“You have quite a slap there.”
She giggled.
“When you have my looks you learn to slap hard.”
Then the front-door bell rang: one long, shrill peal.
“Don’t answer it,” I said. “I’m now ready not to talk about Maureen.”
“Don’t be silly.” She swung her long legs off the divan. It’s the grocerman.”
“What’s he got I haven’t? “
“I’ll show you when I come back. I can’t starve just to please you.”
She went out of the room and closed the door. I took the opportunity to freshen my drink, and then lay down on the divan. What she had told me had been very interesting. The uncared-for garden, the crap-shooting chinamen, the whittling chauffeur, the smoking butler all added up to the obvious truth that Maureen wasn’t living at Crestways. Then where was she? Was she at the sanatorium? Was she sweating out a drug jag? Nurse Flemming would know. Dr. Jonathan Salzer would know, too. Probably Benny Dwan and Eudora had known.
Perhaps Glynn & Coppley knew, or if they didn’t they might wish to know. I began to see a way to put this business on a financial footing. My mind shifted to Brandon. If I had Glynn & Coppley behind me, I didn’t think Brandon would dare start anything. Glynn & Coppley were the best, the most expensive, the top-drawer lawyers in California. They had branch offices in San Francisco, Hollywood, New York and London. They were not the kind of people who’d allow themselves to be nudged by a shyster copper like Brandon. If they wanted to they had enough influence to dust him right out of office.