Page 90 of Close Up

“That,” Nick said, “has not been my experience.”

Chapter 44

Late that afternoon Nick eased the Packard to the curb and shut off the engine. For a moment he sat quietly, studying the run-down boardinghouse Toby Flint had called home. There was a fadedROOM FOR RENTsign in a downstairs window.

He got out of the car and went up the cracked path to the front door. He clanged the knocker several times before someone finally responded.

There was some shuffling in the hallway and the door opened. A middle-aged woman in a floral-patterned housedress, her hair in an old-fashioned marcel wave, peered out.

“If you’ve come about the vacancy I’ll warn you right now the rent has to be paid in advance at the start of every week and I don’t allow men to take women upstairs,” she announced. “This is a respectable establishment.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Nick said. He took out his wallet and removed a couple of bills. “But I’m not looking for a room. I wanted to ask you a few questions about one of your previous boarders. Toby Flint.”

“You’re looking for Flint?” The woman was briefly distracted by the sight of the bills. She looked up quickly, eyes narrowing. “All I can say is, good luck to you. He skipped out on the rent a few days ago. Haven’t seen him since.”

“Flint is dead,” Nick said. “He was hit by a car in Burning Cove.”

“Huh. Would have thought Burning Cove was too expensive for the likes of Flint. He was always short of cash. Well, that explains why he didn’t come back for his things.”

“He left his belongings behind?”

“Yeah. I cleaned out his room this morning. Not a lot of stuff. He pawned everything except his darkroom equipment and the shortwave radio. I took the radio. Figured it would cover a couple of weeks’ rent.”

“What did you do with the rest of his possessions?” Nick asked.

“Put ’em in a box. I was going to take them to a secondhand shop to see if I could get a few bucks for the photography equipment.”

“I’ll give you twenty dollars for the box.”

The landlady narrowed her eyes. “What would you want with Flint’s things?”

“I’ve got a friend who’s interested in photography. She might be able to use some of his equipment.”

“Uh-huh. I’ll take the twenty bucks first. No changing your mind if it turns out you don’t want anything in the box.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal, ma’am.”

Nick handed her the money. She made it disappear inside the bodice of the housedress.

“Follow me,” she said. “The box is in a closet at the end of the hall.”

A short time later Nick settled the box that contained Flint’s worldly belongings into the trunk of the Packard, got behind the wheel, and drove back to the hotel.

The front desk clerk looked up when he saw Nick come through the door.

“Mr. Sundridge,” he said. “Let me get a bellhop to take care of that box for you.”

“Never mind,” Nick said. “I’ve got it. Would you ring Miss Brazier’s room and let her know I’m back?”

“Both Miss Braziers went out while you were gone,” the clerk said.

“Shopping?”

“No.” A flash of excitement lit the clerk’s eyes. “Mr. Ripley Fleming the movie actor sent a limo around to fetch Miss Lyra. I believe there was something said about a tour of the studio followed by tea. As for Miss Vivian, she got a phone call and immediately took off in Miss Lyra’s car.”

Nick paused, thinking. Ripley Fleming was no longer a suspect. At least it was no longer possible to suspect him of being the assassin for hire. And the real killer had been his own client so there was no mysterious client left to identify. Lyra was safe with Fleming.

“Do you know who telephoned Vivian Brazier?” he asked.

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