When April came in, it seemed she had a headache. She also had a retinue, sticking alongside like outriders for a royal coach, consisting of Celia Fleet, who looked as if she hadn’t slept much, and Osric Stauffer, Ossie to Naomi Karn, who had been home at least long enough to change his clothes. They took chairs flanking royalty without any invitation from us.
April said, with the ripple in her voice much more subdued than it had been the day before, “I can’t talk about it, I simply can’t. I came because my sister said I must, but I can’t talk because my throat fills up. Why should I be like that? Other people can talk no matter what happens. Something has happened to my throat.”
Celia Fleet smiled at her. Stauffer gazed at her with a sickening smirk. Maybe I did the same. When she came in and pressed her hands to her temples like the heroine at the end of the second act, I had decided that the wedding was off, but it wasn’t as easy as that. Something that went out from her made you forget she was a professional who knew how to get a million people to pay four-forty at the box office to watch her work. I would have died for her on the spot if I hadn’t been busy taking notes.
“I doubt if you’ll need to do a lot of talking,” said Wolfe. “As a matter of fact, this is probably quite useless, but I have to poke around somewhere. It isn’t about the will, you know. Did your sister tell you that Mr. Dunn has engaged me to find out who killed Noel Hawthorne?”
Stauffer answered for her. “Yes,” he said shortly. “And I hope to heaven you succeed. But it won’t do any good to torment Miss Hawthorne about it. Last night that damned police inspector—”
“I know,” Wolfe agreed. “Mr. Cramer is so forthright. I certainly don’t want to torment anybody. I may not have to ask Miss Hawthorne to say anything at all. You, Miss Fleet, you were writing letters Tuesday afternoon?”
Celia nodded. “Miss Hawthorne has thousands of letters. I answer all I can. When we finished tea, about a quarter past four, I went to an alcove of the living room and was there alone, writing for about an hour, until Andy — Mr. Dunn came.”
“Let’s say Andy. There was another Mr. Dunn around. What did you do then?”
“Andy suggested a walk. We walked — we went to the woods—”
Celia appeared to have struck a snag. April said, “They’re in love. It’s a family row. Celia and I want Andy to go on the stage, he was born for it. June and her husband want him to be a lawyer and politician and get elected president. My brother wanted him in the Cullen office — my brother always wanted a son and didn’t have one. We fought about it at tea. They’re idiots. Andy is a rotten lawyer.”