LITMIR.BIZ

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from Japan. Tiny cubes of sugar were served with tiny silver tongs formed into tiny birds’ claws. The creamer had a round belly and four little birds’ feet.

      There were three more people in the room. The older man –his features faintly resembled Patti Paige Hanson’s—sat quietly observing. His hair was not pure white, like Patti Paige Hanson’s; it was silvery gray. His face was seamed and leathered, with the look of an outdoorsman’s. He wore a blue pinstripe suit, a white shirt and quiet tie. He was perfect.

      He nodded to Lindsey. He said, “I’m Paul Paige. We spoke on the phone.”

      Patti Paige Hanson asked if Lindsey’s coffee was all right. He tasted it. It was superb.

      A boy who might be a youthful twenty or a regular sixteen sat on the edge of an easy chair. He wore a hounds-tooth jacket, a button-down shirt, striped tie, flannel slacks.

      A girl who might be a year or two younger sat sideways in another easy chair. Her hair was cropped boyishly short and dyed jet black. She wore death-white makeup, black eyeliner and black lipstick. Her clothing was black and ripped in three or four places. She wore one fingerless glove.

      Paul Paige said, “Ah, my nephew, Theo, and my niece, Selena. Hanson. Theo and Selena Hanson. They’re my sister’s children by her late husband, Gelett. Gelett Burgess Hanson, a nephew of the original Gelett Burgess. You’ve heard of Gelett Burgess, the famous author?”

      Theo Hanson stood up and advanced to Lindsey. Lindsey stood. The boy said, “A pleasure to meet you, sir.” He shook hands with Lindsey, then returned to his seat.

      Selena Hanson sneered at Lindsey.

      Lindsey confessed that he had never heard of Gelett Burgess, the famous author.

      Patti Paige Hanson said, “A pity. His books are worthy of attention. I suggest that you investigate them when you return to your home.” She paused to preen briefly, then went on. “Now, Mr. Lindsey, just what was it about this alleged insurance policy? My father—Paul’s and mine—was indeed in the publishing business in the early 1950s. But you were not very clear on the telephone about this insurance policy.”

      Lindsey went over the case again. Mrs. Hanson seemed to listen intently. Lindsey couldn’t be sure about the rest of the family. “What I was hoping, then, was to find any kind of records of Paige Publications. Personnel files, financial records, anything that could help me find the girl on the cover of Death in the Ditch.”

      Mrs. Hanson shook her head. “Father seldom spoke of the publishing business. That all ended so long ago, then he concentrated on real estate. He had hard going for several years, but eventually he did very well, as you can see.” Her gesture included the room, but it seemed to indicate the whole house, maybe all of Winnetka.

      “There’s a new building on the old Paige site at LaSalle and Kinzie,” Lindsey said.

      “Yes.”

      “I was there today and spoke with the man who runs the news kiosk in the lobby. He says he knew your father and mother. Knew both of you when you were small children.”

      Mrs. Hanson shot a look at her brother. “I wouldn’t remember any of that. I was just a baby. So was Paul.”

      “The thing is, he mentioned some government agents visiting your father. Said that they came around repeatedly.”

      “Probably about taxes. Or some bureaucratic matter. You know how the government can be. They’re a pack of self-serving Socialists in Washington. If not worse. Let me tell you something, the Soviet Union was never a threat to this country. The Communist menace comes from Washington, not from Russia. From Washington and Boston and Jew York. Decent people are going to have to build walls around themselves soon to keep the other kind out.”

      That’s what Lindsey thought she said. He didn’t ask her to repeat it. He said, “I do have a list of books that Paige Publications issued.”

      He unfolded Scotty Anderson’s printout and spread it on the coffee table. Theo Hanson came over and looked at it. Selena Hanson sneered. Patti Paige Hanson said, “I’m sure I am not interested. What I would really like to know, Mr. Lindsey, is whether this insurance settlement involved the Paige family. If this money was left to an employee, perhaps the company is entitled to the money. I mean, some casual model, not even an employee, really. I never met Mr. Vansittart but of course I knew of him. I was shocked to hear of his death. I’d think that the money should come to the company, you know, under the law of agency.”

      Lindsey shook his head. “I doubt that, frankly. It’s really a question for Legal, of course, but I really don’t think so.”

      Mrs. Hanson reached into a purse that appeared miraculously and extracted a jeweled eyeglass case. She unfolded a small pair of glasses and perched them on her nose. Lindsey almost expected her to use a lorgnette. She peered at the Anderson bibliography and sniffed. She shook her head. “No. No.” She shoved the paper back toward Lindsey.

      “Do you think your father might have left any personal notes on the company? Correspondence? If I could just get a lead on this girl.…”

      “Nothing.” Mrs. Hanson stood up. Her brother and son followed suit. Selena swung one leg over the end of her chair, up and down and up and down.

      Doreen reappeared with Lindsey’s hat and coat. She must have been summoned telepathically. She helped Lindsey into the coat and handed him the hat. He turned to Mrs. Hanson and the others. “If you do think of anything, I’ll be at the Drake for a little longer. Or you could try me at International Surety in Chicago after that, they’ll get the message to me. If you do think of anything.”

      Paul Paige and Theo Hanson shook his hand. Patti Paige Hanson sniffed, touched her fingertips to his, and turned back into the house. Paul Paige wished Lindsey a safe drive back to Chicago.

      Lindsey walked to the LTD and turned on the engine. He left the radio off during his drive back to Chicago, listening to the purr of the Ford’s engine, the hum of its heater, the hiss of its tires on the slick black streets. There had been some snow here, but all that remained were low icy berms along the sidewalk and small patches on the broad lawns.

      Somehow the car’s sounds and their rhythms and counterpoints turned into a melody. By the time he pulled the LTD under the Drake’s canopy and handed the keys to the parking valet, he was actually whistling.

      All the way up in the elevator, walking along the corridor to his room, crossing the room and staring out again into the black winter night, he whistled, and wondered what the familiar tune could be. At last he remembered what it was. He actually sang a couple of lines.

      How much is that doggie in the window/

      The one with the waggily tail?

      He’d been stymied by Mrs. Hanson and her subservient brother, but somehow, as he fell into bed, he was grinning.

      How much is that doggie in the window/

      I do hope that doggie’s for sale.

      Then the phone rang.

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