CHAPTER Seventeen

I got to Carolyn's house around noon. I sat there with a cat on my lap and a cup of coffee at my elbow and did what I could to bring my hostess up to date.

I had my work cut out for me. There was a lot of water over the dam or under the bridge or wherever it goes these days, and my task wasn't rendered easier by Carolyn's headache. Another of those dreaded sugar hangovers, no doubt. Maybe the right pair of orthotics would solve everything.

"What I can't get over," she said, "is that you went to Abel's without me."

"We couldn't have both gotten in. And it was risky, and there was nothing two people could do better than one."

"And then you got home from Abel's and didn't say anything."

"I tried, dammit. I kept calling you."

" Bern, I kept calling you. Either you were out or the line was busy."

"I know. I kept calling everybody and everybody kept calling me. These things happen. It doesn't matter. We finally reached each other, didn't we?"

"Yeah, last night. And you didn't tell me zip until just now."

"It was too late last night."

"Yeah."

"And there wasn't that much to tell."

"No, not much at all. Just that you got into Abel's apartment and came home and some beautician held a gun on you and accused you of framing her brother for murder."

"That's not exactly what she said."

"I don't really care what she said exactly."

"You're pissed."

"Kind of, yeah."

"Would it help if I apologized?"

"Try it and let's see."

"Well," I said, "I'm sorry, Carolyn. We're partners, and I certainly meant to keep you in the picture, but things got out of control for a little while there. I didn't know if I'd be able to get into Abel's apartment and I just went ahead and did things on my own, figuring I'd catch up with you later. And I'm sorry."

She sat in silence for a moment. Then she said, "Quit it, Ubi," to the Russian Blue, who was scratching the side of the couch. From my lap, Archie purred with unmistakable moral superiority.

"Nope," Carolyn said. "It doesn't help."

"My apology, you mean?"

"Uh-huh. Doesn't do a thing for me. I'm still pissed. But I'll get over it. Who killed Wanda?"

"I'm not sure."

"How about Abel?"

"I'm not sure of that, either."

"Well-"

The phone rang. I moved Archie and answered it, and it was Mr. Arnott calling from Stillwater, Oklahoma. He hadn't reversed the charges, either. I guess people who can pay $130,000 for a nickel don't worry about their phone bills.

"The fellow who bought my nickel wants to remain anonymous," he said. "I couldn't say whether it's burglars or the tax collector he's scared of. Coin's not for sale, though. He's still got it, and he figures to keep it."

"The hell with him," I said. "I think I'd rather buy a painting anyway."

"That way you'll have something you can hang on the wall."

"That's what I decided."

I reported the conversation to Carolyn. "Arnott's coin is still with the mysterious purchaser," I explained. "Anyway, it was a lightly circulated specimen, so it couldn't have been the one we carried from Eighteenth Street to Riverside Drive."

She frowned. "There were five of the nickels altogether."

"Right."

"Now there's one in Washington, one in Boston, one in Cincinnati, one in- Philadelphia?"

"Right."

"And one that your friend in Oklahoma sold to some mystery man. So the mystery man is Colcannon. Except he can't be, because that coin's circulated and Colcannon's was a perfect proof."

"Right."

"So there are five nickels plus the Colcannon nickel."

"Right."

"Which Colcannon doesn't have anymore, and which wasn't at Abel's, so we don't know where it is."

"Right."

"Which means the nickel we stole was a counterfeit."

"It's possible."

"But you don't think so?"

"No. I'm positive it's genuine."

"Then there are actually six nickels."

"No. Only five."

She sat for a moment, puzzling, then threw her hands in the air. " Bern," she said, "would you for chrissake quit cocking around? My whole head hurts except for the part I normally think with, which is numb. Just explain, will you? Simply, so I can understand it."

I explained. Simply. So she could understand it.

"Oh," she said.

"Does it make sense? Stand up? Hold water?"

"I think so. What about the questions I asked you earlier? There was a Third Burglar who killed Wanda. Do you know who he was?"

"I have an idea."

"And do you have an idea who killed Abel?"

"Sort of. But I can't be sure of it, and I certainly can't prove it, and-"

"Tell me anyway, Bernie."

"I sort of hate to say anything at this stage."

"Why? Because you don't want to spoil the surprise? Bern, if you were really sincere with that apology you gave me a few minutes ago, why don't you prove it?"

I shifted a little on the chair. There are those who might have said I squirmed. "We've got to get out of here," I said. "It may have been a mistake giving out your number. If the man who wants to buy the coin could find out my name and how to reach me, he might have a connection in the Police Department or access to one of the phone company's reverse directories. I don't want us to be where he can get at us. He knows I'm going to be at this phone at two, so-"

"There's time, Bern. You can tell me your theories and we'll still have plenty of time."

Archie extended his forepaws and stretched. "Archie's no name for a cat," I said. "The cat's Mehitabel, remember?"

"He's a boy cat, dum-dum. He's Rex Stout's Archie, not Don Marquis's Archy."

"Oh."

"I could always get a pet cockroach and name her Mehitabel. If I knew it was a girl cockroach. Why am I sitting here talking about cockroaches? You changed the subject, dammit."

"I guess I did."

"Well, change it back again. Who killed Wanda and Abel?"

I gave up and told her.

Afterward we set up the answering machine with a simple message that I recorded, telling whoever called to ring me at Denise's number. I got my attaché case from Carolyn's closet, where it was still keeping the Chagall company. We got out of there and took a cab to the Poodle Factory. We went inside, and when we emerged a couple of minutes later my attaché case was the slightest bit heavier. Carolyn locked up and we caught another cab to the Narrowback Gallery.

On the way there she wanted to know why we had to go to Denise's place. I said I'd already told her, and expressed the wish that the two of them got along better.

"You might as well wish for wings," she said. "Oh, she's all right for a scarecrow, but don't you have better taste than that? There must be an attractive straight woman somewhere in New York. How about Angela?"

"Who?"

"The waitress at the Bum Rap."

"I thought you decided she was gay."

"I decided the question calls for research. Monday I'm gonna ask her a question that'll let me know if she's gay without tipping her off if she isn't."

"What's the question?"

"Something like, 'Angela, how about you and me getting married?'"

"You don't think that's overly subtle?"

"Well, I might work on the phrasing a little."

Any pleasure Denise might have felt at seeing me was completely obliterated by her reaction to the sight of Carolyn. The dismay showed clearly on her face. "Oh, the dog lady," she said, "I don't seem to remember your name."

"It's Carolyn," I was saying, even as Carolyn was saying, "You can call me Ms. Kaiser." It was going to be a long afternoon, I realized, and I was glad I wasn't going to be on hand for very much more of it.

"I didn't recognize you at first," Denise said. "I didn't remember you as being quite so short as you are, and at first glance I thought you were a child."