thirty-five

Once we were back in the car, Nigel turned to me. “Why would Mandy want those tapes?” he asked.

“I have a pretty good idea.”

“Anything you feel like sharing?” he asked, as he gunned the engine.

“Not until I’m sure,” I answered. “Besides, you know the rules. A good detective doesn’t reveal her theories until there’s proof.”

“Much to the everlasting annoyance of their assistants. Honestly, it’s a wonder that some of them didn’t off their employers. If I were Hastings I would have trashed Poirot with my umbrella.”

“I’ll make a note to hide all the umbrellas when we get home,” I said, as I pulled out my cell phone.

“Who are you calling?” he asked.

“Mandy, of course,” I replied. “I’m going to suggest we spend a little girl time together.”

“I like girl time,” Nigel said as we pulled out onto the highway.

“Yes, dear. I know. That little tidbit is what we might call a well-documented fact. But I think this is a visit that would be better served if just I go,” I said. “Besides, you said you wanted to work on Skippy’s training.”

“Spoil sport,” Nigel muttered as Mandy answered the phone.

“Mandy?” I said. “It’s Nic. Listen, are you busy tomorrow? Nigel is spending the day trying to train Skippy. I thought maybe we could meet for a drink. My treat.”