Now it seems to me the place to start is at the beginning.
—Perry Mason
“NATHAN IS A fine artist,” Shirley said, still staring into the cup. “He’s sold a number of pieces around town. None of the important galleries will accept him as a client—not yet. But Nathan is extremely talented, and he’s starting to get noticed. It won’t be long before he’ll have his own gallery shows, and—”
“What’s all this got to do with murder?”
“Nathan does his painting at a tiny studio in Greenwich Village. Twice last week I decided to drop in on him—”
“Drop in?” Jack interrupted. “You mean unannounced?”
“Nathan doesn’t have a phone at his studio. He says it’s too distracting, and the line would be an added expense. Anyway, Nathan wasn’t there. The first time, I thought maybe he was scouting.”
“Scouting?” Jack lifted an eyebrow. “I take it you don’t mean building campfires and tying square knots.”
“No, of course not. Nathan sometimes walks the streets with that camera of his, scouting for interesting faces—”
“And did Nathan find Ruby Tyler interesting?”
Shirley sighed. “All I know is . . . a few days ago, I arrived at his studio just as he jumped into a cab. He didn’t see me, so I followed him. Nathan met this Ruby woman at a diner. The Pluto, I think it’s called.”
Jack nodded. “On Eighth Avenue, near the Greyhound bus terminal?”
“That’s right, Mr. Shepard. They met there, but they didn’t stay long. Nathan and Ruby then crossed town in a taxi and went into a Park Avenue residential building with a doorman. They stayed up there quite some time.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “And you know this how?”
“Because after two hours waiting for them to reappear, I gave up.”
Shirley glanced at Jack. Then she fixed her stare on me.
“Don’t give me that look, girlie. I’m not proud of what I did, but you’ll find out what it’s like when you fall for a guy someday.”
I was about to answer when Jack cleared his throat (loudly) and asked, “Didn’t Nathan bring along ‘that camera of his’? Or any of his gear? Paint? Canvas? An easel?”
Looking down at her coffee again, Shirley shook her head. “He keeps all of those things at his studio. That’s where he does his painting.”
“So your fiancé was having a fling with Ruby Tyler?”
“What else?” I saw tears. “I confronted Nathan that night, but he denied everything. He was furious that I’d followed him and stormed out. When he came back, I could tell he’d been drinking, but he didn’t clear out. He made up with me, swore he’d been faithful. He said he still loved me, said I was the only one for him, and he wanted nothing more than to take care of me. He even started crying. Then last night Ruby was found dead in her apartment. Early this morning, the police came for Nathan. I’m sure they’re questioning him now.”
“Is he going to cave under pressure?”
She blinked. “I don’t understand the question.”
“Is Mr. Brock guilty?”
“Certainly not. You have to understand. Nathan may seem a bit eccentric, a head-in-the-clouds kind of man, but he’s a gentle and sensitive soul. That’s one of the reasons he’s such a brilliant painter. And he would never hurt another living thing.”
“Yeah, but is he nuts enough to confess to a crime he didn’t commit?”
“Why would he?”
“Oh, lots of reasons. Some of these artist types can go mental under pressure. And you never know what’ll happen when the bulls decide to break out the rubber hose.”
Shirley visibly shuddered. I felt for the woman, but Jack didn’t let up.
“Tell me, Shirley, when Nathan denied the affair, did you buy it?”
She nodded, then looked away. “I never had any reason to question Nathan’s faithfulness before.”
“So despite what you saw, you believed him? I have to wonder why?”
“Because I have to, Mr. Shepard.” Once again Shirley studied her cup, now nearly empty. “I invested in him—in us. We fell in love in college. I convinced him to leave Ohio and come to New York City with me. I had an inheritance. He didn’t. We’ve been living off my savings to get his art career started. Nathan’s got so much talent. One day, he’ll be famous. I’m sure of it, and all of these struggles will be behind us.”
Her coat still open, Shirley sat back in the chair. I took a hard look at the woman’s form under that faded yellow dress and said—
“There’s another reason you have to believe him, isn’t there?”
Shirley shook her head weakly.
“How far along are you?” I asked.
She flushed red and touched the tiny bulge. “About four months.”
“Did you tell Nathan?”
She sniffed. “He figured it out.”
“Surprise pregnancies can shake up some men,” I said with a glance at Jack. He nodded for me to press on. “This thing with Ruby Tyler, was your fiancé looking for a way out?”
“I told you he’s innocent.”
“Innocent of murder or of an indiscretion?” I asked.
She slammed the cup on the desk. “Both.”
Jack rose and stood over the woman.
“Look, Shirley. I can’t guarantee I can clear him of your suspicions or the law’s accusations. But if Nathan Brock is innocent of either of them, I’ll prove it.”
She didn’t expect those words, I could tell. With tears welling, she gazed up at Jack with grateful eyes. Reaching into her pocket, she produced a plain white envelope and placed it on his desk.
“Inside you’ll find the address of the doorman building where Ruby Tyler lives.”
I grabbed the envelope and lifted the flap. Small bills kept company with a sheet of plain white. I saw names and addresses in flowing cursive—leads for Jack to follow.
“You’ll also find one hundred dollars in there. Your advance.”
Jack nodded. “I’d like to see the place where Nathan did his painting.”
“As I mentioned, he has a small studio in Greenwich Village. I don’t have the key with me, but I can meet you there.”
“Let’s put it on the back burner for now.”
Jack asked more questions and I took notes. Finally, with encouraging words, he ushered the girl out.
“What do you think, Penny?” he asked when we were alone.
“Honestly? I feel for her. But Nathan Brock sounds guilty as original sin.”
“I’m sure the police agree. And that’s where we come in—along with one hundred little portraits of George Washington.” He plucked the white envelope out of my hand.
“You didn’t take this case for the money, though, did you?”
“No. I took it for Ruby.”
“So if the painter didn’t kill her, who did?”
“That’s the question Shirley Powell’s paying us to answer.”
“But you already know the answer.”
“Not in this memory, honey. On this day, I was just getting started.”
“Fine. Where did you start?”
“With coffee,” Jack said, “at the Pluto Diner. Care to join me?”
Pulling his suit jacket from the back of my chair, he slipped me another wink and grabbed his fedora. Excited to begin our gumshoeing, I rose, straightened my skirt, and led the way out of Jack’s private office.
For some reason, the small reception area looked much brighter than when I’d left it. That’s when a sudden noise surprised me. I listened again and realized it was a knock at the door.
“You must have a new client,” I said and pulled it open.
The hallway was empty.
“Jack, what’s going on? I don’t see anyone. Jack?”
“I’m here, Penny,” he whispered in my ear. “I’m right here with you.”
But when I turned around, he was gone.