Free The Burglar Who Painted Like Mondrian by Lawrence Block Page B

busy,” I said. “People phone in orders all the time. You know how it is.” Why was I running off at the mouth like this? “I’ll try again in a minute.”
    “Well.”
    Why was Onderdonk’s line busy? He’d been out earlier. Why couldn’t he stay out, now that I’d finally gotten into his building? I couldn’t leave now, for God’s sake. I’d never get back in again.
    I picked up the phone and called Carolyn Kaiser. When she answered I said, “Miz Kaiser, this is Jimmie. I’m up at Miz Tremaine’s at the Charlemagne.”
    “You got the wrong number,” my quick-witted henchperson said. “Wait a minute. Did you say—Bernie? Is that you?”
    “Right, the delivery,” I said. “Same as before. She says she don’t know any Donald Brown and she don’t think the flowers are for her. Right.”
    “You’re calling from somebody’s apartment.”
    “That’s the idea,” I said.
    “Is she suspicious of you?”
    “No, the thing is she doesn’t know who this guy is.”
    “What’s it all about, Bern? Are you just killing time?”
    “Right.”
    “You want me to talk to her? I’ll tell her What’s-his-face paid cash and he gave her name and address. Gimme the names again.”
    “Donald Brown. And she’s Leona Tremaine.”
    “Gotcha.”
    I handed the phone to Ms. Tremaine, who’d been hovering. She said, “Hello? to whom am I speaking, please?” and then she said things like “Yes” and “I see,” and “But I don’t—” and “It’s so mysterious.” And then she gave the phone back to me.
    “Someday,” said Carolyn, “all of this will be crystal clear to me.”
    “Sure thing, Miz Kaiser.”
    “Same to you, Mr. Rhodenbarr. I hope you know what you’re doing.”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    I hung up. Leona Tremaine said, “‘Curiouser and curiouser, said Alice.’ Your Donald Brown is a tall, gray-haired gentleman, elegantly dressed, who carried a cane and paid for both deliveries with a pair of crisp twenty-dollar bills. He did not give his address.” Her face softened. “Perhaps it’s someone I knew years ago,” she said quietly. “Under another name, perhaps. And perhaps I’ll hear further from him. I’m sure to hear further from him, wouldn’t you say?”
    “Well, if he went to all this trouble—”
    “Exactly. He would scarcely go to such lengths merely to remain forever mysterious. Oh, dear,” she said, and fluffed her auburn hair. “Such unaccustomed excitement.”
    I edged toward the door. “Well,” I said. “I guess I’d better be going.”
    “Yes, well, you’ve been very kind, making that phone call.” We walked together toward the door. “Oh,” she said, remembering. “Just let me get my bag and I’ll give you something for your trouble.”
    “Oh, that’s all right,” I said. “You took care of me before.”
    “That’s right,” she said. “I did, didn’t I? It slipped my mind. It’s good of you to remind me.”
     
    If the elevator’s there, I thought, I’ll just give up. But it wasn’t. The floor indicator showed it on Three, and as I watched it moved to Four. Maybe Eduardo had forgotten about me. Then again, maybe he was on his way back.
    I opened the fire door and went out onto the stairs.
    Now what? Onderdonk’s line was busy. I’d dialed the number from memory and I could have gotten it wrong, or it could have been busy because someone else had dialed the same number a few seconds before I did. Or he could be home.
    I couldn’t chance breaking in if anybody was home. And I couldn’t knock on the door first, either. And I couldn’t spend eternity on the stairs, because while it was possible the concierge and elevator operator and doorman would forget all about me, it was also possible they would not. A call on the intercom would establish that I’d left the Tremaine apartment, at which point they could either assume I’d left via the stairs (or even on the elevator) without anyone’s noting the fact or else they’d figure I was still