C Is for Corpse

Chicano maid, Alicia, was rearranging a platter of shrimp, consolidating hors d'oeuvres so the plates wouldn't look all ratty and half eaten. God, there was a lot to this business of being rich. It had never occurred to me. I thought you just invited people over and turned 'em loose, but I could see now that entertaining requires all kinds of subtle monitoring.
    I filled a plate and picked up a fresh glass of wine. I chose a seat close enough to the others so I wouldn't seem rude, but far enough away so I wouldn't have to talk to anyone. I have a shy streak that surfaces in situations like this. I'd rather have chatted with some hooker down on lower State Street than try to exchange pleasantries with this crew. What could we possibly have discussed? They were talking about long-term paper. I took a bite of salmon mousse and tried to keep an interested look on my face, like maybe I had a lot of long-term paper I was hoping to unload. Such a nuisance, that shit, isn't it?
    I felt a light touch on my arm and glanced over to see Sufi Daniels easing into the chair next to mine.
    "Glen tells me Bobby was very fond of you," she said.
    "I hope so. I liked him."
    Sufi stared at me. I kept eating because I couldn't think what else to say. She was wearing an odd outfit; a long black dress of some silky material with a matching jacket over it. I assumed it was meant to disguise her misshapen form with its slightly hunched back, but it made her look as if she were about to perform with some big philharmonic orchestra. Her hair was the same lank, pale mess it had been when I met her the first time and her makeup was inexpert. She couldn't have been more different from Glen Callahan. Her manner was faintly patronizing, like she was just on the verge of slipping me a couple of bucks for my services. I might have been short with her, but there was always the chance that she had Bobby's little red book.
    "How do you know Glen?" I asked, taking a sip of wine. I set the glass down on the floor near my chair and forked up some cold shrimp in a spicy sauce. Sufis gaze flicked over to Glen and then back.
    "We met in school."
    "You've been friends a long time."
    "Yes, we have."
    I nodded, swallowing. "You must have been around when Bobby was born," I remarked, just to keep things going.
    "Yes."
    Shit, this is fun, I thought. "Were you close to him?"
    "I liked him, but I can't say we were close. Why?"
    I retrieved my wine and took a sip. "He gave someone a little red book. I'm trying to figure out who."
    "What sort of book?"
    I shrugged. "Addresses, telephone numbers. Small, bound in red leather, from what he said."
    She suddenly began to blink at me. "You're not still investigating," she said. It wasn't a question. It was a statement tinged with disbelief.
    "Why not?"
    "Well, the boy is dead. What difference could any of it possibly make?"
    "If he was murdered, it makes a difference to me," I said.
    "If he was murdered, it's a matter for the police."
    I smiled. "The cops around here love my help."
    Sufi looked over at Glen, lowering her voice. "I'm sure she wouldn't want this pursued."
    "She didn't hire me. Bobby did. Anyway, why do you care?"
    She seemed to catch the danger in my tone, but it didn't worry her much. She smiled thinly, still superior.
    "Of course. I didn't mean to interfere," she murmured. "I just wasn't sure what your plans were and I didn't want Glen upset."
    I was supposed to make comforting noises back to her, but I just sat there and stared. A bit of color rose in her cheeks.
    "Well. It's been nice seeing you again." She got up and wandered over to one of the remaining guests, engaging in conversation with a pointed turning of her back. I shrugged to myself. I wasn't sure what she'd been up to. I didn't care either, unless it pertained to the case. I glanced over at her, speculating.
    Soon after, almost at a signal, people started getting into their good-bye behavior. Glen stood by the archway to the living room, being hugged, having her hands pressed in sympathy. Everyone said the same thing. "You know we love you, sweetie. Now you let us know if we can do anything. "
    She said "I will" and got hugged again.
    Sufi was the one who actually walked them to the door.
    I was on the verge of following when Glen caught my eye. "I'd like to talk to you if you can stay on for a while."
    "Sure," I said. I realized for the first time that I hadn't seen Derek for hours. "Where's Derek?"
    "Taking Kitty back to St. Terry's." She