Might as Well Be Dead

It was one of those rooms that call for expert dodging to get anywhere. God knows why the piano bench was smack in the main traffic lane, and He also knows why there was a piano bench at all, since there was no piano. Anyway it was handy for my hat and coat. She crossed to a couch and invited me to sit, and since there was no chair nearby I perched on the couch too, twisting around to face her.

“I really had forgotten,” she said apologetically. “My mind must have been soaring around.” She waved a hand to show how a mind soars.

She was young, well shaped and well kept, well dressed and well shod, with a soft, clear skin and bright brown eyes, and well-cut fine brown hair, but a mind that soared…

“Didn’t you say you were a detective?” she asked. “Something about a magazine?”

“That’s right,” I told her. “This editor thinks he’d like to try a new slant on a murder. There have been thousands of pieces about murderers. He thinks he might use one called ‘The Last Month of a Murdered Man’ or ‘The Last Year of a Murdered Man.’ By his secretary.”

“Oh, not my name?”

“Sure, your name too. And, now that I’ve seen you, a good big picture of you. I wouldn’t mind having one myself.”

“Now don’t get personal.”

It was hard to believe, the contrast between what my eyes saw and my ears heard. Any man would have been glad to walk down a theater aisle with her, but there would have to be an understanding that she would keep her mouth shut.

“I’ll try not to,” I assured her. “I can always turn my back. The idea is this: you’ll tell me things about Mr. Molloy, what he said and did and how he acted, and I’ll report to the editor, and if he thinks there’s an article in it he’ll come and talk with you. How’s that?”

“Well, it couldn’t be called ‘The Last Year of a Murdered Man.’ It would have to be called ‘The Last Ten Months of a Murdered Man’ because I only worked for him ten months.”

“Okay, that’s even better. Now. I understand-”

“How many days are there in ten months?”

“It depends on the months. Roughly three hundred.”

“We could call it ‘The Last Three Hundred Days of a Murdered Man.’ “

“A good idea. I understand that occasionally you had dinner with Molloy at a restaurant. Was it-”

“Who told you that?”

I had three choices: get up and go, strangle her, or sit on her. “Look, Miss Brandt. I’m being paid by the hour and I’ve got to earn it. Was it to discuss business matters or was it social?”