would have made things even worse for Ellen than they already were. So I restrained myself with what, let me assure you, was a superhuman effort.
The meal seemed interminable. The one break we had was that there was no need to even attempt polite conversa
tion. Will, you see, was interested only in the food, shovel
ing down almost mind-boggling quantities.
Finally, the end was in sight.
My delightful dinner guest was just finishing his second helping of cold lemon souffle´—which is my most special dessert and which I was sincerely hoping he would choke on (and there’s no way I’d have rendered the Heimlich maneuver, either). Ellen was on her third cup of coffee. And I was seriously contemplating pouring a fourth for myself. Suddenly there was this loud beep, which, in a room so heavy with silence, sounded more like a siren. Ellen spilled her coffee, and I, steel-nerved soul that I am, damned near suffered a coronary.
‘‘My beeper!’’ Will exclaimed, removing same from his pants pocket. ‘‘Do you mind if I use your phone?’’ he asked politely.
I directed him to the one in the bedroom, more to get him out of my sight for a few minutes than to afford him any privacy. But he insisted on making the call from the living room.
‘‘What’s up?’’ he said into the receiver. This was followed about two minutes later by a disbelieving ‘‘You’re kid
ding!’’ and then, in rapid succession, by a shouted ‘‘Of course not!’’ a strangled ‘‘Christ!’’ and an authoritative
‘‘Call the cops!’’ He concluded with a brusque ‘‘I’ll be right home,’’ slamming down the phone.
Now, somewhere between the ‘‘You’re kidding!’’ and the
‘‘I’ll be right home,’’ it dawned on me that this crisis of Fitzgerald’s was a little something he’d cooked up in ad
MURDER CAN RUIN YOUR LOOKS
75
vance. You know, to use as an escape hatch if it should turn out he wanted one. I sneaked a look at Ellen, and I could tell that, unfortunately, she’d caught on, too.
‘‘That was my next-door neighbor,’’ Fitzgerald was say
ing. ‘‘Apparently someone’s broken into my apartment. Jules—my neighbor—heard a lot of noise coming from the place, and he knew I wasn’t home. He wanted to check and see if I had someone staying there before he called the police.’’ It wasn’t a bad performance, really. He was even managing to sound a little breathless, almost like he was hyperventilating. A pretty nice touch.
Without commenting, I quickly got him his coat.
‘‘As much as I’d like to stay,’’ he told us as he hurriedly put it on, ‘‘I’m afraid I don’t have any choice.’’ A rueful smile flitted across his troubled, lying face.
I glanced anxiously over at Ellen again, hoping she’d be able to control her tears until that S.O.B. got the hell out of the apartment. I needn’t have worried. My niece rose to the occasion magnificently, handling her humiliation in a manner that I’d have sworn was not even in her nature. (But, as I said before, with Ellen, you just never know.) Jumping up from the table, she rushed over to Will and held out her hand. As soon as he took it, she looked di
rectly into his eyes. ‘‘I just thought I should tell you,’’ she said, sounding cool and sophisticated and totally sincere,
‘‘how interesting it was to meet you. I hope you won’t be offended, though, if I ask a favor of you.’’
‘‘No, no, of course not,’’ a thoroughly confused Will Fitz
gerald assured her.
‘‘I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t attempt to pursue this relationship. I know it’s very shallow of me, but I really do prefer taller men.’’
Chapter 9
Miraculously, Ellen managed to contain herself until Will was not only out of the apartment but probably in the ele
vator on his way downstairs. Then came the deluge.
‘‘He c-certainly was anxious to g-get away from me,’’ she gulped between sobs. ‘‘And what does a
The meal seemed interminable. The one break we had was that there was no need to even attempt polite conversa
tion. Will, you see, was interested only in the food, shovel
ing down almost mind-boggling quantities.
Finally, the end was in sight.
My delightful dinner guest was just finishing his second helping of cold lemon souffle´—which is my most special dessert and which I was sincerely hoping he would choke on (and there’s no way I’d have rendered the Heimlich maneuver, either). Ellen was on her third cup of coffee. And I was seriously contemplating pouring a fourth for myself. Suddenly there was this loud beep, which, in a room so heavy with silence, sounded more like a siren. Ellen spilled her coffee, and I, steel-nerved soul that I am, damned near suffered a coronary.
‘‘My beeper!’’ Will exclaimed, removing same from his pants pocket. ‘‘Do you mind if I use your phone?’’ he asked politely.
I directed him to the one in the bedroom, more to get him out of my sight for a few minutes than to afford him any privacy. But he insisted on making the call from the living room.
‘‘What’s up?’’ he said into the receiver. This was followed about two minutes later by a disbelieving ‘‘You’re kid
ding!’’ and then, in rapid succession, by a shouted ‘‘Of course not!’’ a strangled ‘‘Christ!’’ and an authoritative
‘‘Call the cops!’’ He concluded with a brusque ‘‘I’ll be right home,’’ slamming down the phone.
Now, somewhere between the ‘‘You’re kidding!’’ and the
‘‘I’ll be right home,’’ it dawned on me that this crisis of Fitzgerald’s was a little something he’d cooked up in ad
MURDER CAN RUIN YOUR LOOKS
75
vance. You know, to use as an escape hatch if it should turn out he wanted one. I sneaked a look at Ellen, and I could tell that, unfortunately, she’d caught on, too.
‘‘That was my next-door neighbor,’’ Fitzgerald was say
ing. ‘‘Apparently someone’s broken into my apartment. Jules—my neighbor—heard a lot of noise coming from the place, and he knew I wasn’t home. He wanted to check and see if I had someone staying there before he called the police.’’ It wasn’t a bad performance, really. He was even managing to sound a little breathless, almost like he was hyperventilating. A pretty nice touch.
Without commenting, I quickly got him his coat.
‘‘As much as I’d like to stay,’’ he told us as he hurriedly put it on, ‘‘I’m afraid I don’t have any choice.’’ A rueful smile flitted across his troubled, lying face.
I glanced anxiously over at Ellen again, hoping she’d be able to control her tears until that S.O.B. got the hell out of the apartment. I needn’t have worried. My niece rose to the occasion magnificently, handling her humiliation in a manner that I’d have sworn was not even in her nature. (But, as I said before, with Ellen, you just never know.) Jumping up from the table, she rushed over to Will and held out her hand. As soon as he took it, she looked di
rectly into his eyes. ‘‘I just thought I should tell you,’’ she said, sounding cool and sophisticated and totally sincere,
‘‘how interesting it was to meet you. I hope you won’t be offended, though, if I ask a favor of you.’’
‘‘No, no, of course not,’’ a thoroughly confused Will Fitz
gerald assured her.
‘‘I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t attempt to pursue this relationship. I know it’s very shallow of me, but I really do prefer taller men.’’
Chapter 9
Miraculously, Ellen managed to contain herself until Will was not only out of the apartment but probably in the ele
vator on his way downstairs. Then came the deluge.
‘‘He c-certainly was anxious to g-get away from me,’’ she gulped between sobs. ‘‘And what does a
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