The Case of the Poisoned Eclairs: A Masao Masuto Mystery Read Online Free PDF Page A

next chair, and she appeared to be a nice kid, and we needed a fourth—as a matter of fact she’s a very good player, and she’s played a lot of duplicate.”
    â€œWhat hairdresser?”
    â€œTony Cooper’s on Camden.”
    Masuto jotted it down. “You said you were divorced. May I ask when?”
    â€œTwo years—well, only a year since I filed. Before that it was a separation. You didn’t ask my age. I’m forty-five.”
    â€œI would have thought younger,” Masuto said. “Your first marriage?”
    â€œMy second. My first husband died of a heart attack twelve years ago. I married Arthur Crombie three years ago.”
    â€œThe real estate man?”
    â€œYes, do you know him?”
    â€œI know about him—just the things one hears and reads. I have to be indelicate. How much alimony does he pay you?”
    â€œNone. Anything Arthur Crombie touches comes up gold. Six months after we were married, my father died. I was the only heir, and the estate was worth millions. I gave Arthur half of it. It was a stiff price to pay to get him out of my life, but well worth it.”
    â€œYou’re not fond of him?”
    â€œHe’s a bastard, period. But if you’re thinking that he’d want to kill me, well, no way. He has the money and he knows he’s not in my will. He couldn’t care less whether I’m alive or dead.”
    â€œWhere is your will?”
    â€œYou mean, where do I keep it? Somewhere in the study. Does it matter?”
    â€œPerhaps. Tell me about the others. Are they all married?”
    â€œAll divorced. Does that surprise you?” She had reacted to the expression on Masuto’s face. “You see, we’re all in the same boat—shock, boredom, frustration. Certainly four divorced women in Beverly Hills are not that unusual.”
    â€œCould you give me the names of the husbands—the ex-husbands?”
    â€œYes—”
    He had his notebook ready.
    â€œYou think—one of them?” she asked slowly.
    â€œI don’t know what to think—yet.”
    â€œBut why all of us? If we had eaten the pastry, it would have been all of us. Why? What sense does it make?”
    â€œI don’t know. Suppose we start with Mrs. Greene.”
    â€œShe was married to Alan Greene. He operates a chain of clothing stores. The big one is down on Wilshire.”
    Masuto nodded.
    â€œNancy,” Laura Crombie went on, “was married to Fulton Legett, the film producer. That’s a rotten story. They were married in New York about twenty-two years ago. He was a gofer at ABC television. Nancy worked as a secretary at the same company. Then he quit to try TV production. For years she supported him and took his garbage. He’s one of those angry, aggressive, ambitious little bastards. Then Nancy’s mother died and left her sixty thousand dollars, and she gave it to Fulton and he used it as seed money to produce
Flames
—”
    â€œSeed money?”
    â€œStart-up money—to option the property and pay a writer to do a screenplay. The film was a hit, and suddenly Fulton was a millionaire. They moved out here and bought a house on Lexington Road. Then two more big hits, and Fulton was a millionaire and Nancy was forty and not very attractive anymore. At that point, you trade the forty for the two twenties. Fulton dumped her. The wages of virtue.”
    Masuto nodded and scribbled in his notebook.
    â€œAnd then there’s Mitzie. She’s a beauty and a doll. You can’t feel too sorry for her. She was married to Bill Fuller, the director. It lasted six months. She doesn’t talk about it or him, but from what I’ve heard he’s a louse.”
    She was hardly reticent in her judgments, Masuto decided, and said thoughtfully, “You don’t like men very much, do you?”
    â€œDon’t misjudge me. We’re not talking about the genus. We’re talking