Three-Day Town - By Margaret Maron Page 0,79

to Smalls later and hear Sam play,” Elliott said.

Sigrid was amused to see the look of discomfort deepen on Hentz’s face. Not quite enough revenge for his laughter when Captain Fortesque had led the singing of “Happy Birthday, dear Sigrid” last February, but it was a start.

CHAPTER

21

The stranger passing from restaurant to restaurant in up-town New York after seven in the evening would be very apt to conclude that most of the city had given up house-keeping and was taking its meals “out.”… The constant irritation over servants has driven many thousands to seek… eating accommodations in hotels and restaurants.

—The New New York, 1909

SIGRID, HARALD—MONDAY NIGHT

On this slow Monday night in January, the hostess at the Thai restaurant was quite willing to change Buntrock’s reservation for three to a round table for five at the rear of the long narrow room.

“Ignore the décor,” Buntrock said, breezily dismissing the scuffed chairs, the crazed mirrors, and the red-and-gold wall hangings that had long since lost whatever crisp charm they might have begun with. “Wait till you taste their tom yum goong and the peanut sauce they serve with their pad thai.”

Hentz and Bryant wanted to try the Thai beer, so Buntrock ordered two Singhas for them and a bottle of white wine for the table.

After an animated discussion, they decided to make their meal from a variety of appetizers that they could share rather than full entrees. When the drinks arrived, Buntrock made a graceful toast to the not-so-newlywed honeymooners, then said, “Any luck recovering that Streichert maquette, Sigrid?”

She shook her head and Deborah, who was seated across from her next to Buntrock, gave a gurgle of laughter. “I forgot to tell you, Dwight. I finally remembered where I’ve seen Cameron Broughton before.”

He recognized that mischievous expression on her face, took a sip of his beer, and leaned back in his chair, prepared to be entertained.

“It was about three years ago,” she told Sigrid. “I was holding court down on the coast, in Wilmington, and he was one of four men who pleaded guilty to a D&D.”

“Oh?”

“The drunk part was no surprise. They’d spent the evening inside the Salty Dog Bar down on the Cape Fear River Walk. The disorderly part came when they took it outside, dropped their pants, and invited passing tourists to judge whose was the biggest.”

Buntrock laughed. “You weren’t asked to rule on that aspect, too, were you?”

Her easy laughter joined his. “No, but the reason I remembered was that Luna DiSimone tells me that he has a thing for penile humor.” Trying to use decorous language more suited to a dinner table, Deborah repeated Luna’s description of the Venetian figurines Broughton collected. “If he was in our apartment that night, I doubt if he could have resisted that maquette.”

“You saying he killed Lundigren?” Dwight asked.

Deborah shook her head. “Not for a minute. Lundigren probably didn’t know him and he certainly wouldn’t have known the maquette wasn’t Broughton’s. I think the killer maybe dropped it on the floor, Broughton came in and saw it, thought it would make a good addition to his collection, and simply walked out with it—maybe slipped it in his overcoat pocket when he passed the coat rack out in the hall.”

“I’ll invite Mr. Broughton to come talk to us tomorrow,” Hentz said.

“Good,” said Sigrid, who had maneuvered to sit next to Dwight Bryant. While his wife and Buntrock listened to Hentz describe how playing piano in a noisy bar made him feel like wallpaper, Sigrid steered the conversation to his work as a deputy sheriff. At a pause, she casually said, “By the way, who is Chloe Adams?”

“Chloe Adams? She’s—” He broke off suddenly and looked at his wife, who had evidently been listening to both conversations.

“Didn’t I tell you when you asked me that earlier?” Deborah asked contritely. “I’m sorry. I thought I did. She’s related to a lot of cleaning women around town and comes in when they need an extra pair of hands. I expect she’s working for your grandmother now. Kate said Mrs. Lattimore had decided to go through the house and dump a lot of stuff that’s been accumulating.”

Sigrid nodded. “That’s what her note said.” She glanced over at Buntrock. “I know you were wondering where she got that maquette, but she didn’t say. Just that she knew it was awful when she got it and that she had forgotten it was in the attic till she saw that magazine article.”

“Streichert’s granddaughter—the one that gave that interview? She