The Man with Two Wives by Patrick Quentin

Author:Patrick Quentin [Quentin, Patrick]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: crime, detective, murder, mystery, suspense
Publisher: Dell
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

chapter 13

I was right about forgetting. After a few days, it was almost as if nothing had happened. Or rather, as if everything had become better. My promotion to Vice-President in Charge of Advertising was officially announced at Callingham Publications. Everybody in the department was friendly about it—even Dave Manners. C. J. was at his most benign. I was busy and Betsy was busy too with Paul on the Drive, but we had our evenings together and we even managed to get away with Rickie for an unseasonably warm and sunny week-end at Oyster Bay. Paul and the Prop were there, and Daphne came too with Larry Morton, her richest and most eligible beau. It was all frivolous, luxurious and Callingham at its best. Sometimes—very occasionally—I thought of Angelica but only with astonishment that I should have made such a fuss about something of such little importance. In fact, in my re-established happiness with Betsy, I was beginning to feel that the whole episode had been beneficial. I had got out of my system the last, unwholesome vestiges of my first marriage, and no harm had been done.

Preparations for the importation of Gladys had begun and Ellen never let us forget it. Apart from that, there was nothing to remind me of Jaimie at all.

And then, one evening after dinner, about ten days later, the phone rang. Betsy answered it and said, “It’s for you, dear. It’s that Lieutenant—Lieutenant Trant.” She handed me the phone and stood beside me, obviously curious. The sensation of uneasiness which I had almost forgotten came rushing back and with it the alarming realization that Betsy, standing there, would hear whatever it was Trant had to say. As casually as I could, I asked, “Baby, would you get me a drink?”

As she crossed to the bar, I said into the phone, “Hello, Trant.”

“Good evening, Mr. Harding.” His voice was as quiet, as friendly as I had remembered it. “There’s been a development in the Lumb case. I thought you might be interested.”

“Yes,” I said.

“We’ve traced the ownership of the gun. It was bought about three weeks before the murder in a Third Avenue hockshop by a woman who signed herself Angelica Roberts, with an address on West Tenth Street.”

From the beginning I had been prepared for that to happen. There wasn’t, I told myself, any reason to worry. But, even so, hearing him actually mention Angelica’s name was a shock and the realization that, if I hadn’t been resourceful, Betsy would have heard it made my hand on the receiver sticky. I glanced across at her. She was still at the bar, mixing my drink.

Trant was saying, “I’ve just been down to Tenth Street. There’s no Angelica Roberts listed as a tenant. Most of the tenants were out and the ones I talked to had never heard of a woman by that name. Probably she gave a phony address.”

“Probably,” I said.

“But I’ll go down and try again tomorrow.” He paused. “I suppose you’ve never heard of her? Angelica Roberts?”

Betsy was crossing back to me with the drink.

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