we ignore her, as I said. One does not take her seriously. Besides, I keep a gun in my desk in the back room, just in case.”
“Speaking as a police officer, Mr. Blount, no threats should ever be taken lightly nor handled by the individual. I think you should report this to the authorities,” I said.
“What I think, Monsieur Barrington, is that I need another drink.” He motioned for the waitress. “And you gentlemen? VV? Mr. Bennett?”
“I’ve had enough,” Mr. Bennett said. “Of everything.”
“No thank you, I’m fine, too,” Alan said.
“As am I,” Mrs. Verte said. “I haven’t had dinner yet.”
“And I’m good as well, but let me get your drink,” I offered.
“Merci.” He smiled thinly again as I told the waitress to bring him another gimlet, extra lime.
Mrs. Gittings had stopped just shy of our table and was staring at us, or more specifically, at Mr. Blount. He nodded in her direction, staring back until finally she turned and wobbled off toward the exit.
“You see? She is harmless, but she watches me, no? Since she worked in my shop, she knows my routine. Sometimes when I leave through the back door at night, I even find her waiting silently in the alley. I park my car in the garage down the street as I don’t trust the hotel parking attendants. So I must exit through the alley door to get to my automobile, and sometimes she is there. It is unnerving.”
“What does she do?” Alan said.
“She watches me, monsieur. She never speaks, except for that annoying clucking sound. Sometimes she points one of her bony fingers at me and says ‘Evil,’ but that is it. I say, ‘Go home, Mrs. Gittings, it’s late and I’m tired.’ And then I walk away. She doesn’t follow me, I think. I don’t look back.”
“Do you live near the hotel?”
“I live in the Edgewater Beach Apartments on the North Side, by Lincoln Park.”
“The Edgewater Beach Apartments is in a rather ritzy part of town, I understand,” I said.
Mr. Blount nodded. “Oui. Though this recent housing crisis is getting out of hand. My apartment was once a single penthouse that has been divided, which is why I was able to get in. Many of my neighbors have divided their flats into two, even three units, but still the rents are very high.”
“I see. That’s a bit of hike up to Lincoln Park from here.”
“I drive a 1947 Cadillac Convertible coupe, burgundy with a tan ragtop,” he stated proudly. “It gets me back and forth quite quickly, as long as there is no traffic. I just picked it up last month.”
“It’s so nice to see new cars on the road after the war,” Alan said.
“That’s quite a car, Mr. Blount. A lot of power under the hood,” Mrs. Verte said.
He smiled. “You have an appreciation for the quality automobile, VV?”
“Oh yes, I certainly do.”
Mr. Bennett ground his teeth. “A brand-new Cadillac convertible coupe had to set you back close to three thousand dollars, Mr. Blount.”
Blount laughed. “As I’ve said before, you can’t put a price on quality, Mr. Bennett. What kind of car do you drive, may I ask?”
Bennett scowled. “A 1938 Packard. Very reliable.”
Blount smiled his thin smile. “Ah, reliable and dull, just like you, Mr. Bennett. It’s probably even beige.” Then he turned to Mrs. Verte again. “Perhaps, VV, I can take you for a drive in my car along the lake with the top down sometime.”
“Oh, Mr. Blount, that sounds lovely, but my hair would be ruined.”
Blount laughed. “On you, touseled hair would only enhance, madam, and please call me Victor.” The way her hair was plastered to her head, I doubted even a hurricane could move it.
She blushed and giggled, and I got the impression once again that Blount was trying to irritate Mr. Bennett by flirting with Mrs. Verte.
“Your shop must be doing quite well, Mr. Blount,” I said. “An expensive car, an apartment in the Edgewater, a Longines watch…”
He looked back at me and shrugged. “I have an appreciation for the finer things, Monsieur Barrington. I do what I can to afford them. The shop does only so-so, as I mentioned before, so I diversify.”
“You never hired anyone else after you let Mrs. Gittings go?” I asked.
“No. Hiring her was a bad experience, a bad idea. She was a nosy old busybody, always in my business. I am better off by myself. I am what some people call a loner, private, though I am sociable, of course. Mrs. Gittings hasn’t worked for me in over three years, yet still she haunts me, as I said before. It’s gotten worse lately. I think she is losing her mind, she is unstable.”
“Mr. Blount, you really should report her behavior to the authorities.”
“But, Heath, she’s such a sweet old lady,” Alan said.
I looked at Alan, who had those puppy-dog eyes that drove me wild. “I agree she seems to be, but if what Mr. Blount says is the truth, it can’t be taken lightly no matter how nice she appears to be.”
Blount shook his head and held up his hand. “No, no, Monsieur Barrington. She is fine. As I said before, she is harmless, I think. Perhaps I exaggerate. There is no need to involve the police. My, my, it’s getting late, I think.”
Mr. Bennett looked at his watch. “Nearly eight thirty. It is getting late. I should be off in search of some supper.”
“Oh my, I should, too. I haven’t had my dinner yet, either,” Mrs. Verte said, clutching her diamond pendant.
Mr. Bennett smiled at her. “You’re welcome to join me, Mrs. Verte—Vivian—if you like. I think I can manage to find someplace nicer than a diner.”
“Why, George, that would be lovely, thank you. And I don’t mind diner food.” She stood up, and so did Mr. Bennett and the rest of us.
“Then let’s go, shall we?” He looked at her admiringly. “You will excuse us, won’t you, gentlemen?”
Mr. Blount laughed. “By all means. You couldn’t be in safer hands, Mrs. Verte. Mr. Bennett is the strong, silent, dull, rather boring type.”
“Look here, Blount—” Bennett started, but Mrs. Verte put her hand on his arm again.
“I’m ready if you are, George. I like your type.”
“Very well, Vivian. Another time, Blount. That well will run dry, believe me,” he said.
Mrs. Verte smiled. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Barrington, Mr. Keyes.”
“Likewise, madam.”
“Good evening, Mr. Blount. Victor.”
“Good evening, VV,” Blount replied, his eyes sparkling mischievously.
Without another word, Bennett walked away with Mrs. Verte on his arm, looking back at us once or twice.
The cocktail waitress brought Blount’s gimlet, and I gave her seventy-five cents and told her to keep the change. When she had gone, I turned to Alan.
“I suppose we had better go as well. It is getting rather late.”
Alan nodded. “Yes, it’s been a long day. I’m ready for bed.”
Blount took a drink from his glass, stubbed out his cigarette, then lit another and looked at us. “Mr. Bennett doesn’t care much for me, gentlemen, as he stated. I think he thought I flirted too much with Mrs. Verte.”
“I think he thinks something, Mr. Blount, but I’m not sure what. And I think you did flirt too much with Mrs. Verte,” I said. “I can’t really believe you are interested in her romantically.”
He gave a little laugh and stroked his thin mustache, staring off in the direction they had gone. “For me, no. She is not my type. But for Mr. Bennett, ah, romance is in the air, no?”
I looked after them. “Perhaps. Perhaps two lonely people are a little less lonely tonight. But certainly no thanks to you, Mr. Blount.”
“Maybe so, maybe not. Sometimes a man doesn’t know he wants something until another man shows interest. You understand, no?”
“You don’t really seem the Cupid type,” Alan said.
“Cupid? Ah, oui, the little fellow with the bow and arrow, yes?” Blount laughed.
“You said you didn’t care for Mr. Bennett, so why would you be interested in fixing him up?” I said.
“Fixing him up?”
“With Mrs. Verte.”
“Ah, oui. Fixing up is exactly what he needs. I know a secret, Detective, about Monsieur Bennett. I wonder if you can figure it out.” Blount smirked at me annoyingly. Clearly, he had had one or two gimlets too many.
“What kind of secret, Mr. Blount?”
“That’s for you to discover, perhaps. But I will say it’s juicy, very juicy.”
“That sounds more like gossip.”
“I assure you it’s all fact, Detective, and facts are always juicier than mere gossip.”
“You’re an interesting fellow, Mr. Blount. You want me to discover Mr. Bennett’s secret?”
“Let’s just say I am curious to know if you are a good detective or not.”
“Heath happens to be one of the finest, Mr. Blount,” Alan said defensively.
“Ah, bon, bon. But then, some secrets perhaps are better left undisturbed.”
“Then why bring it up at all?” Alan asked.
“It is no secret that Mr. Bennett and I are not friends. But surely your mind must wonder why.”
“I think any man would object to another man flirting with someone in front of them,” Alan said. “Especially if he was interested in that someone, too.”
“Certainly, Alan, but there’s something more, isn’t there, Mr. Blount?”
He smiled thinly again. “Perhaps, but I don’t think it is for you to know, and you will not know.”
I returned his thin smile. “Perhaps, perhaps not.”
“Oui, well, perhaps it is time for me to go as well. Tomorrow is another day, as they say.”
“Good night, Mr. Blount. We’ll see you tomorrow when we pick up the tux.”
“Bon soir, sleep well.”
“Thank you for the drinks, sir,” Alan said.
“Hmm? Oh, my pleasure, gentlemen.”
By the time we’d crossed the lobby, Blount had settled back in his chair and was ensconced in his cocktail and his cigarette, having apparently changed his mind about leaving.