Chapter Three
She hung up the phone and turned back to her father. “You say there’s a letter from this Wilma Markovich in the inbox?”
Her father nodded. Percy pulled the full box of work needing attention and rifled through.
“Here it is.” As was their custom, the envelope was attached to the letter with a paperclip. She picked the letter up, paused, and took a sniff of the paper. “Smells like that Paris perfume, Quelques Fleurs. That’s French for ‘some flowers’.”
“Where you smell that?”
“Henri Bendel’s. Yesterday. Cut through there on my way to see that new client.”
”The one with the missing diamond bracelet?”
“Yeah. She’s a pill. After meeting her husband, I think he took it and pawned it. We’ll start checking the local pawnshops tomorrow. But back to Quelques Fleurs,” she said, waving the envelope. “The air reeked of this stuff at the perfume counter, just like this envelope.” She went on. “High-quality paper, Pop. Envelope printed with the return address. Blue instead of white. Classy.”
The handwriting was black ink, on the large side, and in a clear, cursive script. She read out loud:
“Dear Miss Cole, I read the story about you in the newspapers, and you’ve been recommended to me by a friend, as well. He thinks you might be able to help me solve a problem I’m having with a relative. Please call me at Murray Hill 1-2478 as soon as possible. The situation could turn dire at any moment.
Most sincerely,
Mrs. Wilma Markovich”
“Sorry, Persephone,” Pop said. “I forgot all about the letter until I saw her name in the paper. Even then it didn’t come to me right away.”
“Not like you to forget things. I wonder who this relative is? Or the friend that recommended me?”
“I don’t forget things, as a rule, no. But—”
“Something on your mind?”
Pop hesitated, then shook his head. “Just getting old.”
“You miss Mother. She’s never been gone so much. After what I’ve seen, anybody ask me to co-chair a fashion show, I’d head for the hills.”
“It’s for charity. But you’re right. I do miss Mother.”
“We need to figure out who this Markovich dame is before Ken Hutchers shows up with a search warrant.”
Before Pop could answer, the door opened, and their assistant, Fred Rendell Sr., strode in. Slender and compact, he was dressed in black slacks, with a wine-colored shirt topped by a black leather bomber jacket.
He removed his black felt hat with his one good hand and threw it on the hat rack next to the filing cabinets. The other hand was sheathed in a black leather glove hiding a piece of teak wood carved in the shape of a hand.
No more than thirty, Rendell was an infantry man until his honorable discharge. He gave Pop a nod of acknowledgment, then turned to Percy.
Before he could speak, she said, “How did you do?”
“He’s got a girlfriend. Spent the night there.”
“Told you,” Pop said with satisfaction, swiveling his chair around to his desk.
“That you did, Pop,” Percy said. She turned back to Rendell. “You were there all night?” He nodded. “Get pictures?”
Rendell nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Ground-floor apartment. Clear shot through the window this morning as they did a repeat performance. I dropped the roll off at the drugstore on the way back. They should be ready tomorrow.”
“Good. That should slow the creep down,” Pop said, “him being a preacher and all.”
“A cheat and a wife beater,” Rendell said with disgust.
“Don’t worry,” Percy said. “He’ll get his. Meanwhile, we got another problem.”
She thrust the paper into Rendell’s good hand. He sat down, read the short piece, then looked up at Percy, eyebrows raised.
“Before you go home and get some sleep, let me fill you in,” Percy said. “The Markovich dame sent us this letter a couple of days ago asking for me to call her. She was found bludgeoned to death with a tire iron early this morning. Seems some fellow heard me having a fight with her, then the doorman saw me running out the door about the time she was killed.”
“Was it you, ma’am?”
“Nope. I’ve been here all morning. Had breakfast with Mother before she left for the Cloisters, then got Oliver off to school. If you can call burnt oatmeal, canned fruit, and condensed milk breakfast,” she added.
“That’s what I have every morning, ma’am, minus the burn.”
“With this rationing, I haven’t seen an egg in a month.”
“No, ma’am.”
“But putting that aside, I won’t have a hard time proving it wasn’t me those two witnesses saw.” She thought for a moment. “But somebody went to a lot of trouble to make it look like it was me.”
“Why’s that, ma’am?”
“And that’s the question of the day.”
Praise for Hotshot Shamus
“Percy is a great character, and I found myself smiling and laughing at her antics throughout the story. Anyone looking for a fun, fast read should certainly give this book a try. I know I’ll be on the lookout for more about Percy and her adventures.” Long and Short Reviews
“Another Hit Series for Ms Haven. Set in the 1940s, this new series is about a female private investigator, something unheard of in those days. Hats off to Ms Haven for another fine series. I couldn’t put it down.”
Roseanne Dowell, Author
“As a Heather Haven fan, I couldn’t resist leaving an encouraging word to those of you who love your genres mixed with a heaping of humor. I read her first series and absolutely loved it, so I was really excited to see this debut of her new heroine and series. Her spunky leading ladies are realistic, determined, and inspiring, and her secondary characters are colorful and so well described you’ll swear you’d recognize them on the street. I’m thinking of running for president of the Heather Haven Fan Club, so after you read her work and leave your own positive review, you can vote for me.” 🙂 Ginger Simpson, Spice up Your Life With Ginger
“If you like to take a chance on a book, you won’t be disappointed with this one. I am looking forward to reading her next book about Persephone Cole.” Amazon Reader