“That might well be the case with this prodigal brother,” Lily said.
“I should know where Maureen lives, although I’m not sure if you have ever mentioned it.”
“I may not have. She has a duplex on Park Avenue up in the Sixties. It’s a lavish place.”
“Given your own abode, the fact that you call another apartment ‘lavish’ gets my attention.”
“I am not exaggerating, Archie. It is a showpiece.”
“Have you or any other friends of Miss Carr been at that ‘showpiece’ since she dropped out of sight?”
“Not that I’m aware of, although I did get the telephone number of her maid, Sofia, and called her at home. She sounded baffled as to where Maureen might have gone. ‘Miss Carr said nothing to me about going away, Miss Rowan. I do not know what to think,’ Sofia told me.
“You know I don’t like to be a busybody; it is not my style and never has been,” Lily said. “But darn it, Archie, I just can’t figure out what to do, and I know something has got to be wrong.”
When she refers to me as “Archie” rather than that operatic bullfighter, as she has during this conversation, I know that she’s really upset and is indirectly asking for help. “Can I assume this Sofia has a key to Maureen’s Park Avenue duplex?” I posed.
“She must,” Lily said, “because even when Maureen is out of town, she goes there to dust and make sure things are in order for her employer’s return. Are you suggesting we should get the key and take a look around?”
“As usual, you read me like a book,” I said. “Do you also know where the maid lives?”
“Up in Morningside Heights, somewhere just off Broadway, I think. Maureen mentioned it once.”
“Do you know Sofia’s last name?”
“I don’t, but maybe one of the other girls in our group does. We have all been up to Maureen’s, of course, for parties and meetings, and Sofia has often been there, serving us drinks and food. I’ll ask around. You think we should go to the duplex and take a look, don’t you?”
“Don’t you?” I countered.
Lily frowned. “I... well, I guess so.”
“You seem unsure.”
“Somehow, I would feel like a snoop going through Maureen’s home.”
“Now you know how I feel when I’m searching somebody’s place.”
“But that doesn’t really make you a snoop, at least by my definition. You are at work as a private detective, which is an honorable profession.”
“Tell that to our old friend Inspector Cramer sometime and be prepared for a horse laugh. Look, you have already told me how worried you are about Maureen Carr. I think that overrides any feelings you might have about being a nosy parker.”
“All right, I see your point. As you so often like to say, ‘I am on the case.’ I’ll call Sofia again, and see if we can get a key to Maureen’s place from her.”
Chapter 2
I was in the office after breakfast the next morning when Lily rang. “I got hold of Sofia, and I told her I wanted to get the key to Maureen’s duplex. She gave me her address and said I could come over anytime. But she felt that she should be present when we go to Maureen’s.”
“Protecting her employer’s property, no doubt.”
“Perhaps. Like us, she seems to be worried. She told me Maureen had never left town before without telling her where she was going and when she’d return.”
I took a sip of coffee before answering. “Did you tell her I would be tagging along?”
“Yes, and she said that she had no objection.”
“Glad to hear it. Did you find out her last name?”
“Jurek. It sounds like it might be Czech. She does have an accent, although her English is really quite good,” Lily said.
“More likely she’s Polish,” I said. “She is probably one of the many Europeans who have come over here in the couple of years since the end of the war. I will pick you up in front of your building in... say, forty minutes, how does that sound?”
“Well... yes, okay,” Lily replied. She still sounded uncomfortable about our undertaking.
I left a note on Wolfe’s desk, telling him I would be out most of the morning. We had no pressing cases, so he had no urgent need for me at the moment, as I had already typed up his correspondence from yesterday and left it on his desk for signing.
In fact, life in the old brownstone on West Thirty-Fifth Street near the Hudson had been downright serene recently. The bank balance was in okay shape, allowing Wolfe to indulge himself as usual with his ten thousand orchids on the roof, which he tends with his orchid nurse, Theodore Horstmann, and his books, of which he is reading three at any given time. And then, of course, there are the superb meals prepared by our live-in Fritz Brenner, which doubtless contribute to Wolfe’s seventh-of-a-ton bulk.
I got the convertible from Curran Motors, a block from the brownstone, where we have garaged our cars for years. I kept the top up as a buffer against the late March winds and drove north to Lily’s. She was waiting for me under the canopy of her building, wearing a beret and a scarf, with the collar of her raincoat tight around her neck.
“Hope I didn’t keep you waiting long,” I said as she slid gracefully into the car and gave me a kiss on the cheek.
“No, your timing was perfect. I stepped outside just thirty seconds ago.”
We drove north up Broadway to where the numbered cross streets jumped into the triple digits. For those visitors to New York who confine themselves to Midtown and its theaters and stores and hotels, they likely think of Manhattan as basically flat. One notable exception is Morningside Heights up near the north end of the island, home to Columbia University, St. John the Divine Cathedral, Grant’s Tomb, and... hills. Okay, these hills may not be impressive to someone from San Francisco, but they are rocky and with sometimes steep drop-offs, and the topography makes for some interesting vistas.
There was nothing particularly interesting, however, about the blocks just west of Broadway where Sofia Jurek lived. The area was lined with bland four- and five-story brick walk-ups. At Lily’s direction, I pulled up in front of one of these and we entered the bare street-level foyer, one wall of which was lined with mailboxes and buzzers. Lily pushed the button with JUREK on the card under it.
“Yes?” came the static-filled voice. When Lily gave her name, the voice said, “Three seventeen.”
We trudged up the heavily worn stairways to the third floor. Down a dimly lit corridor, a head could be seen peering out into the hallway.
“Hello, Sofia,” Lily said to the petite, dark-haired woman in the doorway. “It’s nice to see you.”
“It is very nice to see you also, Miss Rowan,” Sofia replied formally, looking at me with a questioning expression.
“This is my friend, Archie Goodwin,” Lily explained as we walked into the living room that seemed too filled with furniture, but was nonetheless neat. “He will be going with us to Miss Carr’s home. I will ask again as I did when we talked on the telephone earlier today: Do you have any idea where Miss Carr might have gone?”
Sofia shook her head vigorously. “I do not, not at all. Please sit down, both of you. Would you like to have some coffee? I have a pot made.”
I was about to say no thanks, but Lily had other ideas. “That would be very nice,” she said as our hostess hustled out of the room, presumably in the direction of the kitchen. “I have a few other questions to ask her,” Lily said in a voice just above a whisper.
“That’s usually my line,” I semi-whispered in reply.
“Sometimes a woman is more comfortable answering questions from another woman. I hope you don’t take offense.”
“None taken,” I replied as Sofia came in with steaming cups of coffee on a tray.