Chapter 3

Penny usually started the day by sorting the mail, checking her emails and going through documents, and could even find time to water the flowers and brew some aromatic tea. She had been working for Kevin Kris for three years now and was a great assistant, dealing with all the paperwork, from case files to the detective agency's financial affairs. In that time, she had got so attached to him that she would have been happy to help this habitual bachelor with his household chores, but twice a week old Mrs Rose came round to clean and tidy the place. 

Since the detective's house did double duty as the headquarters of the detective agency, Kris was particularly fastidious about keeping it tidy. 

This was the office, on the first floor of the private eye's truly wonderful house, where 27-year-old Penny came to work every day. The young woman liked helping the private detective, since she was often called on to take part in investigations, and that was the part she found really exciting!

At 8 a.m., Penny opened the front door as usual and walked into the detective agency, no run-of-the-mill office for the average New York private eye.

Opposite the entrance door was a wooden spiral stairway leading to the second floor, and the private detective's own cozy office was located underneath this. Penny's desk was on the left of a large window and overlooked a lovely garden. On the opposite wall was a fireplace, and alongside that a beautiful couch. 

Everything in the spacious hallway had been tastefully chosen: the fine, wooden furniture, the curtains in a shade of malachite green, the gold-braided cushions, the bookcase filled with books all bound in red. The final touch was the large ironwork chandelier. The simplicity and elegance of this interior was clear evidence of its owner's refined and aristocratic taste. At the same time, it was homely and cozy. 

The door to Kris's office stood ajar. Peering in, Penny saw the private detective looking at a stand to which several diagrams had been pinned. 

"Good morning, Penny!" said the detective warmly. "I've a new brain twister for you."

Penny loved Kris's puzzles. They were something of a game: the detective came up with different riddles, puzzles, brain twisters and crime scenarios, and she tried to solve them. This often took her several days, or even a week. 

"Good morning Mr Kris!" Penny smiled. 

"So what's this brain twister about?"

"Well, a certain Mrs Meyer, arriving at work, realized that she'd left her purse at home. She borrowed 100 dollars from her colleague for lunch, but lost it on the way to the restaurant. Luckily, Mrs Meyer met a friend at the restaurant, who loaned her 50 dollars. She used this to buy two ten-dollar hamburgers leaving 30 dollars over. Back at work, Mrs Meyer gave this back to her colleague as part of her loan, which left her owing 70 dollars to her colleague, and 50 to her friend. Altogether, she owed 120. 

Plus, she'd had two ten-dollar hamburgers, making it 140. But, if you remember, Mrs Meyer first borrowed 100, and then 50, so she'd borrowed 150. The question is, what happened to the other 10 dollars?" 

"So, she borrowed a hundred, then fifty, but it came to a hundred and forty," Penny mulled this over. "Hmm, I'll have to give this some thought."

"There is one other brain twister. The body of a millionaire is found in the Brooklyn ghetto. The cause of death was shock, making his heart stop. None of his personal possessions had been touched, and a book entitled Mythical Creatures of Ancient Greece was found on the body. The task is to prove that this was a homicide and that the murderer was the dead millionaire's wife."

"Have we got a new case?" Penny's eyes fired with obvious enthusiasm.

Kris nodded and recounted the details of the previous day's conversation with Edmund.

"You mean, Mr Peterson died of severe shock?" asked Penny.

"It seems that Morris was an impressionable man," the private detective replied.

"What could have caused it?" Penny wondered out loud, "and what's the book on mythical creatures got to do with it?"

"I think we'll soon find out," Kris declared decisively. "I'm going to pay a visit to Jessica Peterson. Edmund thinks it was she who killed him. While I'm away, see what they've written in the press on this story. You never know, they might have some wonderful ideas."

Around noon, when he had dealt with the agency's daily affairs, the private eye went to see Jessica Peterson. After sitting in traffic for a while, Kris finally made it to the hotel, one of the most up market in New York. Since he was on good terms in many places in the city, he had no trouble finding his way to Jessica's suite, where he knocked at the door. 

"Can't you read? It says 'do not disturb'," came an irritated female voice.

"I think we might have something to talk about, Mrs Peterson," replied the detective, calmly.

Footsteps were heard approaching the door, and it was opened by a tall, slim brunette in a short, white silk robe that looked more like an evening dress. 

"Kevin Kris. Private detective," said Kris matter-of-factly.

"What do you want?" Jessica asked brusquely, "although I think I can guess what brought you here." 

"What then?" Kris continued, impassive.

"This is all down to Morris's crazy son. I bet your life it was little Eddie who sent you, to lock me up as fast as you can so he can get his hands on his father's inheritance. But he should be so lucky! I'm guilty of nothing!" 

Jessica exclaimed and, turning her back on the private eye, she strutted over to a table by the window. 

The private detective, seeing this as an invitation, followed her into the room. It was a truly lovely room, although even the undiscerning eye could see that it had not been tidied for several days. This was evident not just from the thin layer of dust on the furniture, but from the things thrown willy-nilly around the room. Clothes were thrown over chairs, pairs of shoes were left by the door, some small papers and dollar bills lay on the lamp table, and there were dozens of other bits and pieces which the experienced private eye immediately made a mental note of. Even on the floor under the table that Jessica was approaching lay a brochure, and on the table were a couple of open wine bottles.

"Edmund Peterson thinks differently. And I have to say, he's got good cause to," continued Kris. "Can you tell me where you were on the night of the fifth to sixth of August?"

"I've already told the cops. I was at Desire," she snapped, and poured herself a glass of wine. Judging by her manner, this was not her first glass of the day. 

"Do you often go to those kinds of places?"

"As you can see, I'm much younger than Morris. I still want to have fun and enjoy life to the full," Jessica glanced over at the private detective, expecting him to reproach her for this, but he said nothing. Nevertheless, she decided to say a few things in her defense.

"Yes!" she exclaimed, "I'm young and I have no desire to waste the best years of my life in the company of his old friends and their dreary, fat wives." Jessica finished her angry tirade and then, taking a gulp of wine, she went on:

"As you might have guessed, Morris was no fan of loud parties, nightclubs and those kinds of places, unlike me." These words were followed by a long pause. 

Jessica walked up to the window, pressed her lips to her glass of wine and stared into the distance.

"I see, Mrs Peterson. However, let's take a look at the events of August 5th." Kris said, breaking the silence.

"We flew to New York. Morris was extremely concerned about the upcoming auction, and I could already see myself spending another dull evening in our rooms. But I was lucky, because hubs was so worked up about the sale of the medallion that he let me go out to the nightclub without a word and without trying to stop me," Jessica took another sip of wine. "Oh, go on, sit down," she said to the private detective.

"Thank you," Kris replied, and selected one of the armchairs by the table in the center of the room. "Did you go to the nightclub alone?"

"No, my friends Monica and Betsy came with me, and if you don't believe me, I can show you the photos we took there before we left." With these words, Jessica took a digital camera out of her purse, switched it on, and proffered it to Kris.

"Have you known them long?" asked the detective, looking over the photos.

"We were at college together. Betsy got married in her sophomore year, and Monica tied the knot just after we graduated. They live in New York now, and we always get together when I'm here so we can remember old times and have some real fun. You can have a real good time with them, not like with Morris's friends."

"Evidently, you were looking forward to seeing them." Kris snorted under his breath, handing back the camera. 

"Oh, yes!" Jessica clucked. "I even bought a leopard-print dress from Louis Vuitton's latest collection, especially for that evening. And shoes to match!"

"Very interesting. My assistant Penny loves that designer too. Can I take a look at that amazing dress?"

"Your assistant has good taste," observed Jessica, teasingly, "but unfortunately, I can't show it to you. When I was told what had happened, I quickly changed into something else before going off with the cops, and I threw the dress in the wash basket. What with all the news, I completely forgot to send it for dry-cleaning, and it's still soiled."

"Soiled?"

The widow looked nervously at Kris, and then continued.

"Yeah, you know, drinks, tobacco smoke, the usual stuff. I can see that you never go to nightclubs." 

"Absolutely true." Kris nodded, calmly. "When did you go back to the hotel?"

"At half past four," said Jessica, thinking back.

"As far as I know, Desire closes at 3.30 a.m.," remarked the private detective.

"You are incredibly well-informed for a man who never goes to nightclubs," Jessica retorted. "It took me ages to get a cab. And anyway, we'd had a lot to drink, and I don't remember much at all. When I got back to the hotel, I was knocked out by the news of Morris's death. It was all I could do to change and go to identify him," she spluttered.

Suddenly, the phone rang and Mrs Peterson ran to answer it. Judging from the conversation, it was the manager, insisting she come down to reception. Jessica tried resisting, not wanting to leave her rooms, but finally gave in, slamming down the receiver.

"Give me a couple of minutes," said Jessica to the detective, as she left the room.

When she returned, Kris was sitting in the armchair looking somewhat thoughtful, his eyes narrowed.

"Some idiot mixed me up with Jessica Jenkinson," said Mrs Peterson angrily.

The private detective focused on the widow. There was a glint in his eye.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" asked Jessica, puzzled. "I've nothing more to say to you."

"Well, that's good to hear, Mrs Peterson. I've already heard enough," said the private detective, rising slowly from his chair.

"Wonderful, because I've had enough of your questioning. I'd like to stop this conversation now."

"I'm sorry I tired you, but the conversation is not over yet. You see, everything you've told me is a pack of lies."