Not Quite Dead Enough (The Rex Stout Library)

Lawson didn’t move a muscle as I passed him, with the carton in the hand nearest him, so the other hand would be free in case he decided to show her how big and brave he was. But either she was the boss and he was obeying orders, or he wanted to be alone to think. I signified that she, being a lady, should go first, and she did so, stopping in the other room only to get her peck-measure cap from the table, and letting me close the door after us and push the button for the elevator as if she enjoyed having a male escort attend to such details.

On the street, I put the carton in the rear and her in the front, went around and slid in behind the wheel, beside her, and got going. No conversation. Apparently there wasn’t going to be any. But as I waited for a light at Twenty-Third Street, suddenly she spoke.

“I wonder if you’d like to do me a little favor.”

“I doubt it. What? Want me to phone your sister in Washington?”

She made a little noise, between a chuckle and a gurgle. Three hours earlier I would have thought it very attractive. “No,” she said, “nothing as complicated as that. Just to stop a minute, anywhere there’s a place at the curb, so I can ask you something.”

The light changed and we rolled. A block farther on a roomy space came in view, and I steered into it and shut off the engine.

“Okay. Ask me something.”

“I hope your eye feels better.”

Her tone made it plain that it was not a sergeant speaking to a major. It abolished all consideration of worldly rank and superficial barriers. Not that it conveyed the impression that she intended to seduce me right there on Sixth Avenue in the midst of traffic, but it did indicate that a closer understanding between the two of us would be a natural and wholesome development.

I said, “It feels fine. That all?”

“No. I wish it was.” She was turned to me full face, and I was reciprocating. “I wish there was nothing, I mean with you and me, except silly little pleasant things like that. Don’t think I’m being obvious. I’m just clever enough, just barely, to know how clever you are. If I were a fool, I might think I could start your head whirling in no time, parked here on our way to Nero Wolfe, but I know better than to try idiotic tricks with you.”

I grinned at her. “You do know how to handle your lips and eyes, though. And especially your voice. Which you were going to use to ask me something.”

She nodded. “Tell me, does Nero Wolfe want that carton just to see if I took something that doesn’t belong to me?”