The Cat Who Walks Through Walls Read Online Free Page B

nothing.
    Conclusion: He was not anxious to advertise his true identity. Corollary: Somewhere in Golden Rule habitat there was a stash of his personal papers…another ID in a different name, a passport almost certainly not issued by Belize, other items that might give me a lead to his background, his motives, and (possibly) how he had invoked “Walker Evans.”
    Could these be found?
    A side issue niggled at me: that seventeen thousand in gold certificates. Instead of its being get-away money could he have expected to use so fiddlin’ a sum to hire me to kill Tolliver? If so, I was offended. I preferred to think that he hoped to persuade me to make the kill as a public service.
    Gwen said, “Do you want to divorce me?”
    “Eh?”
    “I hustled you into it. My intentions were good, truly they were! But it turns out I was stupid.”
    “Oh. Gwen, I never get both married and divorced on the same day. Never. If you really want to shuck me off, take it up with me tomorrow. Although I think that, to be fair, you ought to try me out for thirty days. Or two weeks, at least. And permit me to do the same. So far, your performance, both horizontally and vertically, has been satisfactory. If either becomes unsatisfactory, I’ll let you know. Fair enough?”
    “Fair enough. Although I may beat you to death with your own sophistries.”
    “Beating her husband to death is every married woman’s privilege…as long as she does it in private. Please pipe down, dear; I’ve got troubles. Can you think of any good reason why Tolliver should be killed?”
    “Ron Tolliver? No. Although I can’t think of any good reason why he should be allowed to live, either. He’s a boor.”
    “He’s that, all right. If he were not one of the Company partners, he would have been told to pick up his return ticket and leave, long ago. But I didn’t say ‘Ron Tolliver,’ I just said ‘Tolliver.’”
    “Is there more than one? I hope not.”
    “We’ll see.” I went to the terminal, punched for directory, cycled to “T.”
    “‘Ronson H. Tolliver, Ronson Q.’—that’s his son—and here’s his wife, ‘Stella M. Tolliver.’ Hey! It says here: ‘See also Taliaferro.’”
    “That’s the original spelling,” said Gwen. “But it’s pronounced ‘Tolliver’ just the same.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “Quite sure. At least south of the Mason and Dixon Line back dirtside. Spelling it ‘Tolliver’ suggests poh white trash who can’t spell. Spelling it the long way and then sounding all the letters sounds like a Johnny-come-lately damyankee whose former name might have been ‘Lipschitz’ or such. The authentic plantation-owning, nigger-whupping, wench-humping aristocrat spelled it the long way and pronounced it the short way.”
    “I’m sorry you told me that.”
    “Why, dear?”
    “Because there are three men and one woman listed here who spell it the long way, Taliaferro. I don’t know any of them. So I don’t know which one to kill.”
    “Do you have to kill one of them?”
    “I don’t know. Mmm, time I brought you up to date. If you are planning to stay married to me at least fourteen days. Are you?”
    “Of course I am! Fourteen days plus the rest of my life! And you are a male chauvinist pig!”
    “Paid-up lifetime membership.”
    “And a tease.”
    “I think you’re cute, too. Want to go back to bed?”
    “Not until you decide whom you intend to kill.”
    “That may take a while.” I did my best to give Gwen a detailed, factual, uncolored account of my short acquaintance with the man who had used the name “Schultz.” “And that’s all I know. He was dead too quickly for me to learn more. Leaving behind him endless questions.”
    I turned back to the terminal, keyed it to shift to word processing mode, then created a new file, as if I were setting up a potboiler:
    THE ADVENTURE OF THE MISSPELLED NAME
Questions To Be Answered:
    1. Tolliver or Taliaferro?
    2. Why does T. have to die?
    3. Why would “we all