Ed McBain - Cinderella

“I can’t answer that, and you know I can’t.”

“If Carla’s already told me—”

“That’s your allegation, Mr. Nettington.”

“It’s what Carla said.”

Matthew said nothing.

“That there’s a tape.”

Matthew still said nothing.

“Where is this tape?” Nettington asked.

Silence.

“I don’t think the police have it, ’cause the black detective didn’t mention it. It was only Carla who mentioned it. Said you’d told her there was an incriminating tape.”

Silence.

“I’d like that tape,” Nettington said.

Silence.

“If it exists.”

Silence.

“Does it exist?”

Silence.

“What I’m prepared to do,” Nettington said, “is pay a goodly sum of money for that tape. If it exists.”

“ If the tape exists,” Matthew said, “it’s already been paid for, Mr. Nettington.”

“Which means it does exist,” Nettington said. “What you just admitted is that my wife already paid for it when she hired you to put a private detective on me, which means the son of a bitch did manage to plant a bug in there somehow, didn’t he?”

“In where, Mr. Nettington?”

“In Rita’s house, you know damn well where, Mr. Hope. If you told Carla the tape’s incriminating, then you know what’s on it, and you know where it was made.”

“In any event...”

“I want that tape,” Nettington said.

“Mr. Nettington...”

“Do you hear me? I want that tape.”

“Yes, I hear you,” Matthew said. “Tell me, Mr. Nettington, when Detective Rawles asked you—”

“Don’t change the subject,” Nettington said.

“When he asked you where you were on the night Otto was killed, what did you tell him?”

“I told him exactly where I was.”

“Which was where?”

“If you’re so curious about that, ask him. Or don’t you two get along?” he said, and grinned wolfishly. “Would you like to know what he said about you?”

“Not particularly.”

“He said you enjoyed playing cops and robbers. Said if you ever came to visit me, I should call him right away.”

“So you came to visit me instead,” Matthew said.

“I called first,” Nettington said.

“So you did.”

There was a long uncomfortable silence.

“But if there’s nothing further,” Matthew said.

“Will you let me have that tape?” Nettington said.

Matthew sighed.

“You ought to reconsider,” Nettington said.

Which was when it sounded like a warning.

He looked at Matthew a moment longer, his gaze unwavering, and then he got up and walked out of the office.

They had decided between them, he and Susan, that it might be best if their daughter didn’t find him there when she got home. Joanna was a very smart cookie, and she was apt to put two and two together if she came home and found Mummy and Daddy munching crumpets and sipping tea together in the living room.

They were neither of them ready to answer questions about what had happened this weekend or about just what the hell was going on here. Neither of them knew just what the hell was going on here, but even if they suspected — after two nights and days of making love around the clock and never once leaving the house — that something was in the wind, they didn’t feel like sharing it with Joanna just yet. Anyway, what could you say to your fourteen-year-old daughter about something like this? Mummy and Daddy have been fucking our brains out all weekend, darling, how nice to see you? No. Better for Daddy to disappear in the night like a terrorist with an unexploded bomb, handle the questions later, if and when they came up. Matthew knew the questions would come up sooner or later.

In Calusa this year, school had ended on the ninth. Last year, it had ended on the twelfth. Each year in Calusa, the kids were out on the second Monday in June, and back again early in August, which should have been a criminal offense. Joanna was sleeping late now that school was out; she called him at the office shortly after Nettington left. The moment he came onto the line, she began singing “Happy Father’s Day to You,” to the tune of “Happy Birthday to You,” the lyrics a bit strained but the sentiment heartfelt.

“Hi, baby,” he said. “What time’d you get back?”

“Around eleven, I figured it was too late to call. Dad,” she said, “I want to apologize about the weekend.”

“No need,” he said.

“It’s just that Mom was so in sis tent... well, you know how she gets when I’m about to see you.”

“No,” he said cautiously, “how does she get?”

“Well, she’s always trying to finagle me out of it. Well, you know.”

“Uh-huh,” he said.

“I told her I’d be embarrassed to death, calling you and telling you I was going away for the Father’s Day weekend, so she said she’d call and square it with you, which I know she did, but I still feel rotten about it.”

“Did what , honey? Called me, did you say?”

“Well, yeah. I almost called you, anyway. When I went home to pack. But Mom said she’d already taken care of it, and it might be best to leave well enough alone — what she said, actually, was ‘Let sleeping dogs lie,’ referring to you, Dad, the sleeping dog — that you’d taken it calmly, and I might wreck it if I called.”

“Called me a sleeping dog, huh?”

“Well, you know Mom,” Joanna said.

“Said I’d taken it calmly, huh?”

“I hope you did, Dad. Were you very angry?”

“No, no. Mom was there when you went home to pack, huh? You didn’t just leave a note on the table or anything?”

“What?” Joanna said. “A note? No. What note? What are you talking about?”

“Nothing. Nothing.”

“I should have called myself, I’m such a coward.”

“Well, don’t worry,” Matthew said, “Grown-ups Inc. took care of it.”

“Who?”

“Grown-ups Inc. Don’t you remember? When Mom and I used to—”

“No,” Joanna said. “Grown-ups Inc.? Is that real or something you made up?”

“Well, something we made up, actually.”

“You and Mom?”

“Yes.”

There was a sudden silence on the line.

“So how was the weekend?” Matthew asked.

“Good,” Joanna said.

“I understand Diana’s brother went along.”

“Did Mom tell you that?”

“Yes.”

“She shouldn’t have. I wish she hadn’t, Dad. She probably said I have a crush on him, am I right?”

“Well, she hinted that might be the case.”

“I wish she hadn’t,” Joanna said again.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Well, she shouldn’t have.”

There was another silence.

“When am I going to see you?” he said.

“Can you take me to dinner tonight?”

“I’d love to. What time shall I pick you up?”

“I’ll check with Mom. I think she has a date with Peter the Pest, maybe I can spend the night.”

“Oh?” Matthew said. “Does she?”

“I think so. I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Fine,” he said.

“I bought you a nice present,” Joanna said, and hung up.

In most civilized cities, people didn’t begin drinking until four-thirty at the very earliest. In New York, for example — according to Frank Summerville — the bars didn’t start filling up till about five-thirty. But Calusa was a resort town in season and a retirement town all year round, and tourists and senior citizens sometimes discovered time weighing heavily on their hands. So what better place to while away the late afternoon hours than in a bar where, during Happy Hour, you got two drinks for the price of one? Happy Hour in Calusa began at 4:00 P.M.