Sofia looked more uncomfortable than ever. “But she has so much clothing, Miss Rowan. I would not know what might be missing.”
“I agree, but let us at least take a look. You might have a better idea than I do as to what is in her wardrobe. And among her jewelry, for that matter.”
Lily gave me a look indicating that I would be of no help whatever in perusing Maureen Carr’s clothes closets and jewel boxes, and I wholeheartedly agreed. The two of them went one way while I headed for the living room, or whatever it was called.
I spent the next forty minutes playing at being a detective, which in this case meant moving through all the other areas in this double-decked palace. I spent the most time in an upstairs room that could pass for a library, with built-in bookshelves along one wall. And before you ask, yes, I opened every book and shook it, and nothing fell out other than one bookmark, from a copy of Arrowsmith by Sinclair Lewis. The pages where the bookmark had been yielded no clues.
Overall, the rooms I went through gave no indication of a sudden departure by the lady of the house. Other than very light coats of dust on tabletops, everything appeared to be neat and in place, surely a tribute to the conscientiousness of Sofia Jurek and her frequent visits to the apartment. I had just come down from upstairs when Lily and Sofia emerged into the entrance hall from the corridor leading to the bedrooms.
“Well, we struck out, to use one of your favorite baseball terms,” Lily told me. “Maureen has so many clothes and so much jewelry that it is almost impossible to tell what she may have gone off with, although for what it’s worth, the string of pearls she loves so much was in place. We also looked in the closet where her suitcases are kept and couldn’t tell if any were missing, because neither Sofia nor I know how many pieces of luggage she had to begin with.”
“A noble effort, indeed,” I said. “And I regret to tell you I had no success, either. If you two agree with me, we should leave.” I got no argument from either of them, and Sofia’s face registered relief. We said a brief good-bye to the doorman and drove north in silence until I dropped Sofia off in front of her building in Morningside Heights.
“I am so sorry that I was not of any help,” she said as she stepped out of the convertible. “So very sorry.”
“We did all that we could,” Lily assured her as I pulled away from the curb. After riding several blocks in silence, Lily said, “But we really haven’t done all that we can.”
“I am open to suggestions.”
“I really should have said I haven’t done all that I can.”
“Explain yourself, Miss Rowan.”
“I plan to talk to each of the men Maureen had been with socially in recent times, starting with the one most recently mentioned in her diary, Lloyd Thorne. From meeting with him, I will work backward.”
“I would be happy to help,” I said, meaning it.
“Oh, I know you would, but I have already taken more than enough of your time. This really is my challenge, and what I see as my responsibility. Maureen has been a friend of mine for a long time, probably my closest lady friend, and I would be remiss if I did not try to find out what is going on.”
“May I make a suggestion?”
Lily smiled. “Well, of course you can; all ideas are welcome.”
“I assume many of your friends have vacation homes, be they in Florida, or California, the Caribbean, or even Europe. It could be worth checking to see if Maureen might be staying at one of those retreats, since you’ve told me that she doesn’t have a getaway place that she owns.”
“An excellent thought,” she said, sighing. “It seems that I have a lot on my plate right now, by choice. I am going to begin my own version of sleuthing tomorrow, and I hope to live up to your high standards, Detective Goodwin.”
“I have no doubt you are ready for the challenge. Just know that I’m available if needed,” I told her as we pulled up in front of her building and embraced.
Chapter 4
The next morning, I parked at my desk in the office finishing my last cup of breakfast coffee when the elevator doors in the hall opened and Nero Wolfe strode into the office, right on time at 11:03. He placed a raceme of purple miltonia in the vase on his blotter and settled into the reinforced chair built to handle his weight.
“Good morning, Archie, did you sleep well?” he asked as he rang for beer.
“I did, the usual five hundred ten minutes. As you can see, I’ve stacked the morning delivery from the post office on your desk. Nothing particularly interesting.”
Wolfe flipped through the pile of mostly junk mail and scowled as Fritz Brenner brought in two bottles of chilled Remmers and a stein on a tray, placed the array in front of his boss, and returned to the kitchen.
After he had taken his first healthy drink of beer, I spoke to my employer: “Miss Rowan is highly troubled at the moment.”
“Indeed?” he said, eyebrows climbing halfway up his forehead. “And why would that be?”
Although Wolfe avoids the company of women whenever possible, he makes a marked exception for Lily Rowan. His affinity for her stems from their first meeting years ago when she asked if she could see his ten thousand orchids in the climate-controlled greenhouse on the roof of the brownstone. Since then he has sent her orchids from his collection every year on her birthday. And she is one of the few females who has shared dinner at his table — and on several occasions.
I proceeded to describe the Maureen Carr situation in detail, and when I had finished, Wolfe leaned back, interlacing his fingers over his middle mound. “You showed admirable restraint in stepping aside and allowing Miss Rowan to conduct her investigation unfettered,” he said. “She is an independent individual and needs to be treated as such.”
“I have known that about her for years,” I said. “She is aware that I will be around if needed, but for now, I plan to stay on the sidelines.”
Wolfe dipped his chin in what was a sign of approval for my stance. “If at any time you feel she has need for counsel, she will of course be welcome here.” His remark did not surprise me, and I told him we should keep that option open.
The days passed. We had one short-lived and reasonably remunerative case, in which Wolfe, with minimal help from me, was able to identify the embezzler at a large Midtown department store. I avoided telephoning Lily, lest I should seem nosy about her sleuthing progress. This restraint on my part meant, of course, that we did not see each other, which I found to be a strain, as we are used to spending frequent nights on the town, whether at dinner, a sports event, dancing, the opera, or a Broadway play.
Then one morning while I was at my desk typing letters Wolfe had dictated the day before, the phone rang, and for reasons I can’t explain, I knew it was Lily.
“Have you missed me?” she asked.
“That’s pretty good as a conversation starter,” I told her. “I could play coy, of course, but instead I will own up. Of course, I have missed you, and quite a bit.”
“Aren’t you going to ask what I’ve been up to all this time?”
“I figure that if you want me to know something, you will tell me.”
“Archie! You’re not miffed, are you?”
“Not in the least, my dear. I have just wanted to give you some space with this—”
“Investigation,” she said, finishing my sentence. “And I do thank you for your forbearing. As ever, you are a gentleman.”
“Forbearing. A very good word.”
“I believe I used it correctly. Would Nero Wolfe approve?”
“I am sure he would. I’ve heard it from him on numerous occasions. Now... just what have you been up to?”