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Tabby Warren’s domicile was too small to qualify as a mansion and several steps too fine to be a house. It appeared to be the offspring of hanky-panky between a Tudor and a Swiss chalet. It was three stories high with a curve of wide brick sidewalk. Across part of the front, beams formed two arms of an asymmetrical triangle that showcased sets of narrow, leaded windows. One arm of the triangle continued down to merge with the covered part of a porch at the entryway.
I was pretty sure the result was tasteful as well as attractive. It was hard to decide with part of my brain still recovering from the full-steam speed of my first conversation with the house’s owner.
“Miss Sullivan?” beamed the man with the cheerful phone voice as he opened the door.
I’d never seen a butler smile before. This one wore a tuxedo outfit rather than tails. It went well with his fringe of black hair.
“Miss Warren’s in the library,” he said, relieving me of my coat and leading the way across a small entryway.
I had just time enough to take in carpeting that resembled leopard skin on stairs leading up on the right. We did a U-turn in the other direction to the open doorway of a room that overlooked the front lawn.
“Miss Sullivan is here.”
A woman was already unwinding herself from one of two couches facing each other in a room lined with books. She came toward me with hand outstretched.
“It’s so nice to meet you. I believe I’ve read about you in the papers. Do call me Tabby.”
Her silky bronze trouser ensemble was more or less what I’d expected. The long rope of misshapen pearls knotted at her breast came as no surprise. But where I had expected reserved sophistication, I felt myself engulfed instead by a full-tilt zest for life, not to mention a very firm handshake. She moved with the litheness of a girl and the confidence of a woman her actual age, which was somewhere in the first half of her forties.
“I was terribly naughty last night, so I’m just breakfasting. Won’t you join me for toast? Coffee?” She indicated a tray on the table between the couches. “Mr. Goode will be glad to bring tea.”
“Just coffee, please. Black.”
“That’s all, then, Mr. Goode.”
She swept an invitation to sit as she filled another cup with coffee and handed it to me. The walls around us were painted buff, which made the room seem airy and sun filled. Leopard print fabric reminiscent of the carpeting I’d seen on the stairs covered the couches. The morning paper and a pair of reading glasses lay discarded next to the breakfast tray.
“Hiya, Toots,” rasped a new voice.
“Jasper, be quiet,” scolded my hostess.
Looking around I saw a green parrot on a perch in the corner.
“I had no idea the wretched creatures lived so long when I got him,” said Tabby Warren.
Resuming her seat, she tucked her feet under her.
“I’m sure you’re keen to have the real estate agent’s name and number.” She waved a square of notepaper which she set aside. “First though, you absolutely must tell me about Sgt. Hanlon. Please don’t say he’s lost all his marvelous hair and is bald as an egg.”
I laughed.
“His hair’s all intact, although it’s silvery white now.”
Her own was auburn with threads of white here and there. It curled with an exuberance no perm could achieve. The fullness made a good frame for her triangular face.
“No doubt it makes him more attractive than ever.” A white cat slid from the top of the couch behind her and placed a paw on her hand. She broke off a morsel of toast and let the cat lick it. “I was quite taken with him when we knew each other. I don’t believe it was reciprocated.”
The cat, having licked the toast, ate it out of her fingers and leaned against her, purring hopefully. I tackled terrain I wasn’t equipped to traverse.
“He might have recognized the difference in your situations, you with money, him a patrolman walking a beat. He was also much older than you.”
“Ah, the missed opportunities.” Behind her lightness, she’d been assessing me as closely as I was her. “I suppose he’s married? Grandchildren?”
“Neither. And for what it’s worth, he didn’t know that I would contact you, or even that I was interested in your building. I drove past because I was thinking about it. I was thunderstruck when he started reminiscing.”
“Well. Tell him hello.” Retrieving the folded notepaper, she slid it to me. “It occurred to me this real estate man you want to talk to might see you more promptly if I were to call him. Men have a nasty way of trying to put women off, don’t you think?”
She was right on both counts.
“I’d appreciate it.”
“Did you have a time in mind?”
“Two o’clock? Whenever he can manage, but the sooner the better.”
“Should I tell him you’re a detective? Or shall I simply say you’re interested in seeing the building?”
“Just that I’m interested in seeing the building, if you don’t mind. I may tell him the truth once I’ve gotten a feel for him.”
Her forethought surprised me. As if reading it, she gave a pleased smile.
“I used to do a bit of detecting myself when I was your age. I don’t believe Sgt. Hanlon knew that about me.” She rose. “Help yourself to more coffee, and see Mo doesn’t lick the butter off my toast. She’s not entirely trustworthy.”
The cat seemed disinclined to bother the toast, but as soon as Tabby Warren vanished into the hall to use the phone, it came across and hopped up for a closer look at me. I stroked behind its ears, which we both enjoyed. Meanwhile, I studied the mantle over the fireplace, or more accurately, I studied the photographs on it. No children. A woman in glasses. Two men appeared in various shots with Tabby Warren, though never together. In one of them, she and one of the men were doing some dance from the 20s and laughing.
“That was in the building you’re going to see,” she said returning. “It’s called The Pompeii, by the way.”
“The building or the speakeasy?”
She smiled. Her Cupid’s bow mouth redeemed a somewhat narrow chin.
“Both, actually. I suppose at the time we thought it smart to be nihilistic.
“Two o’clock. Mr. Thompson says it’s already rented, so I can’t fault him for dragging his toes, despite the deficiencies of the sign you saw. I suggested to him it might be smart to have someone in the wings in case the new renter’s check didn’t clear, or they backed out. He agreed.”
This time she didn’t tuck her feet up when she returned to the couch. Instead, she clasped her hands around her crossed knees, one foot swinging. Her manner had grown more thoughtful.
“Has my building been used for some sort of criminal activity?”
“Not to my knowledge. I’ve been hired to find a man who went missing. He was last seen in its vicinity. It occurred about the same time the lamp shop hung its CLOSED sign out, which happened abruptly. That’s probably just a coincidence, but I’d like to talk to the man who ran the place, or some of his employees, anyway.”
She was looking into the distance. A cuff-like gold bracelet at least three inches wide circled one of her wrists. I suspected it hadn’t come from McCrory’s.
“I’m rather fond of that little building. I care about it a great deal, in fact. It holds... memories. I should hate to have its reputation blackened.”
It was hard not to grin in view of the building’s past. Something else from the past had kept flirting with me. Now I gave in.
“Speakeasies had a secret way in, didn’t they?”
She laughed.
“Out was more useful. Long gone in this case, I’m afraid. Bricked over. I think they use the second floor, where the speakeasy was, for repairs now; the lamp shop, that is.”
“And the third floor?”
“Storage, I would guess. Do let me know if you sense anything amiss,” she said as I rose. “Keep me posted in any case, won’t you? My life these days is dreadfully boring. And tell Sgt. Hanlon I’d adore it if he’d stop by. I promise not to break even the teensiest law.”