Death on Deadline - Robert Goldsborough Page 0,73

one time.

Fritz was in agony. He always suspects women visit merely to attempt to seduce Wolfe.

As I was ushering them into the office, the bell rang again and Fritz got it, letting Bishop and Dean in, neither of whom said a word as they entered the hall. I orchestrated the seating, directing David to the chair next to Audrey in the front row and Carolyn next to him. I left the last chair up front vacant for MacLaren. Next, I motioned Scott and Donna to the two middle seats in the second row. They, like David and Carolyn, looked back at Cramer and Stebbins, but nobody said anything. They also shot a curious glance in Audrey’s direction, which was understandable, as nobody else in the room had likely ever seen her before. I started to make introductions, but figured I’d leave that for Wolfe.

I showed Dean to the chair in the second row nearest me and gestured Bishop to the one at the other end of the row. Bishop nodded to the various Haverhills, who all nodded back, but Dean pulled his usual slouching act, arms folded. “Where’s Wolfe?” he wheezed. “And who’s that waiting for?” He gestured toward the empty chair.

I started to reply, when the bell squawked again. Until I heard it, I honestly wasn’t sure we were going to see MacLaren. I went to the door, greeting him with a thin smile that nicely mirrored his own. “I don’t plan to stay long,” he announced, pushing in past me and yanking off his Burberry, which he threw carelessly onto one of the pegs.

When we entered the office, the hubbub began, and nobody paid any attention to me when I walked behind Wolfe’s desk and reached under the drawer to push the buzzer. “What’s he doing here?” Dean demanded shrilly, then had to stop to catch his breath. “Nobody said anything about him. I don’t want to be in the same room with that—”

“Elliot,” Bishop said, “take it easy.” The man’s little mustache kept quivering, but at Bishop’s urging, he settled back.

“I’ve heard about these performances,” David piped up. He’d already helped himself to a drink. “I understand they’re entertaining, but let me tell you, I’m in no mood to be entertained.”

“Nor am I in the mood to entertain,” Wolfe said as he stood in the doorway. He walked in, edged along the wall because of all the chairs, and seated himself. “I’m having beer—would anyone like refreshments?” He gestured toward the cart.

“I prefer to remain sober,” MacLaren said with a glacial smile, and there were nods and murmurs of agreement. David frowned silently into his bourbon. This group was not about to become chums. “No?” Wolfe asked. “Very well. Archie, have you made introductions?”

“Not of our client,” I said.

He placed his palms flat on the desk.

“The woman on my right in the front row is Audrey MacLaren,” he said, his eyes moving from face to face. “She is my client.”

“And for those of you who haven’t figured it out, my former wife,” MacLaren said defiantly, turning in his chair to face the others. “She’s trying to set me up for—”

“Enough!” Wolfe crackled, as Audrey bristled and prepared to attack. “Sir, if everyone is allowed to blurt as they please, this may take all night. I don’t think any of you want that.” He then proceeded to name each of the others to our client as MacLaren muttered. If looks could kill, we’d be sitting in a roomful of corpses.

“Just a minute,” Scott said as he finished. “I’d like to know why these two are here.” He stabbed a finger at Cramer and Stebbins. “I recognize one as the policeman who came to see us after Harriet died.” New York’s Finest looked at him without affection. If I were Scott Haverhill, I would make myself a mental note never to double-park in this borough.

“Come now, Scott,” Bishop said. “Do you really wonder why they’re here? Isn’t it obvious? Our host is planning to unveil a murderer tonight.”

“If I may interject,” Wolfe said, “Inspector Cramer and Sergeant Stebbins of Homicide are here at my request. I would only echo Mr. Bishop’s words—the reason for their presence should be evident.” Fritz came in with beer and Wolfe paused to pour, tucking the first bottle cap in his drawer. “I appreciate—”

“You like to use the word ‘flummery,’“ Cramer cut in, and everyone turned to stare at him. “Well, there’d better not be any flummery here tonight. If this thing backfires, it’s