Death of a Doxy (Crime Line)

Damn it, she didn't. When the doorbell rang a little after nine-thirty and I went to the hall and to the front door, what I saw through the one-way glass was a size twelve black leather coat with a fur collar, and a little oval face, pink from the cold, with big gray-blue eyes, under a fur-and-leather pancake. When I had opened up and she was inside and the coat was off, she looked even smaller in the well-fitted dark blue suit. She must have just barely hit the minimum height for her job. In the office, I had one of the yellow chairs in place for her. The red leather chair is too far away from my desk.

"I've calmed down a little," she said as she sat. "You look a little like Orrie. The same size."

That didn't strike me as an ideal opening for a friendly conversation. I do not look like Orrie. He's handsome and I'm not. My face needs more nose, but I quit worrying about it when I was twelve. I turned the other cheek. "I'm not surprised," I said, "that Orrie decided to merge. Seeing you. I'll congratulate him again when I see him."

She ignored the oil. "When will you see him?"

"I'm not sure. Possibly this afternoon."

"I want to see him, but I don't know how. What do I do?"

"I wouldn't try to rush it if I were you. He might get bailed out. He has a good lawyer. When did you see him last?"

"Why did they arrest him?" she demanded. "What could he know about a murder? You say he wasn't working for Nero Wolfe?"

"Yes. He wasn't. I don't know, Miss Hardy, if I can tell you much of anything you don't already know, since you've read the paper. I suppose that woman, Isabel Kerr, was involved in some case he was working on, but that's just a guess. Another guess is that he was in her apartment recently, and they found his fingerprints there, and that's why they've got him. You probably know that private detectives sometimes get into a place and make a search, but if it had been that, Orrie wouldn't have left any prints because he would have had gloves on. Of course he might not have been there on business, it might have been just – social. Do you know if he knew Miss Kerr?"

"No." She was frowning.

"He has never mentioned her name?"

"No."

"When did you see him last?"

She was tops at ignoring questions. She was still frowning. "You said you'd rather not tell me on the phone why I would have callers, but you're not telling me anything, it seems to me. You're Orrie's close friend, but you don't seem to know much. Why would I have callers? You mean the police?"