Detective Affairs

Previous chapter Eat your cake Mama said the way she’s held on to her money, even if she did leave it to you, there would be so many strings attached you’d have to have a corps of Philadelphia lawyers to read the fine print before you could withdraw as much as a twenty-five-cent piece. If I were you, Baby, Mama said, I’d go and get married. If you don’t marry you won’t get invited any place except as a last resort when they need somebody at the last minute to keep from having thirteen at the table...

Just not my day Today is just not my day. And it’s not even noon. Maybe it will take a turn for the better. Anyway, it’s foolish to be upset. That girl from the Bulletin who came to interview me a little while ago was nice enough. I just wasn’t expecting her. And I surely wasn’t expecting Eliza McIntyre to trip into my bedroom early this morning and set her roses down on my bedside table with such an air about her as if I’d broken my foot for the one and only purpose of having her arrive at seven-thirty to bring me a bouquet...

Previous chapter The conversation Everyone was assembled in the living room. “So Mrs. Green disapproved of your new wife. She threatened to stop your allowance and cut you out of her will.” “That’s right,” said Miles calmly. “How much was your allowance?” “Ten thousand a year.” “And your share of the estate at her death?” “One-third.” It was Tom who spoke from the couch. “I get two-thirds. Miles’s share is about a half-million dollars.” “Even so,” said the unruffled Miles, “I didn’t kill her. I expected her to cut me off...

The club rose snow Lieutenant Timothy Richards of the New York Homicide Bureau lounged in holiday idleness on the terrace of his sister Freda’s Connecticut home, watching a small scarlet plane buzz through the cloudless morning sky toward Poughkeepsie. Behind him, in the living room, he heard Freda’s voice as she picked up the ringing phone. “Oh, hello, Mrs. Green... A burlesque queen?... how perfectly terrible for you... no, I don’t blame you at all. And on the day of the rose show, too!...” Richards knew that the local garden club rose show was taking place at Mrs...

Previous chapter The quitting is good Fortunately for the Bank, he’d had the vision to convert the scheme to his own permanent and respectable advantage. Another man might not have been that clever. Mr. Fannington broke in on these thoughts. “Jeb,” he said, “how old are you?” “Fifty-seven.” “I’m only sixty-two,” the PRESIDENT said, “but I had a check-up a few weeks ago. I might as well admit it: the doctor tells me it’s time to quit.” “You’re joking,” Derryls said. “No. I’m not. The old ticker.” He patted his breast...