Free The Dark and Deadly Pool by Joan Lowery Nixon Page B

tried.”
    “For one thing,” I said, “some of the cards in the file are missing, then they turn up again.”
    He blinked a couple of times. “That’s a crime?”
    “I don’t know what it is. It’s strange, and it must mean something.” He continued to look puzzled, so I said, “And then there’s all the valuable stuff that’s stolen from the hotel.”
    “Like the two sofas?”
    “The sofas make the third thing. Those so-called cleaning men didn’t take all the paintings and silver and stuff that Lamar told us has been disappearing.”
    “So we’ve got three crimes? I don’t see—”
    “Four. Don’t forget the meat. Lamar said roasts and turkeys were disappearing from the kitchen.”
    For a few minutes Fran closed his eyes, nodded sagely,and kept murmuring, “Um-hum, um-hum,” while I waited eagerly for what he would say. Finally he opened his eyes, looked at me, and said, “You realize that none of this makes a bit of sense.”
    “But it has to!” I wailed.
    “How? As far as we know, the men who said they were from a cleaning company had never been seen in the hotel before. There’d be no way they could take the smaller valuables. And if they walked into the kitchens and stole some of the roasts, they’d certainly be seen by some of the chefs. Do you know how many people work in the Ridley kitchens?”
    He picked up a pencil and tore a sheet of paper off the pad next to the telephone. On it he drew three circles. “Here are your crimes,” he said. “You can see that none of them is related to the others in any way.”
    I reached over and drew a fourth circle. The circles now formed a crescent shape. “Don’t forget the photo-ID cards.”
    “What kind of a crazy criminal would steal cards from the photo-ID file and then bring them back?”
    “Kurt Quentin Fraiser had his wallet stolen.”
    Fran stood up, leaned toward me so that our noses were almost touching, and said, “Who is Quirt Kenton Fraiser, and what has his wallet got to do with anything?”
    I leaned back and sighed. “I wish I knew.”
    His voice became soothing. “You’ve been working very hard today, haven’t you?”
    “Don’t patronize me, Fran.”
    “Of course not,” he said. “Let’s go somewhere and get ice cream and talk about Quirk Frentin Kaiser’s wallet.”
    “I want to go home.”
    “Good idea. I’d like that,” he said. “Do you have plenty of ice cream there?”
    I picked up the telephone and dialed the security office. Tina answered.
    “Tina,” I said, “you told me that Quirk—uh—Kurt Quentin Fraiser had his wallet stolen.”
    “Who? Oh … yeah. I remember. Yes, he did.”
    “And his card was missing at the time.”
    “Was it?”
    “It must have been.”
    “So?”
    “So what about the others who’ve had their wallets stolen by pickpockets? What about their cards?”
    “I don’t know,” she said. “I haven’t checked on their cards.”
    “Then maybe we’d better.”
    “It’s all past tense. I don’t see how we can,” Tina told me. “Anyhow, it’s past time for my shift to end, and I’m leaving as soon as Lamar gets back to the office. Why don’t we just sleep on the idea and see if anything else develops?”
    “That’s just an excuse to get out of doing anything tonight,” I told her.
    “You’re wrong,” she said. “ ‘Sleeping on it’ is a valid way of allowing the subconscious mind to wrestle with a problem. It’s been verified by countless researchers.”
    “Okay, Tina,” I said. “See you tomorrow afternoon.” I replaced the receiver and turned back to Fran. “Does it make sense now?”
    “Yes,” Fran said. “You’ll be glad to know that I’ve stopped worrying about your mental condition.”
    I had to smile at him. He looked like an elf that hoped he wouldn’t be stepped on. “Then why don’t we get the ice cream?” I asked.
    None of the ice-cream shops were open, so we ended up buying two pints of double chocolate chip and a bagof