Free Might as Well Be Dead by Nero Wolfe Page A

before she spoke. From now on you’ll pay me but I’ll really be working for her. I want her to be happy. When that’s attended to I’ll go off to some island and mope.” Orrie Cather laughed, and Johnny Keems tittered. I ignored them and went on. “The third thing was in February or March nineteen fifty-three, not long before they were married. Molloy phoned around noon and said he had expected to come to the office but couldn’t make it. His ticket for a hockey game that night was in a drawer of his desk, and he asked her to get it and send it to him by messenger at a downtown restaurant. He said it was in a small blue envelope in the drawer. She went to the drawer and found the envelope, and noticed that it had been through the mail and slit open. Inside there were two things: the hockey ticket and a blue slip of paper, which she glanced at. It was a bill from the Metropolitan Safe Deposit Company for rent of a safe-deposit box, made out to Richard Randall. It caught her eye because she had once thought she might marry a man named Randall but had decided not to. She put it back in the envelope, which was addressed to Richard Randall, but if she noticed the address she has forgotten it. She had forgotten the whole incident until we dug it up.”
    “At least,” Wolfe said, “if it’s worth a question we know where to ask it. Anything else?”
    “I don’t think so. Unless you want the works.”
    “Not now.” He turned to the others. “Now that you’ve heard Archie, you gentlemen are up to date. Have you any more questions?”
    Johnny Keems cleared his throat. “One thing. I don’t get the idea of Hays being innocent. I only know what I read in the papers, but it certainly didn’t take the jury very long.”
    “You’ll have to take that from me.” Wolfe was brusque. You have to be brusque with Johnny. He turned to me. “I’ve explained the situation to them in some detail, but I have not mentioned our client’s name or the nature of his interest. We’ll keep that to ourselves. Any more questions?”
    There were none.
    “Then we’ll proceed to assignments. Archie, what about phone booths in the neighborhood?”
    “The drugstore that Freyer mentioned is the nearest place with a booth. I didn’t look around much.”
    He went to Durkin. “Fred, you will try that. The phone call to Peter Hays, at nine o’clock, was probably made from nearby, and the one to the police, at nine-eighteen, had to be made as quickly as possible after Peter Hays was seen entering the building. The hope is of course forlorn, since more than three months have passed, but you can try it. The drugstore seems the likeliest, but cover the neighborhood. If both phone calls were made from the same place, it’s possible you can jog someone’s memory. Start this evening, at once. The calls were made in the evening. Any questions?”
    “No, sir. I’ve got it.” Fred never takes his eyes off of Wolfe. I think he’s expecting him to sprout either a horn or a halo, I’m not sure which, and doesn’t want to miss it. “Shall I go now?”
    “No, you might as well stay till we’re through.” Wolfe went to Cather. “Orrie, you will look into Molloy’s business operations and associates and his financial standing. Mr. Freyer will see you at his office at ten in the morning. He’ll give you whatever information he has, and you will start with that. Getting access to Molloy’s records and papers will be rather complicated.”
    “If he kept books,” I said, “they weren’t in his office. At least Mrs. Molloy never saw them, and there was no safe.”
    “Indeed.” Wolfe’s brows went up. “A real-estate brokerage business and no books? I think, Archie, I’d better have a full report on the dust you stirred up.” He returned to Orrie. “Since Molloy died intestate, as far as is known, his widow’s rights are paramount in such matters as access to his records and papers, but they should be exercised as legal procedure