“And the real Mondrian?”
“It was in the Barlow apartment when I got there, of course. I took it off its stretcher and stapled Turnquist’s fake in its place. I had to have a stretcher for the Turnquist canvas, remember.”
“Because you used the stretcher it was on in the Hewlett for one of Denise’s fakes.”
“Right.”
“You know what the trouble is, Bern? There’s too many Mondrians. It sounds like a Nero Wolfe novel, doesn’t it? Too Many Cooks, Too Many Clients, Too Many Detectives, Too Many Women. And Too Many Mondrians.”
“Right.”
“Denise painted three acrylic fakes, Turnquist painted two oil fakes, and Mondrian painted one. Except his was a real one, and are you gonna keep me in suspense forever, Bern? What happens to the real one?”
“It’s going to go to the rightful owner.”
“Elspeth Petrosian? Or Alison? She’s got as much real claim on it as her cousin.”
“Speaking of Alison-”
“Yeah,” she said heavily. “Speaking of Alison. When you figured they were cousins, that was how you knew Elspeth Peters was Armenian. And you looked through the phone book and-”
“Not quite. I looked through papers in Alison’s office and found out her maiden name. That’s a little simpler than reading the phone book.”
“Is that where you got the cat?” She put a hand on mine. “I couldn’t help figuring it out, Bernie. She took my cat, didn’t she? And that’s why she used the Nazi voice when she talked with me, because I would have recognized her real voice. She talked normally with you because she’d never met you. And she was nervous when we got to my place and you were there, because she thought you might recognize her voice from over the phone. Did you?”
“Not really. I was too busy recognizing the resemblance between her and her cousin Elspeth.”
“She wasn’t really that bad,” Carolyn said thoughtfully. “She didn’t hurt Archie, except for cutting his whiskers, and that’s a far cry from mutilating him. And the closer she and I got, the more reassuring the Nazi became over the phone, until there was a point where I pretty much stopped worrying about the cat. You know something? When we got back to the apartment and the cat was there, I think she was as relieved as I was.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.”
She sipped her drink. “ Bern? How’d she get past my locks?”
“She didn’t.”
“Huh?”
“Your cats liked her, remember? Especially Archie. She went through another building into the courtyard and coaxed him through the bars of the window. A person couldn’t get in, but a cat could get out. That’s one reason there were no traces of her visit inside the apartment. She never went inside the apartment except when she was with you. She didn’t have to. The cat walked right out into her arms.”
“When did you dope that out?”
“When I saw Ubi measuring the distance between the bars with his whiskers. They fit, which meant his head would fit, which meant his whole body would fit, and I knew that’s how it was done. Which meant it had to be done by somebody the cat liked, and you told me early on how much the cat liked Alison.”
“Yeah, animals are great judges of character. Bernie, were you gonna tell me all this?”
“Well-”
“Either you were or you weren’t.”
“Well, I wasn’t sure. You seemed to be having a good time with Alison and I figured I’d let the relationship run its course before I said anything.”
“I think it’s run its course.” She knocked back the rest of her drink and sighed philosophically. “Listen, I got my cat back,” she said, “and I had a little excitement, and Alison was a big help at the Hewlett. I don’t know if I could have managed the firecracker and the fire and everything without her. And I got laid, so why should I hold a grudge?”
“That’s about how I felt about Andrea.”
“Plus I might want to see her again.”
“That’s exactly how I felt about Andrea.”
“Right. So I came out of it okay.”
“Don’t forget the reward.”
“Huh?”
“From the insurance company. The $35,000. Ray’s getting half of what’s left after Wally takes his fee, and the rest gets cut up between you and Denise.”
“Why?”
“Because you both worked for it. Denise labored like Michelangelo on the Sistine Chapel, and you risked arrest at the Hewlett, and for that you get rewarded.”
“What about you, Bern?”
“I’ve got Appling’s stamps, remember? And his wife’s ruby earrings, except I don’t think they’re rubies. I think they’re spinels. And it’s funny, I almost feel bad about keeping them, but how could I put them back? If there’s one thing I’m sure of it’s that I’m never going to break into the Charlemagne again.”
“I forgot about the stamps.”
“Well, I’m going to sell them,” I said, “and then we can all forget about them.”
“Good idea.” Her fingers drummed the tabletop. “You stole those stamps before any of this happened,” she said. “Well, almost. While you were breaking into Appling’s apartment, Barlow was murdering Onderdonk. That gives me a chill to think about.”
“Me too, when you put it that way.”
“But most of what happened came after you took the stamps, and you didn’t get anything for that part of it. You just spent a lot of money and had to post bond.”
“I’ll get the bond back. I’ll have paid a fee to the bondsman, but that’s no big deal. Wally won’t charge me anything, not with all the business I threw his way. And I had a few incidental expenses, from cab rides to the icepick I planted in Jacobi’s room.”
“And the chloral hydrate you planted in Onderdonk’s apartment.”
“That wasn’t chloral hydrate. That was talcum powder.”
“The cop said it tasted like chloral hydrate.”
“And Ray said there was a voiceprint record of Jacobi’s telephone tip, and that there was blood on the icepick. This may come as a shock, Carolyn, but cops have been known to tell lies.”
“It’s a shock, all right. Anyway, you had expenses, and all you get is your freedom.”
“So?”
“So don’t you want part of the reward? Thirty-five thousand less Wally’s fee’ll be what? Thirty thousand?”
“Call it that. I don’t know if he’ll dare grab off that much, but lawyers are hard to figure.”
“Thirty grand less half to Ray leaves fifteen, and if we cut that three ways it’s five apiece, and that’s plenty. Why don’t you take a third, Bern?”
I shook my head. “I got the stamps,” I said, “and that’s plenty. And I got something else, too.”
“What? A shot at Andrea and a shot at Eve DeGrasse? Big deal.”
“Something else.”
“What?”
“I’ll give you a hint,” I said. “It’s all right angles and primary colors, and I’m going to hang it over my couch. I think that’s the best place for it.”
“Bernie!”
“I told you,” I said. “The Mondrian’s with its rightful owner. And who do you know who’s got a better right to it?”
And I’ll tell you something. It looks gorgeous there.
About the Author
A Mystery Writers of America Grand Master, LAWRENCE BLOCK is a four-time winner of the Edgar® and Shamus awards, as well as a recipient of prizes in France, Germany, and Japan. He also received the British Crime Writers’ Association’s prestigious Cartier Diamond Dagger for lifetime achievement in crime writing. The author of more than fifty books and numerous short stories, he is a devout New Yorker and enthusiastic world traveler. You can visit his website at www.lawrenceblock.com.
