“What about?”
“If you’ll let me come in, I’ll explain.”
There was nothing to do but let him in. Flo already had an uncomfortable notion of what he wanted, of course, but she couldn’t imagine what had brought him to her door so soon when she had just about convinced herself that he wouldn’t come at all. Things were not going as well as she had hoped, that was obvious, and she would have to be careful. Policemen were notoriously tricky, and it would never do to admit anything that should be denied, or to deny anything that should be admitted. Fortunately, Hester had stayed the night and was available as counsel.
“What is it that you want?” she said, after Bones had sat down, section by section, in a proffered chair.
“Do you know a Mr. Willis Brewster?” he said.
“Certainly I know him. He’s the family lawyer. Why? Has he embezzled some money from an estate or something?”
“No. Not that I know of.” Bones’ nose twitched, and his ears seemed to swing forward into a more favorable listening position. “Why should you ask that?”
“Well, one naturally suspects lawyers of the worst, doesn’t one? They know all sorts of ways to do things and get out of it.”
“Do they? I wouldn’t know about that. Anyhow, Mr. Brewster hasn’t committed any crime, unless dying is one.”
“Dying? Old Brewster dead? Who killed him?”
“I didn’t say he was killed. What makes you think he was?”
Well, she’d done it. The very thing she’d resolved not to do. She’d made an egregious error right off, just when she was feeling clever about sounding properly surprised, and now it was necessary to think quickly and correct it if possible.
“Because you’re here,” she said. “Are the police interested in deaths that aren’t the result of killing? I didn’t think they were.”
“You’re right. They aren’t. Not usually.”
“Besides,” said Hester, coming out of the bedroom at that moment, “it was the most natural thing in the world to assume that old Brewster, if dead, was killed. He was exactly the sort that everyone wants to do in.”
“Is that so?” Bones swung his head around and sniffed at Hester. “Who are you?”
“This is Hester,” Flo said. “She’s Lester’s twin.”
“Who’s Lester?”
“I just told you. He’s Hester’s twin. And here he is now.”
Bones swung his head the other way and verified the fact that there, indeed, Lester was. He had emerged from his own room to join the group, and Bones began to feel surrounded. He was also beginning to feel somewhat confused and a little desperate. He had a sudden conviction that he had wandered innocently into a nest of queer birds, to put it mildly, and the conviction grew stronger by the second.
“Siblings?” he said to Flo.
“No,” said Flo. “They’re my children.”
“What are siblings?” Lester said.
“Siblings are children,” Bones said.
“Oh,” said Flo. “Why didn’t you say so?”
“That’s an unusual word for a policeman, isn’t it?” said Hester. “I wouldn’t think a policeman would know a word like that.”
“Darling,” said Flo, “you mustn’t be rude. I’m sure that Lieutenant Bones is not an ordinary policeman by any means. He probably knows lots of words.”
“Did I hear someone say that old Brewster is dead?” Lester said.
“Yes, darling,” Flo said. “That’s why Lieutenant Bones is here. Isn’t it, Lieutenant?”
“It is,” said Bones.
“Why?” said Hester.
“Yes,” Flo said. “I didn’t think to ask that. Why should you come here to see me just because old Brewster is dead?”
“Because someone killed him, as you have guessed, and I’m supposed to find out who did it.”
“That’s no answer,” Hester said. “Why don’t you go off somewhere and find out instead of bothering Mother?”
“I’ll ask the questions, if you don’t mind.” Bones had clearly lost command of the situation, and he was desperately determined to regain it. “Sit down, please.”
“No, thank you,” said Hester. “I don’t care to.”
“Neither do I,” said Lester.
“As you see,” said Flo, “I already am.”
“Ask any questions you please,” Hester said, “but in my opinion it would be no more than courteous if you answered ours first.”
“All right,” Bones said. “Mrs. Jarbelo, where did you spend yesterday evening?”
“That’s easy,” Hester said. “She spent it right there with Lester and me.”
“We were all together,” said Lester.
“I asked your mother. Let your mother answer.”
“Well, I suppose you must be humored, however unreasonable you wish to be.” Hester sat down, after all, looking scornful. “Go ahead, Mother. Tell him you were here with Lester and me.”
“That’s right,” said Flo. “I was.”
“All the time?”
“Yes. Wasn’t I, Hester?”
“Never mind that. I’m not asking for verification. Not yet.”
“Anybody has the right to counsel,” Hester said. “I’m her counsellor.”
“Hester’s clever,” Flo said. “I always ask her about things.”
“If you need counsel, you can call your lawyer.”
“How can she?” Hester said. “According to you, our lawyer is dead.”
“Yes. So he is. Knocked in the head by someone yesterday evening. Perhaps yesterday afternoon. The autopsy may tell us more exactly. Mrs. Jarbelo, didn’t you have a dinner date with Brewster in his apartment yesterday evening?”
“She had one,” said Hester, “but she didn’t keep it.”
“Mrs. Jarbelo?”
“I didn’t keep it.”
“Why did you break it? Isn’t that rather odd?”
“Odd?” Lester hooted derisively. “Obviously you never saw old Brewster until he was dead, but he was not much better alive. As a matter of fact, I’m not sure that rigor mortis wouldn’t have improved him.”
“Mother was cultivating old Brewster for a particular purpose,” said Hester, “but we didn’t dream that she would go to the extreme of making a dinner date with him. When we found out, we refused to let her go.”
“What purpose?” said Bones.
“It was a family matter,” Hester said, “and has absolutely nothing to do with anyone knocking Brewster in the head.”
“Yes,” said Flo, “I only did it for my children. Lieutenant, if someone said he saw me at Brewster’s, he’s simply mistaken, that’s all.”
“No one’s said that. Not yet. It’s just that Brewster was apparently a meticulous man. He kept an appointment book, and he noted that you were expected last evening for dinner. He was going to prepare the dinner himself, and he even made a note of the entree. You were going to have veal cutlets.”
“I don’t like veal cutlets,” Flo said.
“Good God!” said Lester. “Mother, it’s the best of luck for you that we wouldn’t let you go. The old shyster might have poisoned you, fooling around in his filthy kitchen with veal cutlets.”
“It seems to me,” Hester said, “that the least he could have done was hire a catering service or something like that.”
“What makes me most upset about the whole matter,” said Flo, “is that he had to make a note of it. Why should he have needed a note to remind him of a dinner date with me? If that’s not insulting, I’ve never heard anything that was.”
“Oh, well,” Lester said, “the man was practically in his dotage. Probably his mind was slipping.”
Bones slapped his knee, stood up, then sat down again very deliberately. He clasped both knees with his hands and stared intently at a spot on the wall. His nose was twitching with exceptional violence.