Plot It Yourself

“Not yet. I wanted to get you first. I will now.”

“Eat plenty of meat. We’ll try to spring you by the Fourth of July. By the way, did you see Alice Porter before you left?”

“Sure. She was mowing the lawn.”

I said that was fine, hung up, sat for two minutes looking at it, went to the stairs and mounted three flights to the plant rooms, and entered. At that point there were ten thousand orchid plants between me and my goal, many of them in full bloom, and the dazzle was enough to stop anyone, even one who had seen it as often as I had, but I kept going-through the first room, the moderate, then the tropical, and then the cool-on into the potting room. Theodore was at the sink, washing pots. Wolfe was at the big bench, putting peat mixture into flasks. When he heard my step and turned, his lips tightened and his chin went up. He knew I wouldn’t mount three flights and burst in there for anything trivial.

“Relax,” I said. “She’s still alive, or was two hours ago. Mowing the lawn. But Saul and Fred are in the hoosegow, and Dol Bonner is having an affair with a state cop.”

He turned to put the flask he was holding on the bench, and turned back. “Go on.”

I did so, repeating verbatim what Saul and I had said. His chin went back to normal, but his lips stayed tight. When I finished he said, “So you regard my giving up meat as a subject for jest.”

“I do not. I was being bitter.”

“I know you. That deputy sheriff is probably an oaf. Have you phoned Mr Parker?”

“No.”

“Do so at once. Tell him to get those absurd charges dismissed if possible; if not, arrange for bail. And phone Mr Harvey or Miss Ballard or Mr Tabb that I shall be at that meeting at half past two.”

I started. “What?”

“Must I repeat it?”

“No. Do you want me along?”

“Certainly.”