A. Fair: Owls Don't Blink

Bertha said, “People don’t look at the faces of the underwear models.”

Hale went on: “Apparently it was a voluntary disappearance, although we can’t find out why. None of her friends can throw any light on it. She had no enemies, no financial troubles, and as far as can be ascertained, there was no reason why she should have vanished so suddenly — certainly not the usual reasons.”

“Love affair?” I asked.

“Apparently not. The outstanding characteristic of this young woman was her complete independence. She liked to live her own life. She was secretive about her private life, but her friends insist that was only because she was too independent to have confidants. She was a very self-sufficient young woman. When she went out with a man, she always went Dutch, so she wouldn’t feel under any obligations.”

“That is carrying independence altogether too far,” Bertha announced.

“Why do you want her now?” I asked. “In other words, why let the case lie dormant for three years, and then get in a dither about finding her, rush detectives down to New Orleans go flying around the country, and—”

The two rows of regular teeth glistened at me. He was nodding his head and smiling. “A very astute young man,” he said to Bertha. “Very smart indeed! You notice? He puts his finger right on the keynote of the whole business.”

Bertha’s waitress handed her the plate with the waffle. Bertha put on two squares of butter. The waitress said, “There’s melted butter in that pitcher, ma’am.”

Bertha tilted the pitcher of melted butter over the waffle, piled on syrup, said, “Bring me another pot of pure coffee and fill up that cream pitcher.” She turned to Hale. “I told you he was a brainy little cuss.”

Hale nodded. “I’m very well satisfied with my selection of the agency. I feel quite certain you’ll handle the matter satisfactorily.”

I said, “I don’t want to seem insistent, Mr. Hale, but—”

He laughed aloud. For the moment, his teeth almost parted. “I know. I know,” he said. “You’re going to come back to the original question. Well, Mr. Lam, I’ll tell you. We want to find her in order to close up an estate. I regret that I can’t tell you anything else. After all, you know, I am working for a client. I am governed by his wishes. It would be well for you to adopt a similar attitude.”

Bertha washed down a mouthful of waffle with a gulp of hot coffee, said, “You mean he’s not supposed to start backtracking in order to find out what it’s all about?”

Hale said, “My client will see that you are given the necessary information, and inasmuch as he is in reality your employer — well, I think you can appreciate what an embarrassing circumstance it would be if friction should develop.”

Bertha Cool frowned across at me. “You get that, Donald,” she said. “Don’t go playing around with a lot of theories. You stick to the job in hand. Find that Fenn girl and quit worrying about who wants her. You understand? Forget that romantic angle.”

Hale glanced over at me, to see how I was taking it. Then he looked back at Bertha. “That’s being put a great deal more bluntly than I’d have said it, Mrs. Cool.”

Bertha said, “I know. You’d have done a lot of palavering around. This gets it over with. There’s no misunderstanding this way. I don’t mince words. I hate beating around the bush.”

He smiled. “You’re a very direct woman, Mrs. Cool.”

There was a moment of silence.

“What else can you tell me about Roberta Fenn?” I asked.

Hale said, “I gave Mrs. Cool most of the details while I was on the train.”

“How about close relatives?” I asked.

“She had none.”

I said, “Yet you’re trying to find her to close up an estate?”

Hale put a big hand on my arm in a fatherly gesture. “Now, Lam,” he said, “I thought I’d made myself clear on that.”

“You have,” Bertha said. “Do you want daily reports?”

“I should like them, yes.”

“Where will you be?”

“In my New York office.”

“Suppose we find her, then what?”

Hale said, “Frankly, I doubt if you will. It’s a cold trail, and a tough assignment. If you do find her — I shall be very much pleased. You will, of course, let me know at once. I feel certain my client will make some substantial acknowledgment by way of a bonus.”

Hale looked around cautiously. “I feel that I should tell you: Don’t do any talking. Make your inquiries casual. If you have to ask direct questions, ask them in such a way as not to arouse suspicion. Pose as a friend of a friend. You happened to be coming to New Orleans, and your friend suggested you should look up Roberta Fenn. Make it casual and entirely natural. Don’t be too eager, and don’t leave any back trail.”

Bertha said, “Leave it to us.”

Hale looked at his watch, then beckoned the waitress. “The check, please.”

Bertha Cool looked around the apartment, peering here and there into odd corners as a woman will.

“Darn good antique furniture,” she said.

I didn’t say anything, and after a moment she added, “If you like it.” She walked over to the windows, looked out on the balcony, turned back to look at the furniture, and said, “I don’t.”

“Why not?” I asked.

She said, “My God, Donald, use your head! For years I was weighing around two hundred and seventy-five pounds. Somebody was always inviting me out to dinner and throwing a Louis the Quinze chair at me, some damn spindle-legged imitation of a narrow-seated, lozenge-backed abortion in mahogany.”

“Did you sit in them?” I asked.

“Sit in them, hell! I wouldn’t have minded so much if the hostesses had used their heads, but none of them did. They’d lead the crowd into the dining-room, and then rd stand and look at what had been assigned as a parking place for my fanny. In place of doing anything, the nitwit hostess would stand there, looking first at me and then at the damn chair. You’d think it was the first time she’d realized I had to sit down when I ate. One of them told me afterward she just didn’t know what to do, because she was afraid I’d feel conspicuous if she had the maid bring me another chair.

“I told her that wouldn’t make me feel half as conspicuous as sitting down on one of those gingersnaps on ornamental stilts and having the damn thing fold up with me like a collapsed accordion. I hate the stuff.”

We prowled around the apartment some more. Bertha Cool picked a studio couch, tried it tentatively, then finally settled back, opened her purse, fished out a cigarette, and said, “I don’t see we’re a damn bit nearer what we want than when we started.”

I didn’t say anything.

She scraped a match on the sole of her shoe, lit the cigarette, glowered at me belligerently, and said, “Well?”

I said, “She lived here.”

“What if she did?”

“She lived here under the name of Edna Cutler.”

“What difference does that make?”

I said, “We know where she lived. We know the alias she was using. During the time she was here, there was a lot of rain in New Orleans. She’d be eating out. Particularly on the rainy days, she wouldn’t go very far. There are two or three restaurants within two blocks of the place. We’ll cover those and see what we can find out.”

Bertha glanced at her wrist watch. I got up, walked over to the door, and went out.

There was a flight of noisy stairs down to a patio, then a long passageway. I made a right-angled turn past another patio, and came out on Royal Street. I walked down to the corner and saw a sign, Bourbon House . I walked over there.