Dale Andrews - Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 134 & 135, No. 3 & 4. Whole No. 817 & 818, September/October 2009

“Yes,” Doyle said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “That leaves Vera.”

After Solomon Silverstein departed, Doyle went inside to his richly appointed, soundproof, and surveillance-protected office and pushed the intercom button for his garage. After three rings it was answered by Harry Sullivan.

“Sully, will you come up to my office, please.”

“Yessir, Mr. Doyle, be right there,” Harry Sullivan said.

By the time Doyle had opened a cold bottle of root beer from an executive refrigerator and was back at his desk drinking it, Harry Sullivan was there.

“Sit down, Sully.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Doyle smiled a slight, pleased smile. “How long have you worked for me now, Sully?”

“Two years and eight months, sir.”

“Do you know what the first thing was that I liked about you, Sully?”

“No, sir.”

“You always addressed me as ‘sir.’ Nobody ever did that before — except, of course, waiters and clerks, servants, people like that. But nobody close.” He tilted his head slightly. “Why did you do it, Sully? From the very beginning, I mean.”

“I don’t know, sir,” the younger man replied. “It just seemed like the natural thing to do. The respectful thing, I guess I mean to say.”

Doyle fell silent for a long moment, studying Harry Sullivan. The driver-bodyguard was more common looking than handsome, with light brown hair and brooding deep blue eyes. He had, Doyle thought, a dependable look about him, a steadiness . He could, Doyle already knew, be dangerous when necessary, as he had proved two years earlier when a drunken college boy at a house party had gone a little too far in his advances toward Doreen, had in fact torn open her blouse in the shadows of a porch, causing Doreen to yell for Sully, who was parked nearby waiting for her. Sully had broken the young man’s right eye socket with brass knuckles and ruptured his testicles. Doyle, of course, paid all the medical bills, and reasoned with the parents to convince them not to file criminal charges against Sully, whom he promised to seriously punish himself. Sully’s punishment came in the form of a one-thousand-dollar bonus.

“Do you like your job here, Sully?” Doyle asked.

“Yessir. Very much.”

“Tell me what you like about it.”

“Well, sir, you pay me very good wages. I have nice living quarters over the garage. The work is easy. Mrs. Vera and Miss Doreen treat me very well; they give me Christmas presents—”

“I give you Christmas presents too, Sully. Two thousand dollars it was last year, I think.”

“Yessir, I know that, and it was very generous of you. But what I meant was, Mrs. Vera and Miss Doreen give me personal Christmas presents.”

Doyle frowned slightly. This was something he didn’t know. “Personal presents like what, Sully?”

“Well, sir, last Christmas Mrs. Vera gave me a really nice sweater, cashmere. And Miss Doreen gave me a wallet with my initials on it. Here, I’ll show you—”

Sully drew a wallet from his hip pocket and stood to hold it over the desk for Doyle to see.

“Very nice,” Doyle complimented.

“That’s what I meant by personal, sir. They just treat me real nice, both of them.”

“Good. That’s good.” Leaning forward, Doyle clasped his hands on the desk. “Sully, I want to ask you a few questions and I don’t want you to be embarrassed by them, or afraid to give me honest answers. You drive for my wife and daughter, but you work for me. You do understand that, don’t you?”

“Definitely, yessir.”

“Good. Very good.” Doyle’s icy gray eyes fixed steadily on Sully. “Do you think my daughter is attractive, Sully?”

“Yessir, very much. She’s one of the prettiest girls I’ve ever seen.”

“You’d never get too, ah — friendly with my daughter, would you, Sully?”

“Never, Mr. Doyle! I know my place, sir. Miss Doreen is way out of my league. If I have any personal feelings about her at all, it’s like she was a little sister to me.”

“Little sister?” Doyle sat back and began drumming his fingers on the desktop while deciding whether he liked that analogy or not. He finally decided that it was all right. “I like that, Sully,” he said, giving the younger man a genuine smile. “You’re doing fine, boyo, fine. Now let me ask you a few things about Mrs. Vera. And remember,” he pointed a finger, “be honest with me.”

“I will be, sir.”

“Tell me about the places she has you drive her to.”

“Ah, let’s see, sir. There’s the hair salon, the manicure shop, her doctor now and again, the dentist, that big bookstore on Michigan Avenue, a lot of those — what are they called — bow something—?”

“Boutique shops?”

“Yessir, that’s it.”

“Does she ever have you take her anyplace you think is unusual?”

“No, sir. Mostly the same places all the time.”

“And what do you and my wife talk about when you’re driving her?”

“Not much at all, sir. Mrs. Vera is usually on her cell phone.”

“Who’s she mostly talking to?”

Sully looked down. “I couldn’t say, sir. I try not to listen.”

“Well, if you had to venture a guess, would you say she was talking to men or women?”

“Women, definitely, sir. I can’t help picking up snatches of her end of the conversation, and it sounds like they’re talking about clothes and shoe sizes and styles and spa treatments, things like that.”

“I see. Does she ever meet anyone for lunch?”

“Yessir. Two or three times a week.”

“Any men?”

“No, sir. Always ladies.”

“Always? Without exception?”

“Without exception, sir. I’ve never seen Mrs. Vera even speak to a man anywhere I’ve ever taken her—”

Just then there was a brief knock on the office door and Doyle’s daughter Doreen stuck her head in. “Daddy, do you know where Sully is? I want to go — oh, he’s in here with you. Sorry, Daddy.” She started to back out, but Doyle stopped her.

“No, no, it’s all right, dear, come in. Sully was just reporting on the condition of our cars. Where is it you want to go?”

“Miranda’s Fashions, downtown. Some dresses I ordered came in and I want to try them on.”

Doyle and Sully were both standing now, and Doreen’s father came around the desk to give her a kiss on the cheek. Doreen was what most people would describe as cute rather than pretty. She looked younger than her age and had a fleshy figure without exactly being plump. By the look on her father’s face, she clearly was adored by him.

“Sully can run you down right now,” Doyle said. “We were finished anyhow.”

“I’ll bring the car right up, Miss Doreen,” Sully said.

“No, I’ll walk down to the garage with you,” Doreen said. “I need the exercise.”

“Do you know where Vera is?” Doyle asked his daughter as they were leaving.

“Out by the pool, last I saw.”

After they left, Doyle watched them through a big picture window as they walked side by side across the manicured lawn. Little sister, he thought. Good. Very good.

Grinning to himself, Doyle returned to his desk and called Sol Silverstein on the lawyer’s cell phone.

“I’m going to take your advice, Sol. I’ll make up some lists today, then tomorrow I’ll have some security people take Vera around to pick up all the cash I have locally. They’ll have a backup car follow them for protection. The outside money, bonds and stuff, I’ll have one of my brokers wire-transfer to a central bank. I’ll have that same bank pick up what I’ve got in the vault and what Vera collects tomorrow. Then I’ll have the bank convert everything to bearer bonds, like you said. I’ve decided to have Vera take it all by charter jet to the Caymans on Saturday. You make the arrangements down there.”