Free The Thanksgiving Day Murder by Lee Harris Page A

But in this case I was “working” for a “client” and I felt an obligation to keep him informed.
    “Did Detective Evelyn Whatever find anything in her check of Sandy?” I asked.
    “No evidence he ever beat either of his wives. His ex doesn’t love him, but she doesn’t seem to hate him either. The people who work for him like him. At least they didn’t tell horror stories about him. Some seemed pretty fond ofhim. I’ve copied some of the Fives for you to look at.” “Fives” are D.D.5s, Detective Division sheets on which information is typed for a case file. “If he did it, there were none of the usual calls to the police complaining of battering.”
    “So he isn’t a suspect.”
    “Not officially, but I gotta believe DiRoma and Hogan started out with suspicions.”
    “He lives in New Jersey. Did the New Jersey police cooperate?”
    “Looks like it. It’s a pretty small town and they’re pretty sure nothing was going on that they didn’t hear about.”
    “I’ve got to talk to this Wormy woman, Jack. She must know something.”
    “Something they don’t want you to find out.”
    —
    I had a brief conversation with Sandy Gordon that night, telling him the keys were definitely Natalie’s.
    “So you’ve made progress on your first day,” he said enthusiastically. “That’s great.”
    “I have a couple of other things to check, and you’ll hear from me when I’ve done it. By the way, did a woman from Hopkins and Jewell call you this afternoon for permission for me to make inquiries?”
    “The office manager, yes. I didn’t get her name, but I told her you had carte blanche. They didn’t give you any trouble, did they?”
    “No trouble, but I’d like to go back and talk to some other people there. Did your detective get anything useful from them?”
    “Only that Natalie was one of the first people they hired, that they were sorry to see her go, they liked her, that kind of stuff. No one seemed to have a grudge, there were no stories about fights or arguments.”
    “Pretty much what I heard. OK, I’ll be in touch.”
    —
    I woke up Saturday morning thinking of my father. Jack had already awakened, and when I went out into the hall, I smelled coffee. It’s a great smell to wake up to, and I got downstairs quickly so we could eat together. I had bought a couple of banana walnut muffins for breakfast, and they were already cut in half and waiting for me in the toaster oven. “We have anything on for this weekend?” he asked when we were sitting down.
    “Nothing. I knew last Sunday would be completely taken up, so I thought I’d keep this weekend free. Got much work?”
    “The usual. I’ll leave it for tomorrow. Anything you want to do?”
    “A couple of things. How determined are you not to go to New York today?”
    “For you, love, I’ll make the sacrifice. What’s your pleasure?”
    “How long is it since you’ve been to the Metropolitan Museum of Art?”
    “Don’t embarrass me. It sounds like today’s a good day to do it.”
    “And maybe we can take a look at Sixty-fourth Street.”
    “The Statue of Liberty.”
    “Mind?”
    “Haven’t been up that way for a long time. How about we have dinner in the city and I’ll cook tomorrow?”
    “Sounds good.”
    “Where’d you get these great muffins?”
    —
    We drove to the city in the afternoon and parked at the museum. I was amazed at the crowds. People of every age, together, alone, in families, were piling in and out of the front doors as we entered. Like everyone who works in the city, I wore sneakers with my suit, carrying my good shoes in a bag to wear later. The city has taken on the look of a giant track meet these days, all those sneakered feet movingquickly along the pavement, ready to broad-jump at each corner. For me it was comfort, not speed, that dictated my footwear.
    We looked at some of the classic paintings first, the old masters of the Dutch and Flemish schools, walking through packed galleries with