Day 3 of 9 Days

After signing the contract with the rental car company, my mechanic surprised me with a call saying that all the parts had been put back this time and my car would perform admirably. It was ready to pick up. I swore loud enough to knock some of the new parts off again, and slammed down the phone.

Instead of trying Reg Devers' home first, I wasted the early part of the morning calling his office and then Jarmon again, following the useless information provided by a series of receptionists and clerks, then drove the rental dangerously out to the Devers' homestead.

The house was a two-storey monster with a three-car garage. Ornamental plantings, trimmed and manicured, suggested an expensive gardening service, as did the sculpted floral gardens bracketing the entrance. The front door sported a heavy iron knocker, and I gave it a few sharp raps, admiring the loud echo it created inside.

"What do you want?" The door opened and a woman glared angrily at my intrusion.

"I'm looking for Mr. Reg Devers, is he uh, around?"

"Who wants him?" She didn't budge.

"My name's Wallace, Christopher Wallace. I have a few questions I'd like—"

"What about?"

"My questions are for Mr. De—"

"He's not answering any questions right now, so take that stupid hat and buzz off."

She started to push the door to when a man appeared at her shoulder.

"Butt out Julie, I'm Reg Devers, what do want?"

"Maybe this is a bad time," I offered, thinking they might have been in the middle of a domestic row. "I can call you at your office, or . . ."

The woman came forward again, burning me with a glare before slamming a fist into poor Reg's face, and sending him back down the hall, and waving me off with the same clenched fist.

Not a couple I would have associated with the delicate landscaping. I was definitely finished interviewing Reg Devers at the moment.

I began feeling rather ineffectual in pursuit of this case as I drove back downtown; so far I had learned one thing - well, two actually. The first was that some people thought my hat was stupid and, without proof - Karen was the other woman, or at least, another woman, and that got me squat.

I needed something that confirmed to me that Jarmon was having an affair and that Karen was indeed the other woman. Actually, I needed to confirm there even was a Jarmon; the guy was the Pimpernel. Another chat with Karen might be in order, but first, there was one more source to check out for possible information, one that Devers' secretary had mentioned - Mr. Carleton Smithee.

Right after lunch.

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Julie left after another few words of warning, and Reg slumped back to the kitchen. His world was shrinking rapidly; he had to move now, proof or no proof; he would bluff like hell. He dialled Jarmon's number at the office and was told that Mr. Wyatt was unavailable. Cursing, he looked up the cell number and dialled that, waiting.

Jarmon answered with a snap, obviously annoyed at being disturbed. When Reg made his play, there was another silence and then an explosion of profanity and threats that Reg sweated through before reiterating his demand. Jarmon slammed the phone closed and Reg just stared at the dirty dishes in the kitchen sink. Okay, he needs time to think.

●○●○●○●○●

I was back in the small park near Deadline Import/Export consulting my notes. The site afforded me a measure of privacy, close to the Howden, and a comfortable post from which to watch for Jarmon Wyatt, just in case. His cell phone never seemed to be on when I called, and he didn't have an answering machine on his landline. His office number just netted the bearded European who spoke only three words – 'He's not here'.

A few sparrows hopped around, pecking at invisible crumbs, subtly suggesting that I provide a supplement. I flipped back a few pages and read with a growing weary annoyance, baring my teeth; why I hadn't noticed before was beyond me, and very unsettling for someone who was supposed to be an investigator.

All the people I had come across so far had an interesting connection to one another. The Kevin Bacon Syndrome. Karen Winsett worked for Bravo Consulting, which was owned by Ellington Bravo and operated by Lawrence Bravo - who was Cynthia's father - a nugget I gleaned from my man Rory. I flubbed rule number one right from the start - investigate your client first.

Jarmon Wyatt was her husband, whom I believed was running around with Karen. Devers was the accountant for Bravo Consulting, and the name I was checking up on now, Carleton Smithee, was Bravo's attorney. A bird hopped on the bench beside me and I leaned over. "Are you the little boid that's going to squeal to me?" I asked.

An elderly woman pushing a shopping cart made a wide berth, and I smiled. The bird pooped on the bench.

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Lawyer Smithee was a member of the Broadway Club, a prestigious association that supported the arts community with gold-plated fund-raisers; about as far from the Avocado Grotto as you could get. Rory's information also netted me the name of a coatroom attendant called Jill, who, for a small fee, would meet me at a diner just down the street from the club.

Jill was a petite brunette with lazy eyes and a weary smile. When I entered the diner, she held up a casual finger; my beacon to her table. I slid into the chair opposite her and smiled back, introducing myself. Her acknowledgement was mechanical; too many forced greetings behind the counter of the Club, I guessed.

"Nice hat."

"Thanks." Now here was a perceptive woman. "And thanks for meeting me, I—"

"Rory mentioned a fee?" Her words came out in a long sigh.

"Uh, yeah. No problem. What I wanted to ask was--"

"He was also supposed to tell you... up front." Her hand flopped upside down on the table.

"Gee, Jill, and I thought this would be sort of a friendly encounter."

"That's the third kind, this is the first."

She expertly folded and secreted the bills I placed in her hand then tilted her face quizzically.

My, my, a hidden sense of humour. "And likely the last, but since I've paid," I hurried on, overrunning the start of any objection. "Give me the dope on Carleton Smithee."

"What about him?" Paid off and losing interest.

"Is he married? Does he drink? Does he gamble? Does he sleep around? The usual stuff."

"No, yes, don't know and does he ever." Jill took a long gulp of her coffee and raised her beacon digit for the waitress.

"Let's start with does he ever. Anyone special or just anyone?" I leaned back while the waitress refilled both our cups.

"There is one I see fairly regularly at the club, usually on week nights though, never on weekends and never at the fund-raisers."

I waited, and then bobbed my head as a cue for her to continue.

"Her name's Julie something."

"Something. Ah yes, from that well known family, the Somethings."

She gave me a pained look and drew circles in her mug with a spoon. "I don't know her last name. She's about forty, blonde, nice hair, longish but tied back. My height and about ten pounds lighter. Wears young clothes, you know, short skirts, tight sweaters, stilettos..." Jill pursed her lips and shrugged, checking her watch. End of information on Ms. Something.

I stared at her for a moment, not actually at her, but at an image from earlier in the day at Devers' house. Jill's description was the spitting image of Mrs. Devers, old iron-fisted, butt out Julie. Curiouser and curiouser.

"How about where the 'does-he-ever', takes place."

"Why would I know that?" She bristled.

My pu-leeeease stare made her blush, and she dabbed her wide mouth with her napkin, calculating a response.

"Usually in a room at the Dunbar. He has a suite there... I've heard."

Allowing her disclaimer to cross the plate without swinging, I nodded absently. "The Dunbar?"

She shrugged a nod. "It's a residential hotel, lots of people live there."

"Like instead of a regular home?" My question prompted such a pitying look I curled my toes inside my shoes. "Right. The Dunbar on Regent... thanks Jill, you've been a big help." I slipped enough to cover the tab under my mug and got up, pointing to the money. "There's plenty there if you want a bite. Take care, maybe I'll see you around some time."

"Rory said you were- would be discrete," She said as I moved away.

"On my honour, kid." I gave her a Bogart wink and a short wave as I left the diner.

Outside I stopped and leaned against the building. The Dunbar! With my luck so far in reaching the guests of the Dunbar I didn't fancy my chances with Smithee - should he even be there. I dialled Jarmon's number again and nearly fainted - It was busy!