Thirteen Diamonds

her apartment is her business and nobody else's.”
    “True. Unless it leads to murder.”
    “Why don't you just tell me what you know,” I said, trying to cut through the melodrama.
    “One morning the man came out of Ida's apartment as I approached and walked away fast. He didn't see me in the dark but I got a good look at him because he went close to a streetlight.”
    “Who was it?” I asked, anticipating her answer.
    “It was Wesley Phipps.”
    “Are you sure?” If she thought she was going to shock me, she was right. The fastidious Wesley, who doted on his sick wife?
    “There's nothing wrong with my eyesight,” Hazel said, indignantly, but she was pleased at my reaction.
    “But he's married.”
    “His wife's an invalid and has been for years.”
    True, but how could he sneak out on her at night? And what did Ida see in him, anyway? He was not exactly a prime specimen of manhood. “Okay, I believe you,” I said, “but what does this have to do with murder?”
    “Isn't it obvious? Ida was supposed to be the girlfriend of Gerald. Gerald must have found out about her and Wesley and threatened to tell Wesley's wife. So they killed him.”
    Just like that. “What makes you think Gerald was murdered?”
    “Everybody in the bridge club knows Gerald was murdered. And everybody knows you're trying to solve it. Somebody put the shellfish in the casserole on purpose, in order to kill him. Either Ida or Wesley. They did it after the fire alarm went off. I was just trying to help.” Hazel looked hurt.
    I suspected that “everybody” was limited to busybodies like Hazel, but she had told me something I didn't already know, assuming she was a reliable source. I thanked her for her assistance. She made me swear that I wouldn't tell anybody she had told me this and said we had to leave separately.
    That was fine with me. I walked away first. After I had gone a few yards I looked back at her. She still sat on the bench, staring at the pond. I wondered what Louie thought of her.
     
                       *    *    *
     
    Ophah, the Silver Acres receptionist, didn't work on weekends. Volunteers from among the residents filled in at the front desk to answer questions and guide visitors. I usually sat there from 2 to 4 p.m. on Saturdays. On Saturday morning I traded with the man who had the 8 to 10 p.m. shift on Saturday evenings.
    Not much happened at the front desk Saturday evenings. Residents who could get out and about were out on their own or with relatives and friends. Those who couldn't were safely ensconced in front of their television sets. No delivery people came to the front door and very few visitors.
    Thus, as I sat at the front desk at 8:05 p.m., I was completely alone and silence reigned, apart from the ubiquitous hum of the air conditioning system. I opened a drawer that I knew contained a ring of emergency keys. One of them fit the lock to Carol Grant's office. Carol, who sometimes came in on weekends, would not be here tonight. She was out with Albert.
    I sidled over to her office door, which was not far from the reception desk. Keeping one eye on the main corridor and one eye on the parking lot through the front windows, I tried one key after another until one fit. I rotated it in the lock and heard a click. I turned the handle and swung the door slightly open.
    I poked my hand through the dark doorway and found the light switch with my fingers; I turned it on. Having gotten this far, I was afraid to go in. I had been a law-abiding citizen all my life. An invisible barrier called a conscience kept me from entering the office. I turned off the light, shut and locked the door, returned to the reception desk and put away the keys.
    A half-hour later I took the keys out again and played with them awhile. Finally, I picked them up and returned to Carol's door and opened it. I told myself that all I was going to do was to look around. I turned on the light and after one last sweeping glance of the area to see if anybody was in sight, walked timidly in.
    I was interested in the four-drawer metal file cabinet beside the credenza, that I had seen the day before when Tess and I had talked to Carol. I was quite sure that's where the residents' folders were kept. The drawers were unlabeled and the cabinet was locked.
    I tried all the keys on my key ring but none of them fit this lock. With almost a sigh of relief I retreated to the door. I hadn't really done anything wrong yet and