"Edward L. Ferman - Best From F&SF, 23rd Edition" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ferman Edward L)

"No."
"Your bank statement came today."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing. A good secretary keeps her employer informed. I was informing you."
"Okay. Who called?"
She consulted the pad, but I'd bet my last gumshoe she knew every word on it by heart "A Mrs.
Carmichael called. Her French poodle has been kidnapped. She wants you to find her."
"Ye Gods! Why doesn't she go to the police?"
"Because she's positive her ex-husband is the kidnaper. She doesn't want to get him in any trouble;
she just wants Gwendolyn back.тАЭ
"Gwendolyn?"
"Gwendolyn. A Mrs. Bushyager came by. She wants you to find her little sister."
I sat up so fast I almost fell out of the chair. I gave her a long, hard stare, but her neutral expression
didn't flicker. "You're kidding." Her eyebrows rose a millimeter. "Was she a slinky blonde?тАЭ
"No. She was a dumpy brunette."
I settled back in the chair, trying not to laugh. "Why does Mrs. Bushyager want me to find her little
sister?" I sputtered.
 "Because Mrs. Bushyager thinks she's shacked up somewhere with Mr. Bushyager. She'd like you to
call her tonight"
"Tomorrow. I've got a date with Janice tonight." She reached in her desk drawer and pulled out my
bank statement She dropped it on the desk with a papery plop. "Don't worry," I assured her, "I won't
spend much money. Just a little spaghetti and wine tonight and ham and eggs in the morning." She
humphed. My point "Anything else?"
"A Mr. Bloomfeld called. He wants you to get the goods on Mrs. Bloomfeld so he can sue for
divorce."
I sighed. Miss Tremaine closed the pad. "Okay. No to Mrs. Carmknael and make appointments for
Bushyager and Bloomfeld." She lowered her eyelids at me. I spread my hands. "Would Sam Spade go
looking for a French poodle named Gwendolyn?тАЭ
"He might if he had your bank statement Mr. Bloomfeld will be in at two, Mrs. Bushyager at three."
"Miss Tremaine, you'd make somebody a wonderful mother." She didn't even humph; she just picked
up her purse and stalked out I sniveled the chair around and looked at the calendar. Tomorrow was the
4th.
Somebody would die tomorrow and Andrew Detweiler would be close-by.
I scooted up in bed and leaned against the headboard. Janice snorted into the pillow and opened one
eye, pinning me with it "I didn't mean to wake you," I said.
"What's the matter," she muttered, "too much spaghetti?тАЭ
"No. Too much Andrew Detweiler."
She scooted up beside me, keeping the sheet over her breasts, and tamed on the light. She
rummaged around on the nightstand for a cigarette. "Who wants to divorce him?"
"That's mean, Janice," I groaned.
"You want a cigarette?"
"Yeah."
She put two cigarettes in her mouth and lit them both. She handed me one. "You don't look a bit like
Paul Henreid," I said.
She grinned. "That's funny. You look like Bette Davis. Who's Andrew Detweiler?"
So I told her.
"It's elementary, my dear Sherlock," she said. "Andrew Detweiler is a vampire." I frowned at her. "Of
course, he's a clever vampire. Vampires are usually stupid. They always give themselves away by leaving
those two little teeth marks on people's jugulars."
"Darling, even vampires have to be at the scene of the crime."