I watched her do her Marlene Dietrich number with the fresh coffin nail. “I understand he had the Hainelin box on his person,” I said, “and that it was lost when he fell.”
“Yes. It wasn’t among his collection or anywhere else in the house when I looked for it later. And the pocket of his jacket was torn in the fall, the pocket he’d put the box in.”
“Is there any chance he set the box down somewhere before he went outside? That it was picked up by one of the guests?”
“You mean stolen? Good God, no. None of those people is a thief.”
“Uh-huh. They’re all too civilized, right?”
“Yes. Exactly.”
“But some of them are also dealers and collectors,” I said. “And the box was worth a lot of money.”
She was shaking her head. “No. Theft is out of the question.”
Not as far as I was concerned, it wasn’t. But I said, “I don’t know much about that type of antique art. Do you mind if I have a look at the rest of your husband’s collection?”
“I don’t mind, but I’m afraid that’s impossible.”
“Oh? Why?”
“I’ve had it unmounted and crated,” she said. “Antiques of that sort mean nothing at all to me; frankly I don’t even find them aesthetic. I intend to sell the entire collection as soon as Kenneth’s will clears probate.”
“I see. Do you have a buyer yet?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
“It wouldn’t be Eldon Summerhayes, would it?”
One of her finely penciled eyebrows formed an arch. She said slowly, “You’re quite a detective.”
“I’ve been one a long time.”
“Yes, well, Eldon is an old friend. He is also a dealer in that type of art … but then you already know that, I’m sure.”
“May I ask how much he’s paying you?”
“Really, that is none of your business.”
“No, it isn’t. But I’m curious.”
She ran her eyes over my face again in that same probing way, and then took one last drag off her cigarette and scrubbed out the butt. “It’s no secret,” she said. “Eldon is paying three hundred thousand for the collection.”
“Cash on the barrelhead?”
“We’ve arranged a deal,” she said noncommittally. “He has several buyers.”
“Is Margaret Prine one of them?”
“I’m sure I don’t know. Why do you ask about her?”
“Curiosity again. Did you know your husband got quite a few pieces in the collection from Alex Ozimas?”
The abrupt shift from Summerhayes to Margaret Prine hadn’t phased her; neither did the one from Prine to Ozimas. She said, “Yes, I knew that.”
“The Hainelin box was one of them,” I said.
“Was it? He didn’t mention where he’d got it, just that it had been a bargain. Kenneth could be close-mouthed at times.”
“Also about his business dealings?”
“Yes.”
“What sort of business did your husband and Ozimas transact together? Other than antique art, I mean.”
“Something to do with real estate. I was never particularly interested in the details of Kenneth’s business.”
Nothing changed in her expression as she spoke, but I sensed she was lying. She knew exactly the sort of quasi-legal dealings her husband had been involved in—and hadn’t given a damn as long as the money kept rolling in.
I asked her, “How well do you know Ozimas?”
“Not well at all.”
“I spoke to him earlier today. He indicated otherwise.”
“Did he?”
“He said you propositioned him once. At his penthouse.”
Her smile, this time, was sardonic. “I’m not surprised,” she said.
“Not surprised at what?”
“That he would tell you a thing like that.”
“Then it isn’t true?”
“Of course it isn’t true. A man like Alex? Good God, I hope I never have to stoop that low!”
“Why would he lie, Mrs. Purcell?”
“Vanity. Ego. He considers himself irresistible to men and women both, no matter what he might say to the contrary. He’s really a disgusting little shit.”
“Unlike Eldon Summerhayes?” I said.
The eyebrow formed another arch. “What does that mean? Are you asking if I’ve had an affair with Eldon?”
“Have you?”
“If I have it’s none of your concern. My sex life and partners are my business, no one else’s.”
“Ozimas says differently. So does your stepdaughter.”
“Oh, I see, you’ve talked to her, too.” The coldness of last night was back in her voice; I had pushed her just a little too far. “Well, my stepdaughter is a selfish, nasty-minded little drug freak, and if you talk to her again you can tell her I said so.” She got to her feet and smoothed her skirt down over her thighs. “End of interview,” she said. “I have nothing more to say to you and I’ve things to do. Please show yourself out.”