Free Cat With a Fiddle (9781101578902) by Lydia Adamson Page B

enough police crawling around?”
    â€œI’m not with the police, Mr. Hazan.”
    â€œWhat is it then—morbid curiosity? More of your amateur detective nonsense?”
    I kept my emotions in check. “Something like that.”
    â€œWell, here’s my
opinion
, Miss Nestleton: there is no way—repeat,
no way, ever
—that anyone in this house could have killed Willy or had anything to do with such a crime. And anyone who thinks they could is just plain crazy. You obviously know nothing about Will Gryder and the affection we held him in.
    â€œWill had his faults, he was only human. But he was the very best example of a musician. Understand? The music permeated his behavior. Sure, he was a show-off—but what performer isn’t? And he may have been a little too wild and impulsive for his own good. But he was an honorable man, and extremely generous—yes, above all, generous. God knows how many musicians he helped out with money, jobs, putting them up at his apartment. And what about the lessons he taught at no charge? What about the hundreds of favors he did for people, never calling in the debts? No, he never became the great pianist he yearned to be, but he was a good musician and people respected him. You know what Glenn Gould once said? He said that if he
had
to listen to the romantic Russian composers, the only one he could bear was Willy Gryder!”
    He paused there, staring at me in hostility. “You don’t believe me, do you?”
    I said nothing.
    â€œSo you think one of us murdered Will,” he said scornfully. “Well, do me a favor, Miss Nestleton. Tell me why. Why would any of us want to kill him?”
    â€œJealousy,” I said simply. “Rage. Passion.”
    â€œWhat do you mean—sex?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œAre you . . . but you
can’t
be serious.”
    â€œQuite serious.”
    â€œOh, for godsake, lady! Where are you from—the farm? Listen, these women are sophisticated, independent, grown-up people. They spend three-quarters of the year on tour—away from their homes and families. They get lonely—as anyone would. And sure, some of them have been to bed with Will Gryder. So what? He was a grown-up, too—unmarried, and more than willing to accommodate. Are you telling me one of them was so hung up about a brief affair that they would
kill
him? It’s absurd!”
    â€œIt isn’t absurd, Mr. Hazan. Will was murdered by someone intimately connected to him.”
    â€œThen maybe I should live in fear for my own life!” he snorted.
    â€œBy that, do you mean you also have had affairs with some members of this group?”
    â€œYes, if it’s any of your business. I told you, we’re all friends. But I guess you really don’t understand that kind of friendship. You seem to be stuck in some puritanical time warp.”
    â€œJealousy is timeless, Mr. Hazan. And passion can be that way, too.”
    â€œBullshit!” he cried vehemently. His academic veneer was peeling. I knew it was time for me to leave.
    â€œAll right, Mr. Hazan. I think I’ve taken enough of your time. And I’m sorry if I’ve upset you.” I rose and walked quickly toward the door.
    â€œJust a minute.”
    I turned back to him.
    â€œI guess I owe you an apology, too,” he said, “in spite of the fact that you’re insane to suspect us. But I shouldn’t have insulted you that way. I’m sorry.”
    â€œIt doesn’t matter.”
    â€œOh, yes it does.” He even laughed a little then. “But as long as you’re so curious, and as long as your whole line of thought is so absurd, why don’t you interrogate that nutty cook of ours? She’s the one who hated Willy.”
    â€œHated?”
    â€œThat’s right. Willy just got on her nerves, always harassing her about the meals. He thought of himself as a gourmet, a culinary expert. But then