Рекс Стаут - The Father Hunt

I lied. I could have dodged and wriggled, a lot of guff, that I hadn’t known Carlotta Vaughn and therefore could only guess, and if and but and even so, but I preferred to straight lie. “Yes,” I said, “she certainly would. It was a long time ago, but you may remember. When did you first see her?”

“That’s easy. I’ll never forget that first winter, I still have the scars. I started, rented that one room, in the fall of nineteen forty-three, and I first saw Carlotta the next spring — early spring, April, or it could have been March. I suppose the first time was in the hall or the elevator, I don’t remember.”

“Then she was there in the spring and summer of nineteen forty-four.”

She nodded. “That’s right, nineteen forty-four.”

“Do you remember when you saw her last?”

“Not definitely, no. Not to name a date, but when I hadn’t seen her for a while I asked Floyd Vance about her and he said...” She frowned and shook her head. “Something vague. She had gone somewhere or something.”

“Was that in summer, or fall, or winter?”

“Not winter. By November my business was beginning to show some signs of life, and I wanted to tell Carlotta, but she wasn’t there. It was probably in October.”

“That would make it a total of six or seven months. You said you didn’t know if she worked for Floyd Vance, or with him. But she was there every day, in his office?”

“I don’t know about every day. But most of the time, yes, she was there. He was in public relations. I don’t know if he still is, I know nothing about him. He left Number Ten — I think it was two years after Carlotta left.”

“I have the impression that your liking for Carlotta didn’t extend to him.”

“It didn’t. I didn’t know him, really, and I didn’t want to. He thought he was handsome and charming, and perhaps he was, but I thought he was — well, flashy. Not the kind of man I would work either for or with. And if you — good lord, is he your client?”

“He is not. I doubt if there are many men of any kind you would work for or with.”

She smiled, more with her mouth than her eyes. “I’ve never tried and don’t intend to. I wouldn’t mind having a man of your kind working for me. How much does Nero Wolfe pay you?”

“Nothing. I work for love of the job. I meet interesting people like you. If I get fed up and quit I’ll come and remind you. Speaking of quitting, do you suppose Carlotta quit Vance because her opinion of him was about the same as yours? She might have said—”

The phone again — an important customer, judging from the conversation — and then she made calls to two employees, giving one of them detailed instructions and the other one hell. As she hung up she looked at her watch. “It’s getting late,” she said, “and I have a pile of work.”

“So have I, thanks to you.” I rose up to my feet. “Do you suppose your opinion of Vance rubbed off on Carlotta?”

“I doubt it. If it did she wouldn’t have told me. She was every... self-contained.”

“Do you shake hands with men?”

She laughed — a good healthy laugh. “Occasionally. If I want them to do something.”

“Then I qualify.” I put a hand out. “You want me to leave.”

Her grip was firm and friendly. “If you get fed up,” she said, “I could pay you fifteen thousand to start.”

“I’ll remember. What color of roses do you like?”

“Green with black borders. If you sent me ten dozen roses I’d sell them to some customer. I’m a businesswoman.”

She certainly was.

When Wolfe came down from the plant rooms at six o’clock, I was sprawled in my chair, no necktie, with my shoes off and my feet up on one of the yellow chairs, reading a magazine. As he crossed to his desk I gave him a lazy nod, yawned, and returned to the magazine. The sound came of his chair taking the seventh of a ton. I didn’t see his glare because my back was turned, but I felt it. He demanded, “A stroke? The heat?”

I turned my head around casually. “No, sir, I’m fine. I’m just relaxing. Saul phoned a few minutes ago and I invited him to dinner. The job is finished. Floyd Vance is Miss Denovo’s father. I was going to ring her and tell her, but maybe you’d rather tell her yourself.”

“Pfui. Report.”

I got my feet to the floor, no hurry, straightened up, and bent over to put my shoes on. When I am doing desk work the door to the hall and most of the room are behind me, and on the wall back of my desk is a mirror five feet wide and four feet high, for keeping an eye on people. I used it to put my tie on, combed my hair with my fingers, swiveled, and said, “I don’t suppose you’ll ever want the painful details of what led up to it, but if you do I’ll be glad to oblige. An hour and a half ago a woman named Dorothy Sebor who runs, repeat runs, a shopping service in Rockefeller Center, said to me, ‘But what can I possibly tell you about Ten East Thirty-ninth Street? I left there eighteen years ago. I loved that dump. Sit down.’ If you don’t mind I’ll use my formula, not yours. I prefer ‘I’ and ‘she’ to ‘Goodwin’ and ‘Sebor.”’

I gave it to him verbatim, with him, as always, leaning back with his eyes closed. When I finished he sat for a full minute, no movement, and then moved only his lips to mutter, “Very satisfactory.”

“It was about time,” I said with feeling. “Questions.”

His eyes opened. “Why roses?”

I nodded. “I expected that. It came out without thinking, probably because she had struck me as not the type for orchids. She could probably get a lot more for Nero Wolfe orchids than for run-of-the-nursery roses.”

“We’ll send her some sprays of Phalaenopsis Aphrodite. They have never been finer. Having had time to consider it, you regard the job as finished?”

“I was just smacking my lips after so many hungry days. One will get you fifty that Floyd Vance is the father, but I admit it wouldn’t be enough for a jury. It might be enough for the client, but I also admit there are other angles.”

“Specify them.”

“Well. The angle most important to us is your honor. Four days ago I said to Cramer, ‘I am authorized to give you Mr. Wolfe’s word of honor that if we get anything you might be able to use we’ll pass it on to you before we make any use of it ourselves.’ I added, ‘At least two minutes before,’ but that didn’t cancel the commitment. We now have these items: One: Carlotta Vaughn became pregnant in the summer of nineteen forty-four and almost certainly wasn’t married. Two: she spent the entire summer of nineteen forty-four in close association with Floyd Vance. Three: on Monday, May twenty-second, nineteen sixty-seven, four days before Carlotta Vaughn, who was then Elinor Denovo, died, Floyd Vance tried to see her and was chased by the receptionist, and he had been trying to see her before. I’d hate to undertake to tell Cramer that those three items, taken together, are not something he might be able to use. Of course your honor is your lookout, but I mortgaged it.”

He grunted. “My lookout and my responsibility. Go on.”

“Then the angle that may interest me more than it does you. My honor isn’t involved, but my feelings are, because I got my ass kicked twice by Cyrus M. Jarrett and I would like to return the compliment. What kind of a connection was there, and is there, between Jarrett and Vance that caused Jarrett to start sending checks to Carlotta Vaughn, alias Elinor Denovo, two weeks after her baby was born and to keep on sending them until her death? That could be another item that Cramer might be able to use, but that’s not why I want to know. Also, of course, Miss Denovo would like to know. I believe in satisfying the client. I also believe in satisfying me. All right, I withdraw my brag; the job is not finished. It’s your move.”