“Or slash him to ribbons,” Abby said, refusing to grant Rhonda any concessions. She lit another cigarette, exhaled a thick stream of smoke, and watched it disappear in the churning gust of air from the fan. “So who else is on the table, Mabel? Do you consider Aunt Doobie a prime suspect?”

“Of course. And after last night, Baldy and Blackie have been promoted to the list. I’m still wondering about the guy named Randy, the one who left four messages for Gray, and I don’t know about Binky yet. When I spoke to him on the phone, he sounded very jealous and contemptuous of Gray’s sudden success. But would he have been carrying on that way if he had already eliminated the source of his envy and contempt? I can’t judge until I see him in person.”

“Gee, I forgot about Binky!” Abby exclaimed, perking up considerably. “When are we hooking up with him? Tomorrow, right? And then we’re going to the Actors Studio!” She fastened her bright gaze on my face. “I can’t wait! I’m dying to meet James Dean, and give him my up-close and personal good wishes.”

I rolled my eyes at the ceiling. How was I going to get out of this one?

“I don’t have any idea what’s going to happen tomorrow, Ab,” I demurred, looking for a way to let her down easy. “I haven’t spoken to Binky yet. And I have to go back to work in the morning. After a holiday I’m always up to my eyebrows in extra paperwork. If I know Pomeroy,” I said, referring to my immediate boss at

Daring Detective, “he’ll keep me chained to my desk until Christmas. He’ll make me pay through the nose for having the day off today…

“Oh, by the way,” I added, “happy July Fourth.”

“Same to ya,” she chirped, smiling widely, distracted (for the time being, at least) from the subject of Binky. “What’re you going to do today, Paige? Jimmy and I have a really cool sked. We’re going to Child’s for lunch, and then to the Gramercy to see

East of Eden. It stars James Dean, you know! Then we’re going to John’s for spaghetti and meatballs, and to the park later to listen to music, dance like fools around the fountain, and light up some sparklers and firecrackers. Come with us! It’ll be fun.”

“No. I don’t feel like doing anything.”

“You’re just going to sit alone in your hot apartment and mope?”

“Yep.”

“That’s really dumb. Come out and play with us. It’ll take your mind off Dan.”

“No it won’t. Nothing can.”

“But it’ll help you pass the time!” Abby said, growing impatient again. “You can’t just stay here and wallow in your misery like a pig in the mud.”

“I can if I want to,” I said, pouting-sounding, even to myself, like a cranky and stubborn four-year-old. “I don’t care what anybody says, I’m going to wallow in the mud for as long as my piggy little heart desires!”

I really meant it, too. I was going to stay home all day and night, have a few more crying jags, drink some more putrid coffee, smoke a thousand cigarettes, listen to Billie Holiday sing the blues, and pray with all my might for Dan to call. I was going to eat stale bread and cheese for dinner, and commemorate our country’s independence with a glass (or whole bottle) of cheap Chianti. There would be no dancing or fireworks for me. I intended to lock my doors and stay inside where it was safe.

Too bad I didn’t stick to the plan.

Chapter 19

AFTER ABBY LEFT I WENT UPSTAIRS AND took a shower (there’s only so much mud-wallowing a girl can stand). I put on a pair of shorts and a clean blouse, then went back downstairs to sit in front of the fan-or, more importantly, right next to the phone. I wasn’t the least bit hopeful that Dan would call, but I wanted to answer on the double if he did.

So, two seconds later when the phone rang, jerking me to attention and launching my spirits toward the sun, I pounced on the receiver in a flash. “Hello?” I croaked, too excited to even try to sound sexy. “Is that you, Dan? Thank God you called! I’m so sorry I-”

“Who’s Dan?” the caller asked. From the high-pitched voice and slight Southern accent, I knew right away it was Willy.

“He’s my boyfriend,” I said, hoping against hope that that statement was still true.

“So where

is your man Dan? Why isn’t he there?” Willy asked. “Isn’t he spending the holiday with you?”

“Uh, no, he-”

“Good!” Willy exclaimed. “Then can I come over and spend the afternoon at your place?”

I was so taken aback, I didn’t know what to say. “Gee, well, maybe… I mean, I guess you could… But why would you want to-”

“I’ve got to get out of my apartment!” he screeched. “Flannagan’s driving me out of my mind! He keeps calling and calling and calling-every blessed minute of the day and night-asking me one appalling question after another, and making horrible accusations. He says I have the same blood type as the killer. He says he knows I killed Gray and it won’t be long before he can prove it. He’s trying to torture me into confessing. I know he is!”

“Take it easy, Willy,” I said, speaking as calmly and reassuringly as I could. The poor fellow sounded even worse than I felt. “Don’t fly into a panic. That’s what Flannagan

wants you to do. Have you tried taking your phone off the hook?”

“Mercy, no!” he squealed. “That would make it even worse. Then he might show up and torture me in person! I’ve got to get out of here now! Can I come over to your apartment for a while? Please, please, pretty pretty please? He’d never think of looking for me there.”

“Um… uh… okay,” I said, spirits sinking as low as they could go. I didn’t want any company. I wanted to wallow in my own troubles, not Willy’s. “Do you know where I live?”

“Yes, I heard you give your address to the police. It’s two-sixty-five Bleecker, right? Just a few blocks from me.”

“Right. I’m one floor up, over the fish store.”

“Kiss, kiss, kiss,” he said. “I’ll be there in a jiffy.”

Click.

(Okay, you can stop shaking your head that way! I get the message already! You’re thinking I was certifiably crazy to let Willy come to my apartment when I had no sure way of knowing whether he was the murderer or not. And you’re one-hundred-percent right, of course. It was a really stupid move. Dan and Abby would be tearing their hair out if they knew what I’d just done. And there’s nothing I can say in my own defense, either-except that I truly believed in Willy’s innocence, and I trusted him completely, and I was bound by my own sense of justice and compassion to help him in any way I could. If that makes me a brainless twit, so be it.)

MY BUZZER RANG TWENTY MINUTES later. I darted over to the living room window and peeked through the shade to make sure it was Willy. (At least I was being

somewhat cautious. I even shot a glance across the street to see if Blackie was lurking in the laundromat doorway. He wasn’t. There was no black limousine parked at the curb, either.) After taking a second look at Willy’s slicked-back bleach-blond hairdo and the plump contours of his colorful shoulders (he was wearing a pink and orange Hawaiian shirt!), I went over to the door and buzzed him in.

Willy climbed the steps to my apartment with difficulty; his legs were short and his arms were full of packages. He carried a foil-wrapped bunch of long-stemmed roses in one hand. “Greetings!” he said, when he reached the top landing. His pale lips were stretched in an ear-to-ear grin. “I come bearing gifts!”

“I can see that,” I said, pulling the door wide and motioning him inside. “But what’s the occasion? My birthday was over a month ago.”

“It’s the Fourth of July, silly,” he said, setting the packages down on the kitchen table and handing the roses to me. “Better put these in water quick. It’s so hot they’re already starting to wilt.”