Max looked as if he was about to say something else, but Audrey spoke first. "Leo really said he'd leave me forever if you paid him?" she asked.
Daphne looked at her, her face pinched with regret. "Yes. I'm sorry, Audrey. I really am. I shouldn't have done it. I was just trying to protect you."
Audrey nodded. "I know. It's okay. You're not to blame. I am. For marrying someone like Leo in the first place."
Max leaned over and took her hand. "Audrey. Please. None of this is your fault. You aren't the first person to make a bad marriage. He took advantage of you. Leo is to blame for all of this. And if he weren't already dead ..." Seeing Audrey blanch, he came to an abrupt stop. "Sorry."
Audrey ducked her head. "It's okay. I understand."
Max turned to me. "But what does this mean? For Audrey? Are the police still looking for other leads? Do they really think Audrey could have done this?"
"I don't know," I answered. "I spoke to my friend Marcy and told her about the missing money. I'm sure the police will look into that."
"Could Leo have owed more money to other people?" Daphne asked. "People other than Frank Little?"
"He might have," I said. "Anything is possible."
"Especially where Leo was concerned," said Olive.
Although I hated to admit it, she had a point.
thirty-three.
The one person I thought could answer the question of Leo's debts was Frank. He wasn't at home, so we tried the family restaurant/front. Little's Vittles was a hole in the wall located on a shabby side street on the Lower East Side. The decor was garish. The seating was a mix of red velvet and black pleather. Along the back wall behind the bar were highlights of some of the more famous scenes from Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel. Rather than God's hand reaching out to provide Adam with the spark of life, a muscular version of Danny offered a reclining patron a plate of antipasto. In a nod to the nude Adam and Eve's banishment from Paradise, two would-be patrons were chased out of Little's by a reprimanding hostess. Based on their attire, their crime appeared to be that they were Red Sox fans.
Not surprisingly, the restaurant was not crowded. In fact, the only occupants were Frank and Danny. Frank was wiping down the bar with a questionable-looking dishrag. Danny was sitting on a stool smoking a cigarette and reading the sports page. Neither appeared pleased to see us.
"Landis! What the hell are you doing here?" Danny barked when he saw me.
"I'm a gourmet at heart, Danny. But I am hurt that you can't remember my name. It's Martini. Like the drink." I said.
Danny scoffed. "More like a Shirley Temple," he said.
I smiled. "Why, thank you, Danny."
"I hate Shirley Temples," Danny finished.
"Do have some respect for the dead," Nigel admonished. "That woman cheered up a nation in need."
"Good point. Let's just stick with Martini," I said as I took a seat at the bar. Nigel sat next to me. Skippy merely laid his head on the battered surface and stared at Frank. Nigel and I each picked up one of the menus and read the daily specials.
"We're not open right now," said Frank.
"Well, that is a shame," Nigel said, laying his menu on the bar. "Because you had me with 'The Codfather.'"
"So, have you heard about our mutual friend Leo?" I asked.
Frank nodded. "Yeah. We're all broke up about it."
"I imagine you are. Easy marks with fat bank accounts are hard to come by," I said.
Frank produced a half laugh. Danny glared at him. "What do you want, Martini?" he asked as he stubbed out his cigarette into an ashtray.
"Well, other than a desire to know what exactly is in a vittle, I wondered if Leo might have owed money to anyone besides you?"
Frank cocked an eyebrow. "Man, if that were true then that boy would have been in deep."
"So, is that a no, then?" I asked.
"Yeah. As far as I know, he only owed us. I would have heard about it otherwise. People knew I wanted my money. If there was a ... competition for Leo's attention to that matter, I would know. Why? What did you hear?"
"I ran into Leo the night before he died. He was at The Lucky Lady."
Frank regarded me with wide-eyed amusement. "You were at The Lucky Lady? I would have loved to have seen that."
"I'll be sure to call you next time I go. My point is that when I saw Leo there, he seemed to be in a particularly good mood."
"I'll bet he did," Danny said with a snort.
I glanced at him. "Yes, well he seemed to be in a jolly mood for reasons other than the entertainment." I returned my attention to Frank. "Leo told me that he'd paid off his debt to you. And yet he still had money to fling at the so-called 'lucky ladies' at the club."
Frank met my gaze. "And?" he asked.
"And, I wondered if that was correct? Had Leo paid off his debt?"
Frank nodded. "Yeah. We were all squared up. Why?"
"Well, the last time we chatted, I think someone mentioned something about messing up Leo's smug face. And I think that someone was you. But when I saw Leo that night he was bruise-free, and the next night the only bruising on his face was a result of a disagreement he had with my husband."
Frank and Danny looked at Nigel. Nigel shrugged. "It was a gentlemen's disagreement. I didn't think he was one."
Frank crossed his arms across his chest and frowned. "Yeah. Well, I still planned on smashing his face in, but now that he's dead it seems ..."
"Excessive?" suggested Nigel.
Frank nodded and grinned. "Yeah. Excessive. That works."
"But why didn't you, as you so quaintly put it, 'smash his face in' when he paid you back?" I asked.
Frank poured himself and Danny a glass of whiskey from behind the bar. He then held up the bottle to me with a questioning expression. I shook my head no. He shrugged and put the bottle back. "Leo didn't pay me back in person," Frank explained after taking a sip of his drink. "He sent some woman to do it for him. Typical Leo. Always hiding behind a chick."
I frowned. "He sent a woman to pay you? Was it his wife, Audrey?"
"No," said Frank, "It wasn't her."
"So who was it then?"
Frank took another sip and shook his head. "I don't know. I never saw her before. She's not the type of customer we usually get."
"Could she have been one of the dancers from The Lucky Lady?"
Frank laughed at the suggestion. "Not unless they are completely changing their lineup to uptight blondes."
"But she was a friend of Leo's?"
Frank shook his head. "I doubt they were actually friends. She was a scared rabbit. I don't think she was Leo's type. Or visa versa."
"So what did this blonde look like?" I asked.
Frank regarded me in confusion. "I just told you. Blonde."
I sighed. "Yes, but what else? Tall? Thin? Curvy? Sexy? Old? Young?"
Understanding dawned in Frank's eyes. "Oh. Yeah. She was young. Thin. Kind of the Grace Kelly type rather than a Marilyn Monroe, if you know what I mean."
I looked at Frank in surprise. "Why, Frank! I never pegged you for a movie buff."
He nodded. "Only the older stuff. The stuff they put out today is crap."
"A man after my own heart," said Nigel. "Tell me Frank, what does Bogart mean to you?"
Frank regarded him curiously. "What do you mean, what does Bogart mean? Like Humphrey Bogart?"
Nigel nodded.
"Other than being one of the best damn actors of his generation? Nothing. Why, should it?" he asked.
"No. But you've restored my faith that some of greatest actors of our time have not been wholly forgotten."
Frank took another sip of his drink. "One of the greatest love stories, too. That Lauren Bacall was a damn fine woman."
thirty-four.
Nigel, Skippy, and I returned to the hotel after our meeting with Frank. I then left the two of them there and paid Marcy a visit. She was sitting with her feet up on her desk and reading a file when I entered her office. Seeing me, she sat up and shut the folder. "Hey, Nic. What's going on?" she asked as she offered me a chair.
"Oh, just the usual Bacchanalia of holiday family dysfunction," I said.
Marcy laughed. "I guess that's one way to put it. Although it's much classier than what I would call it. I guess these high society folks are rubbing off on you."
"God, I hope not," I confessed as I sat down.
"So, what's all this about Leo having a bunch of money on him when he died?" she asked.
"Apparently, he had a bunch of money on him when he died," I answered primly.
Marcy raised an eyebrow. "Something you're not telling me, Nic?"
"Probably," I admitted. "But it's not my thing to tell."
Marcy crossed her arms. "Nic, a man is dead. One of your relatives ..."
"One of Nigel's relatives," I corrected.
She tipped her head in acknowledgement and started over. "One of Nigel's relatives is under suspicion in that death. If you know something that affects this investigation, then I'd appreciate it if you'd share it with me."
"I know, Marcy. And I will. I promise. I just want to make sure that I understand what I think I know before I say anything. I don't want to waste your time investigating a misunderstanding."
Marcy stared at me for a long beat. "Fine, Nic. Have it your way. But I'm warning you. We go back a long way, and I've always counted you as a friend, but that courtesy doesn't extend to your ... Nigel's ... relatives."
"Understood. Don't worry. I'm not going to hide anything from you. I only want to double check some facts first."
"Such as?"
I sighed. "I don't know. Everything. Did you ever get any leads on who killed Fat Saul?"
She shook her head. "No. If anyone knows anything, they aren't talking. I'm not surprised, really. Fat Saul was a psychopath. Maybe whoever killed him is now being hailed as a hero of sorts."
"Or is just the successor to the title."
Marcy gave a wan smile. "That's probably a more likely scenario."
"Do you think either Frank or Danny Little had anything to do with it?" I asked.
Marcy shook her head. "It would make my life so much easier if they had, but honestly, I can't find any evidence linking them to the crime. They both have airtight alibis. And as much as I hate to admit it, they seem legit. Their alibis, not the individuals who provided them, that is."
"Duly noted. What about Lizzy Marks? Any progress there?"
Again Marcy shook her head. She tapped her pen on the manila folder. "We're still keeping an eye on her ex-husband, but there's nothing to connect him to the scene of the crime."
I looked at her in surprise. "What do you mean, there's nothing to connect him? He was practically stalking her."
Marcy nodded. "I know. I know. But technically he obeyed the terms of his restraining order, if not the spirit of it. I can't find anything that puts him in her apartment. Not that I've written him off, of course. I haven't. But until I get something solid, I have to let him go."