Folly Du Jour - Barbara Cleverly [96]
‘Two fellers? Well, how about that! Joe and Philippe? Say – I’m sorry I’m late! Long night! Didn’t get to bed till six. Louis played until four in the morning! Can you imagine! And no one walks out of a Louis Armstrong performance. Have you heard him play? Come! Tonight! Pick me up here and we’ll make a night of it,’ she said, batting eyelashes flirtily at Bonnefoye.
For a moment, Joe was so disconcerted he could not remember why on earth they were seeing her. The three men exchanged glances, silently and shamefacedly acknowledging that they’d get the best information out of Miss Baker if she remained for the moment in ignorance of her friend’s death.
Josephine herself came to their rescue. ‘That poor old gent!’ she exclaimed. ‘I hate to think the guy was up there dying . . . could have been just above my head . . . while we were wiggling our way through that last Irving Berlin number. Why would anyone want to do that? At a show?’
‘We were wondering, Miss Baker,’ said Joe, ‘if you could recollect anything – anything at all – of the occupant of what I’ll call the murder box.’
‘Sure. I’ll try. Can’t say I’d remember any old night. But this was special. Lucky Lindy made it, did you know that? Someone rushed in with the news and I went on in between numbers and announced it. Crowd went wild! And so they should! What a feller! I remember looking up at both boxes. But you’ll have to tell me which one the dead guy was in.’
Joe touched her right hand and said, ‘From the stage, he would have been on this side.’
‘Okay. Up there.’ She looked up to her right, and extended her finger, fixing the imagined box. ‘Got it. Not that it makes a heap of difference, ya know – I could have been seeing double! Two gents. Wearing tuxedos, the both of ’em, and each with a girl. All snuggled up hotsy-totsy. Nothing out of the ordinary. Clapping. Seemed to be having a good time . . .’
She sipped her water with a smile of thanks for Georges and thought hard. They waited in silence. ‘Can’t say I noticed anything odd about the fellers but the girls . . .’
‘Yes?’
‘Yeah . . . that was kinda strange . . . I was struttin’ about, leading the applause. Watching them watching me. Everybody was getting very excited about the flight. Clapping and whistling and screeching like you’d never heard but they were talking to each other as well, smacking each other on the back, standing on their seats. Gathering together into one big shout of congratulations. But not those girls.’
‘Girls?’
‘Yeah, the two of them. You’d have sworn they were agreeing with each other. Exchanged a look and turned and left. Without a word. No goodbyes. No nothing. It was choreography. And I know choreography! The men were left on their lonesome for the finale.’ She frowned, doing her best to call up her fleeting impressions.
A good witness, Joe thought.
‘The one you say died . . .’ Out came the right hand again. ‘I last had a glimpse of him halfway, I suppose, through the finale. I don’t have a lot to do in that routine – just prance around in gold feathers – and I remember being something put out – he was looking at his watch! Turning it this way,’ she held up an arm and demonstrated, ‘towards the stage lights, you know, to get a look at it. And he stared across at the other box. I was beginning to think we were losing the audience. Feller looked as though he couldn’t wait to take off.’
‘Strange behaviour?’ murmured Joe.
‘Well, exactly! Lord! If a hundred naked girls – and me! – can’t knock his eye out, whatever will?’
‘A good question, Miss Baker. What better entertainment can he possibly have wanted?’
Bonnefoye looked curiously at Joe, who had lapsed into silence, and he seemed about to speak but he was interrupted by Josephine who, half-rising, was drawing the conversation to a close. ‘Still, sorry to hear the old goat died.’
‘Don’t be,’ said Bonnefoye, getting to his feet. ‘The man was more of a cold-hearted snake and he got off lightly. Don’t give