A Bullet Apiece Read Free Page B

last time you saw him?”
    â€œLast fall.”
    â€œAnd you’re sure this is the same man?”
    She grinned despite herself. “I’m sure. He’s—“ She glanced at Mrs. Simpkins. “He’s quite good looking.”
    â€œI see. What kind of car does he drive?”
    â€œA Jaguar. I wouldn’t forget that. Sort of a silvery green. Two-door, V-8.”
    Interesting. Both parents drive two-seaters. That doesn’t exactly add up to pleasant family drives in the country.
    â€œYou know your cars,” I said, wanting to keep her at ease.
    â€œMy brothers and I used to work on them. That is, I used to help them.”
    â€œSo, did you see the car today?”
    â€œNo. Since the parents come to the room, I generally don’t.”
    â€œHave you ever seen the Hanadys together?”
    â€œNo, not in person. Oh! But I do have a photograph. All of the children brought them in at the start of the year.” She sprang up and went to a bulletin board. When she returned, she handed me the photo.
    It was an outside shot. Nice estate in the background, full summer, flowers, different shades of grey in the foreground. That was Mrs. Hanady all right, this time without sunglasses. Her eyes were greyish, mirth in the crinkles around their edges. I bet they were baby blue in real life. She stood with her arm around a tall man with dark features and a toothy grin—toothy in a capped and pretty way. He wore a coat and tie, and a porkpie hat cocked back on his head. Marni was right; the guy was handsome. Together the couple looked like The First Family. What surprised me, though, was the young girl who stood between them. She wore a floral dress and a big grin devoid of two front teeth. Her skin was tanned dark, darker than the father. Her hair was held back with barrettes. And her dark eyes were barely visible through the squinting folds of flesh. If she wasn’t Central or South American, then I’m not a detective.
    â€œThis is Rachel?”
    â€œYes. She’s adopted.”
    â€œI can see that. How old was she when she was adopted?”
    â€œTwo. The Hanadys adopted her from Colombia. They had to go at night, with an armed guard and everything. Apparently, there’s some unrest.”
    â€œHow old is she now?”
    â€œShe’s five.”
    â€œHow has she adjusted?”
    â€œPretty well, I think. She’s well-behaved in class and shares with the other kids. She doesn’t speak much, but when she does she’s very articulate.” Mrs. Simpkins nodded over half an apple.
    â€œAny Spanish left?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œAnd the parents? Are they fluent?”
    â€œI don’t know. I think Mr. Hanady is. He has investments in Colombia.”
    â€œDo you know what kind?”
    â€œI’m afraid not.” She glanced up at the wall clock. “Um, Mr. Darvis, the afternoon children will be here soon and we must get ready.” Marni smoothed her skirt, which had ridden above the knees.
    â€œOf course. And I’ve already taken more time than I promised. Miss Reyes, I’d like to help get to the bottom of this. When you see Mrs. Hanady again, will you be sure to give her my card?”
    â€œYes, I will.”
    â€œThank you. I’ll be in touch.” I shook her hand, and then the limp hand of Mrs. Simpkins.
    As I opened the door to leave, I almost smacked into the receptionist, who hovered just outside the door. She grimaced and walked towards her desk. I tipped an imaginary hat at her and grinned as I left.

Chapter 3
Cherchez la Femme

    Back in my office I put in a call to Bertie. He wasn’t in, but I got a half-hearted promise from the desk sergeant to have him call me. If I hustled to the park, I might see him there at the end of his lunch.
    I got the Chevy going and pulled out of the industrial court. Heading towards Forest Park, I turned over some ideas about this case. My bet was Mr. Hanady was