Read The Diehard for Free Online Page B

friends. She was a very sweet, thoughtful person.” The woman bit her lip, suddenly, thinking about her friend. She turned her back to Mulheisen and stood against the fireplace.
    “Where do you live, Miss Spencer?” Mulheisen asked. “New York?”
    “That's right,” she said, facing him again. “I'm a sociological researcher for a large organization there.”
    “And when Jane was in town, she'd certainly stop and see you.”
    “That's right.”
    “How about when Arthur Clippert was in town?” Mulheisen said.
    “I don't know what you mean,” she said.
    “Well, I mean, if Clippert happened to come to town, alone, would he ever call you?”
    “Why should he?” she said.
    “Well, you were a friend of his wife's. You said she had seemed changed in the last few months. Maybe he would have noticed it too. Maybe he would be worried. What could be more natural than to turn to an old friend of your wife's if you are worried about her.”
    Lou Spencer looked skeptical.
    “Or maybe he just wanted to take somebody to dinner,” Mulheisen suggested.
    The woman looked at him casually and said, “No.”
    Mrs. Spencer returned, followed by the maid who wheeled a trolley on which were bottles and ice. The maid poured a bourbon and water for Mulheisen and gave Mrs. Spencer a martini from a shaker. Lou had nothing. The maid left.
    “Mrs. Spencer,” Mulheisen said, “did you see much of Mrs. Clippert?”
    “Why, no, Sergeant. Not lately. She used to be active in the Institute of Arts, but not recently.”
    “How about Mr. Clippert? Ever see him around?”
    “Occasionally, at a restaurant or something.”
    “With his wife?”
    “Well—not usually, no. He's usually with a party of people. Men, mostly. I suppose it's business.”
    “Ever see him with a woman other than his wife?” Mulheisen said.
    “I beg your pardon!” She looked at Mulheisen frostily.
    “Oh, Mother,” Lou said, laughing, “no need to be so uptight. Arthur's a big, handsome man. I suppose it happens sometimes.”
    Mrs. Spencer looked very upset. She left the room. Lou turned to Mulheisen, shaking her head. “I shouldn't do that. It's too easy.”
    “Children always break their mother's hearts,” Mulheisen said.
    “Is that so?” Lou said. “Did you break your mother's heart?”
    “Not just my mother's,” he said.
    Lou Spencer laughed aloud.
    “You seem to have recovered from your shock,” Mulheisen observed.
    Lou's face reddened. “It's your fault,” she said.
    “Mine?”
    “Yes.” She walked toward his chair and settled onto a damask-covered stool near his feet. It was a low stool and her dress was short. It was easier for Mulheisen to look between her legs than not to. He struggled.
    She smirked at his embarrassment. “Are you always so stuffy?” she asked.
    “I don't think of it as stuffy,” he said.
    “What do you think of it as?”
    “A job. I don't consider it a game.”
    “Oh, sometimes you must,” she said. “Don't you occasionally put people on? Don't you play roles—the tough cop, the kindly cop?”
    Mulheisen smiled. “Sometimes,” he said.
    “I've heard the role of detective described as a peculiarly interesting and relevant one in terms of modern mythology,” she said.
    “Who says?”
    “Usually it's a tall boy with narrow shoulders and wide hips,” she said, “and he teaches at the New School.”
    Mulheisen sipped his bourbon. “I suppose a young girl hears all sorts of things these days.”
    “You would be surprised what a young girl hears,” she said.
    “I don't think so,” he said. “My job isn't glamorous, you see, despite what the boys from the New School will tell you. There is a certain sordid reality to it.”
    “Still, it must be interesting,” she said. “Do you enjoy it?”
    “Sometimes. It wasn't much fun this morning.”
    Lou did not flinch. “Are you scolding me, Sergeant?”
    “Have you been bad?”
    “Lately?”
    “Usually.”
    “Not in an indictable way, I think,” she