said.
"No," she said, "I'm not. You may be the smartest person I have ever met. You understand me fine. I am not ready to give April too much more line."
"She fell in love again," I said.
"Oh, good God," Patricia Utley said.
"Guy named Lionel Farnsworth," I said.
She nodded.
"Yes, he always requested her. Then he stopped."
"She was giving him freebies," I said.
"Always a risk," Patricia Utley said.
"When you sent her up to Boston, he came along, cut himself into the business. They've been skimming. Putting aside the down payment so they could start a chain of their own boutique cathouses. Farnsworth says he has the rest of the financing in place."
Patricia Utley nodded.
"And," she said, "has she given the skimmed savings to Lionel?"
"I don't know, but what would you guess?"
"We both know she has," Patricia Utley said.
"We do," I said.
Maybe my cynicism had made me cynical after all. Our salads arrived. We paused while they were served. Patricia Utley ordered a second glass of wine. I had another Virgin Mary.
"According to April, Lionel cheated on her. She broke it off. He wanted his share of everything. She refused. He hired some bad guys. And now the guy he hired has been murdered."
"Oh dear," Patricia Utley said. "That means police."
"Yep. I've got some pull. The cops are willing to let April stay below the radar for now."
"And you've talked with Lionel?"
"Yes."
"How does his story jibe with April's?"
"Not as well as one would wish."
Patricia Utley smiled sadly and nodded. The drinks arrived.
"What would you have me do?" Patricia Utley said when we were alone.
"What do you know about Farnsworth?" I said.
"Probably less than you. The girls liked him, April obviously. But the other girls he was with. They all said he was charming and gentlemanly."
"Did he continue to patronize your establishment after he stopped requesting April?"
I ate my salad. Every time I turned a corner, the truth seemed to have turned the next corner, just out of sight.
"That sonova fucking bitch," she said.
I finished my salad.
"My sentiments exactly," I said.
"Yes."
"He have other favorites?"
She was silent for a moment, thinking about something.
"Yes," she said.
"You ever open up any other, ah, branch offices like you did with April?"
She was silent for a longer while and then began to nod slowly. I found myself nodding with her.
"Goddamn," she said.
"Not all of his favorites opened up boutiques of their own," I said.
Patricia nodded.
"But all of the people in business for themselves had been favorites of Lionel," I said.
She nodded again.
"Thirty years," she said, "making it big in a tough business, and I'm getting hustled."
"Humbling," I said. "Isn't it."
"That sonova bitch," Patricia Utley said.
"I'll need to talk with those women," I said.
Patricia Utley nodded.
"Of course," she said.
36
Alana Adler's mansion was in a brick rowhouse in Philadelphia, not far from Logan Square. I always liked Philly. It felt like Boston, only bigger. I went into the rowhouse.
"My name is Spenser," I said to the receptionist. "I have an appointment with Ms. Adler."
"Have a seat, please," the receptionist said. "I'll let her know you're here."
I sat in the chair provided. The receptionist sat at her desk. Except for the announcement of my arrival, everything was very quiet. The place was so starchy, I felt like I was going to the principal's office. After a few motionless, soundless moments, a door opened and a woman came into the room.
"Mr. Spenser?" she said.
"Yes."
"Mrs. Utley told me to expect you. Come on in."
Easy so far.
The room I entered was a small sitting room. There were heavy drapes, Tiffany lamps, a two-person love seat, a couple of club chairs, and a small antique writing table that Alana apparently used as a desk. She sat at it. I chose a club chair. We were at street level, and through the window you could watch people strolling by.
"How can I help you," Alana said.
She looked like a
"No," she said, "I'm not. You may be the smartest person I have ever met. You understand me fine. I am not ready to give April too much more line."
"She fell in love again," I said.
"Oh, good God," Patricia Utley said.
"Guy named Lionel Farnsworth," I said.
She nodded.
"Yes, he always requested her. Then he stopped."
"She was giving him freebies," I said.
"Always a risk," Patricia Utley said.
"When you sent her up to Boston, he came along, cut himself into the business. They've been skimming. Putting aside the down payment so they could start a chain of their own boutique cathouses. Farnsworth says he has the rest of the financing in place."
Patricia Utley nodded.
"And," she said, "has she given the skimmed savings to Lionel?"
"I don't know, but what would you guess?"
"We both know she has," Patricia Utley said.
"We do," I said.
Maybe my cynicism had made me cynical after all. Our salads arrived. We paused while they were served. Patricia Utley ordered a second glass of wine. I had another Virgin Mary.
"According to April, Lionel cheated on her. She broke it off. He wanted his share of everything. She refused. He hired some bad guys. And now the guy he hired has been murdered."
"Oh dear," Patricia Utley said. "That means police."
"Yep. I've got some pull. The cops are willing to let April stay below the radar for now."
"And you've talked with Lionel?"
"Yes."
"How does his story jibe with April's?"
"Not as well as one would wish."
Patricia Utley smiled sadly and nodded. The drinks arrived.
"What would you have me do?" Patricia Utley said when we were alone.
"What do you know about Farnsworth?" I said.
"Probably less than you. The girls liked him, April obviously. But the other girls he was with. They all said he was charming and gentlemanly."
"Did he continue to patronize your establishment after he stopped requesting April?"
I ate my salad. Every time I turned a corner, the truth seemed to have turned the next corner, just out of sight.
"That sonova fucking bitch," she said.
I finished my salad.
"My sentiments exactly," I said.
"Yes."
"He have other favorites?"
She was silent for a moment, thinking about something.
"Yes," she said.
"You ever open up any other, ah, branch offices like you did with April?"
She was silent for a longer while and then began to nod slowly. I found myself nodding with her.
"Goddamn," she said.
"Not all of his favorites opened up boutiques of their own," I said.
Patricia nodded.
"But all of the people in business for themselves had been favorites of Lionel," I said.
She nodded again.
"Thirty years," she said, "making it big in a tough business, and I'm getting hustled."
"Humbling," I said. "Isn't it."
"That sonova bitch," Patricia Utley said.
"I'll need to talk with those women," I said.
Patricia Utley nodded.
"Of course," she said.
36
Alana Adler's mansion was in a brick rowhouse in Philadelphia, not far from Logan Square. I always liked Philly. It felt like Boston, only bigger. I went into the rowhouse.
"My name is Spenser," I said to the receptionist. "I have an appointment with Ms. Adler."
"Have a seat, please," the receptionist said. "I'll let her know you're here."
I sat in the chair provided. The receptionist sat at her desk. Except for the announcement of my arrival, everything was very quiet. The place was so starchy, I felt like I was going to the principal's office. After a few motionless, soundless moments, a door opened and a woman came into the room.
"Mr. Spenser?" she said.
"Yes."
"Mrs. Utley told me to expect you. Come on in."
Easy so far.
The room I entered was a small sitting room. There were heavy drapes, Tiffany lamps, a two-person love seat, a couple of club chairs, and a small antique writing table that Alana apparently used as a desk. She sat at it. I chose a club chair. We were at street level, and through the window you could watch people strolling by.
"How can I help you," Alana said.
She looked like a
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