"Yeah, baby."

"But why?" I threw up my hands. "What could Hedda and Pierce, and Wilma, for that matter, have possibly gained? What was the conspiracy all about? When they killed Vreen, all they ended up doing was destroying the studio that employed them!"

"I can't answer that question for you, doll. Not without more pieces to this puzzle. I think, for the moment, we've reached a dead end."

I fell back against the lumpy sofa and sighed.

Jack sat down next to me again, draped a muscular arm across the sofa back. "Tired?"

"No," I said. "What I am is frustrated."

"Oh?" the PI arched an eyebrow. Then he gave me a little smile. "That I can take care of." He leaned closer.

"Jaaack… I'm not frustrated that way!"

My pathetic push against his rock-solid chest was enough to make him pause. "Then what did you mean, baby?" he asked with a sigh.

"I don't know… I guess I mean I just need more info, too. Whatever happened to your own case back here? I mean after you caught that private eye tailing you. Was he working for

Hedda Geist?" "No."

"Who then? Did you ever find out?"

Jack sighed again, leaned back a little. "You really want to know?" "Sure."

"Then close your eyes." "Jaaack… "

"No funny business. I promise. So close 'em…"

I did.

JACK KEPT HIS promise. There was no funny business next. Just business. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself standing in front of a polished oak apartment door in the hall of a grand Park Avenue building.

Jack was looking spiffy in his brand-new blue suit, his face freshly shaved. He rang the apartment's bell and waited.

"Where are we?" I whispered.

"Nathan Burwell's penthouse."

"What? You're bracing the district attorney?!"

Jack smirked. "I can be wild, baby. But I'm not crazy. Nathan's not home at the moment."

The door opened. A young maid greeted us and showed us inside. "I'll get Mrs. Burwell," she said and disappeared.

The entryway where we were standing was brightly lit and stacked with trunks and suitcases. I could see a luxurious living room beyond a short hallway. Half of the room appeared to be packed up in boxes.

"Mr. Shepard, thank you for coming."

Jack gave a curt nod to the tall, slender woman. She was middle-aged, dressed in a beautifully tailored wool suit with stylishly padded shoulders, but her bobbed black hairdo looked more like it belonged in the 1920s than the late 1940s.

"I got your message," Jack said.

"Yes, well, let's not prolong this. Here you are." Mrs. Burwell held out a thick envelope. "This should end our contract."

Jack hesitated before taking the pay. "If you don't mind, Mrs. Burwell, I'd like to know why?"

"Why?"

"Why you suddenly changed your mind about having your husband investigated," Jack said stiffly. "Why you expressed no interest in seeing my report or my photographs or anything in my files."

"Well, I, just… don't need to…"

Jack glanced at the trunks and suitcases. "So you're leaving?"

Mrs. Burwell nodded. "Nathan's letting me go. There's no problem anymore. He won't fight my request for a divorce, won't fight for custody of our daughters, won't even fight me on taking my money with me. So, you see, it's all worked out." "And what changed his mind? Did you tell him you hired me?"

"No. I didn't."

"Well, Mrs. Burwell, I've got news for you: A scumbag shamus tried to get the drop on me last night. Only I got the drop on him. The man's name was Egbert P. King. I called around and found out he works for Dibell Investigations. You know who they are?"

Mrs. Burwell blanched. "Yes," she admitted. "I do."

"So do I. They do the dirty digging for Marigold and Webster, the law firm where your husband worked before he became a public prosecutor."

The woman's eyes were wide, her expression clearly distressed. "I never once mentioned you to Nathan, Mr. Shepard. You have to believe me. The reason I'm letting you go has nothing to do with Nathan. I mean… it does, actually, just not in the way you think. Can't that be enough for you? Won't you go now and let things be?"

Mrs. Burwell stared at Jack. He stared back. His large form seemed to fill the hallway, and it was clear that he had no intention of moving it until the woman told him what he wanted to know. She seemed to figure that out, too, because she finally cleared her throat and admitted-

"Nathan's being blackmailed."

"By who?"

"Someone. He won't tell me; not even whether it's a man or woman. He said his hand is being forced in an official capacity. If he doesn't comply with the demands of this person, then Nathan's… well, his indiscretions will be exposed. It would ruin him. Ruin me, too. The scandal would destroy our standing completely."

"Why don't you let me uncover this blackmailing rat? You've already paid me an awful lot of dough, Mrs. Burwell. Let me find out who's blackmailing your husband."

"My husband knows very well who's blackmailing him,

Mr. Shepard. And apparently Nathan has already decided to give in to this person."

"So what's the payoff?" Jack asked.

"No payoff. There's no demand for money."

"Then what does the blackmailer want?"

"A reprieve, Mr. Shepard."

"From what?"

"Apparently from being accused of murder. This blackmailer planned a murder with an accomplice. The blackmailer demand-ed Nathan let them both off, clearing them of any crime, but Nathan's made the blackmailer see that the public needs a fall guy. So in a few months, he'll put the accomplice on trial-for manslaughter. The blackmailer will betray the accomplice and provide testimony to help with the conviction. Nathan gets a conviction, and the blackmailer goes free."

Jack's jaw worked for a moment. "If you don't want my help, then why are you telling me this?"

"So you'll take the money and go. Nathan doesn't know about you, Mr. Shepard, and I want to keep it that way. When he found out he was being blackmailed, he told me everything. I told him I wanted a divorce, and that if he gave it to me I'd go away quietly instead of making things worse for him. He has enough trouble, so he's letting me go. But if he found out I hired a private eye, that you were collecting hard evidence against him to be used in court, well… I don't know what he'd say or do then. So please just take the money and leave."

Jack rubbed his chin, took the envelope. "All right… if that's what you want."

"It is. I'm flying to Miami tomorrow with my girls. I hear life's good down there. Sunny. I like the sunlight. Clears out the cobwebs… I've lived enough years in Nathan's shadow."

WE LEFT THE penthouse and headed outside. It was late afternoon; the sun was going down and the streets were getting dark. Commuters filled the sidewalks, flooding out of office buildings, flowing down to subways, rushing into train stations. Jack flagged a cab and we rode downtown toward his office.

"It had to be Hedda," I said in the back of the cab. "You know that now, right? The blackmailer was Hedda and her accomplice was Pierce Armstrong."

"Yeah, baby. It only took me sixty years-and a little snooping redhead-to break the case."

"Little snooping redhead?" My eyes widened. "You mean me?"

"Who do you think I mean, baby? Little Red Riding Hood? I was never able to ID Wilma Brody as the chippy at the Hotel Chester and I never came up with any leads connecting her to the starlet Hedda Geist. Now that you've done both, the pieces have fallen into place."

I stared at Jack, a little stunned. He wasn't the sort to dish out compliments when it came to gumshoeing-yet here he was telling me I'd actually helped him crack one of his own cold cases. I couldn't help grinning.