“O.K.,” Gilligan said grudgingly, “you done good, I guess. You better get back up there pronto before someone else tries it on.”
“Did anyone else have a key to your husband’s room that you know of, ma’am?” Rosenblatt asked.
“Not that I know of.” Mrs. Carmody blinked hard and dabbed at her eyes with a corner of a lacy handkerchief, careful not to blot her eye-black. “Oh, this is all so turrible! You must think I’m awful, telling off that poor policeman when he was only doing his dooty, but this has all been turribly hard on my nerves.”
“Won’t you sit down and tell me about it, ma’am?”
Rosenblatt ushered Mrs. Carmody to the far end of the room from the desk where Daisy sat, to her annoyance. The woman didn’t seem to notice the presence of unofficial others, too busy wiping away tears, real or pretended.
Bender, however, glanced around the room and scowled. He opened his mouth as if to protest but thought better of it. Gem-laden gold rings flashed on his plump fingers ashe took a large, purple-monogrammed handkerchief from his pocket and blotted his forehead. He hung his homburg on the hat rack in the foyer, then took off his overcoat, revealing a corpulent figure clad in a suit of grey-and-lavender check, and a purple bow tie with a flashy diamond pin.
Meekly, he followed his honey baby.
Gilligan went after them. As soon as all four had their backs turned, Daisy abandoned the mug book and Lambert, and tiptoed swiftly across to the Misses Cabot, who were much closer to the scene of the action. She sat down in the chair vacated by Rosenblatt.
Miss Cabot leaned towards her, about to speak. Miss Genevieve put her finger to her lips.
Miss Cabot mouthed a silent “oh dear!” Her knitting needles clicked on.
“Such a turrible shock,” Mrs. Carmody was saying, as she sank gracefully into the chair Rosenblatt held for her, “finding out in the papers this morning Otis was dead.”
“We tried to notify you last night at your hotel, ma’am,” said Rosenblatt, “and again this morning. You weren’t there.”
“We went to a party, me and Mr. Bender, that didn’t break up till daylight. He persuaded me to take a drive out in the country and get breakfast.”
“Where was that, sir?”
“What does it matter?” Bender blustered. “The papers said Carmody was shot at midday yesterday.”
“So what’s the big deal?” Gilligan demanded. “Whaddaya got against telling Mr. Rosenblatt where you was this morning?”
“I don’t know exactly. We went with a crowd, in a caravan. I just followed along.”
“Who else was there?” Rosenblatt asked.
“Uh …” A long pause, then Bender said cautiously, “I couldn’t exactly give you their names.”
Gilligan was instantly suspicious. “Why not?”
“Who was there, honey baby?”
“Red and Billie, HJ, Mona, Jerry, I think, and wasn’t that girl they called Midge with him? That’s all the names I can think of.” Mrs. Carmody waved a careless hand. “I didn’t know the others.”
“And you don’t know their last names? Telephone numbers?” Rosenblatt suggested. Bender and Mrs. Carmody both shook their heads. “How do you keep in touch?”
“Oh, they weren’tfriends, just casual acquaintances. People we met at the party, weren’t they, Bart?”
“Who gave the party?”
The pair gazed at each other blankly. They had steered themselves onto a reef, though Daisy couldn’t quite see why Rosenblatt had bothered to chase them there.
Mrs. Carmody abandoned the sinking ship. “They were friends of Mr. Bender’s. I never caught their last name.”
Bender gave her a look at once wounded and forgiving. “Uh … Not exactly friends. See, things are pretty casual in our crowd … .”
“So you don’t know their names.” Rosenblatt shook his head. “But of course you know their address, since you took Mrs. Carmody there. No? Look, why don’t you just admit Mrs. Carmody spent the night at your house?”
“The heck she did!” Gilligan exclaimed. “I had a coupla men watching that place, and if they was there, they‘da followed ’em here. What I figure is he’s got an apartmentthat he takes his fancy women to, so his servants can’t tell tales. I‘da found it if I’da had another coupla days.”
