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The day after Whit and I found Mackey s body, I
said, a beautifully wrapped package was delivered to me
here. When I opened it I saw a pair of new shoes, like the
ones Mackey had been wearing when he died. There was
no card.
Sure, Walz said. He lit a cigarette and leaned against
the wall, smoking it aggressively.
Brophy put my locket back into the envelope, decid-
edly uncomfortable. I wondered how much Mattie had
told him.
You should have told us about this, Miss Brown.
Let s see them.
I don t have them. Had I told you about them, you
would have made light of it, as you ve done with every-
thing else I ve told you. I checked with the fashion peo-
ple at Vanity Fair and found they were handmade by a
woman named Eppie Diamond. While this was not
strictly true, it was close enough.
I m taking you very seriously now, Miss Brown. He
couldn t have been more sarcastic. Where are they?
At Eppie Diamond s insistence, I left them with her.
She said her assistant was ill but he would know for
whom they d been made. Mackey was
We know that, Walz said.
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I think she knew very well who had ordered them.
Why do you say that?
She recognized the shoes I was wearing as the very
same shoes she d made for someone else. That person
had given them to me.
Would you recognize the shoes you left with her if
you saw them again?
Perhaps. I m willing to try, though I don t know what
good it will do if Eppie Diamond s not here to tell us
who
Brophy, set it up, will you? How about later today?
Okay. Walz seemed to have softened some, so I said,
Mr. Walz, my locket is of great sentimental value. It was
given me by my late fiancé before he left for France. I
would dearly love to have it back.
Give it here, Brophy, he said, holding out his beefy
hand.
His fingers on my locket transmigrated to my throat. I
had the most uncomfortable smothering sensation. He
tried to open it, and failing, with his clumsy fingers, gave
it to me. Open it, he said.
It was a delicate piece, having belonged to Franklin s
grandmother. I opened it, eager for the odd comfort I take
in seeing his dear face.
Walz s voice intruded on me from far off. Is that your
late fiancé, Miss Brown?
I had to hold the locket with both hands to keep from
dropping it. The face staring back at me was not
Franklin s. It was Andrew Goren s.
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Chapter Thirty-one
The room began to pitch and keel. I felt as
if someone were holding me underwater. And me with no
gills. Why was this happening?
Thanks to Gerry Brophy, I was able to get back to the
sofa without fainting dead away. Through a haze I saw
faces close to mine, enlarged and pulled like saltwater
taffy in the making.
Something tickled my nostrils. The piquant juniper
fragrance of gin. Harry s voice: Let s see that locket.
He held his flask to my lips and dribbled a few drops into
my receptive mouth.
Where is it, Brophy? Walz demanded.
Don t know.
Find it.
I have it. I opened my hand. I d been holding onto it
so tightly that it had dug a hole in my palm.
Harry took the locket and put a drop of gin on my
wound. The pain burned the haze away. He was staring at
the picture in my locket. He knew it wasn t Franklin, else
I would never have reacted as I did. Who is this,
Oliver?
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I could hardly get the words out. An Andrew
Goren.
Right, Walz said. The nut who identified Theodore
Mackey.
Why do you call him a nut? Harry asked with a
straight face. I knew he agreed with Walz but was fishing
for information.
Never you mind, Melville. You keep your nose out of
police business.
I couldn t resist saying, Mr. Walz has no use for bo-
hemians, Harry. He thinks we re all nuts.
Harry laughed. It s a tough precinct they ve got you
in, isn t it, Walz?
Walz seethed. Maybe they didn t hit you hard
enough, Melville.
Get over it, Walz, Harry said. This is the way of the
world.
What is Andrew Goren s picture doing in my
locket? I asked, finally pulling myself together. And
where is Franklin s?
You tell us, Miss Brown.
I have nothing to tell you, Mr. Walz.
Stop badgering her, Walz, Harry said. He patted me
on the head and went back to his chair, taking my locket
with him.
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