The Baxter Trust

toward the information desk.
    He saw at once that Sheila wasn’t there. On the other hand, neither were the cops, not even anyone who looked like a plainclothes cop. He walked up to the desk.
    “You paged John Dutton?” he asked.
    A man stepped up to him. “John Dutton.”
    Dutton turned, and his first thought was plainclothes cop. The thought was immediately dispelled. No cop would dress like that.
    “Yes?”
    “Steve Winslow,” said the man. “I’m Sheila Benton’s attorney.”
    Dutton stared at him. Sheila had told him on the phone she’d hired an attorney, but really. This slovenly dressed young man with bloodshot eyes looked more like a Bowery bum than a lawyer.
    “Sheila couldn’t make it,” Steve said. “So I came to pick you up. I’ve got your car. It’s in the short-term parking lot.”
    Steve clapped him on the shoulder and guided him toward the door. Dutton walked along beside him as if in a daze.
    “So,” Steve said. “You’ve been in Reno the past two days?”
    “That’s right.”
    “And you called Sheila last night?”
    “Yes.”
    “And she told you about the murder?”
    “Of course.”
    “What do you make of it?”
    “I don’t know what to make of it. It doesn’t make any sense.”
    “Yes. Everyone seems to agree on that. What about the blackmail letter?”
    “What about it?”
    “Who could blackmail Sheila?”
    “No one.”
    “No one?”
    “No one at all. Sheila’s not that type of girl.”
    “What type of girl is she?”
    “What do you mean by that?”
    “Whatever you take it to mean. What’s she like?”
    “Don’t you know?”
    “I know what I think. What do you think?”
    “She’s a very straightforward girl. No one could blackmail Sheila. She’d laugh in their face.”
    “Spoken like a gentleman.”
    “What does that mean?”
    “It means it’s what I expected you to say.”
    Dutton gave him a look. Dutton instinctively disliked Winslow, and would have even if Winslow’d been properly dressed. Winslow was the type of guy that irritated the hell out of him. Because Dutton saw himself as a winner. And even in that innocuous little conversation, Dutton was left with the feeling he’d lost the exchange.
    For his part, Steve didn’t like Dutton much either. Dutton was too much of a pretty boy. And the thing was, Dutton knew it. He had that certain something in his manner that many pretty boys have, that attitude of I’m-god’s-gift-to-women-so-the-world-is-my-oyster. He was the type of guy men hated, and women loved. In Steve’s estimation, Sheila couldn’t have done much worse.
    They reached the car. Steve unlocked the trunk, and Dutton put the suitcase in.
    “I’ll drive,” Steve said, and climbed in.
    Dutton didn’t like that either, didn’t like the way this guy was just taking charge. He stood there a few seconds, wondering if he should make an issue out of it. He decided to let it go, and climbed into the car.
    Steve pulled out of the lot and got onto the Van Wyck.
    Dutton was waiting for Winslow to ask him some more questions, but there weren’t any.
    The silence became uncomfortable.
    “So,” Dutton said.
    “Yes?”
    “About the murder.”
    “Yeah?”
    ‘Tell me about it.”
    “Oh, you’re interested in the murder?”
    Dutton gave him a look. “Give me a break, will ya?”
    “Okay. What do you want to know about it?”
    “Who did it?”
    “That’s the sixty-four dollar question, isn’t it? The police are going to say Sheila did.”
    “That’s absurd. Sheila couldn’t kill anyone.”
    “Oh, good,” Steve said dryly. “Why don’t you tell the police that so they can save themselves the trouble of arresting her?” Before Dutton could think of a comeback, Steve added, “By the way, do you have your ticket stub?”
    Dutton, startled by this change of gears, said, “What?”
    “Your plane ticket. Have you got the stub?”
    “Yeah. Why?”
    “Is there anybody who can prove you were actually in Reno?”
    “Why?’
    “I want to cross you off the list. If the police get tough about it, can you prove you actually went to Reno?”
    “Of course I can.”
    “Who saw you there?”
    “My wife.”
    Steve’s head twisted around. “Your what?”
    “My wife,” Dutton said. “I went out there to see my wife’s attorney about the divorce papers, and—”
    Dutton’s head snapped back and the car rocketed forward as Steve stamped the gas pedal to the floor.

21.
    “W HY DIDNT YOU TELL ME he was married?”
    Sheila