"Jean Claude Reveneau, I appreciate you coming over on such short notice. I realize this isn't the ideal manner in which to get acquainted."
"I should say not Monsieur Mews. I feel as if your invitation was more a subpoena rather than an offer for dinner. A bit barbaric, in fact. I'm much more accustomed to an invitation for a snort of brandy along with a fine Cohiba rather than an interrogation. Mon dieu! I almost did not attend. And it is a rare event that Jean Claude Reveneau does not accept a dinner offer."
I'm afraid this visit has entirely gotten off on the wrong foot mon frere. In my eager attempts to solve this mystery I've forgotten my manners. Now, Jean Claude, let's get acquainted. Might I interest you in a proper dinner?"
"It is blurry Quigley. But I would recognize that tail anywhere," Mews said scratching at his chin as Quigley looked on. "You don't deny it do you?"
"No, of course not Mews," Quigley said with exasperation. But certainly you don't believe that I'm a suspect in this matter Mews. Mews?"
"Of course not Quig. But tell me, what were you doing there, near Horst's door? You really have no reason to be on that floor. May I ask what your business was that evening?" Quigley slowly nodded.
"If you must know, I was returning a sweater left by Ingeborg. She lives on Horst's floor."
"One of the Swedish twins?"
"Yes. She joined me for a glass of claret the night before the last letter appeared. She's a lovely bird, and I can't imagine she has any involvement in the case of the nasty notes Mews."
"Lovely isn't actually a defense or an alibi for that matter Quigley. I shall have to interrogate Ingeborg you know. She and her sister Pernilla are two of my prime suspects."
"Certainly, I understand Mews. I'm sure that you'll find Ingeborg to be most cooperative," Quigley said shaking out a wing. Mews looked at him and smiled.
"I'll make note of that Quigley," Mews said as he showed Quigley to the window. "Now see what you can find out about this Beauregard Chandliss fellow from your friends downtown."
"Mews, where on earth have you been? You haven't returned my phone calls for days! I can only imagine you've been extremely preoccupied with the case. Have you any leads?" Quigley asked. He sounded out of breath on the phone.
"Indeed I have been busy Quigs. I've now assembled a list of prime suspects in the Horst case based on the building's camera footage that I've been investigating. This list is a compilation of suspects that were seen lurking near the front door of Horst's apartment the night that the last note appeared."
"Oh dear, this is exciting. Do tell! Who is on the list Mews?"
"Yes. Well, Mrs Snodgrass of course-although she does just live across the hall from Horst. The Swedish bird sisters, Ingeborg and Pernilla."
"Ingeborg and Pernilla! Really."
"John Claude Reveneau-the new French fellow on the first floor," Mews said continuing with his list. "Beauregard Chandliss..."
"Yes, and is that it?" Quigley asked excitedly.
"No. There is one more figure that appeared on the hall monitor that night."
"Yes, and who might that be Mews?"
"It seems to be a certain unlikely fellow by the name of Alistair Quigley!"
"So Mews. I've been patient and while critical of your latest plan to befriend our prime suspect I've "bitten my beak" and accepted it. Now I think it's time you
tell me what you know."
"Fair enough Quigs." Mews leaned forward. "I did hear something a little odd as we were finishing up our vanilla trifle. Mrs Snodgrass received a phone call. It's seems that she was talking to someone named Beauregard."
"Beauregard," Quigley repeated quietly.
"Yes. But that's not all. I heard her say that 'Mews doesn't know anything.' Now if that's not suspicious I'm not sure what is."
"Indeed. Beauregard. Why does that sound familiar Mews?"
"It sounds familiar because I believe someone by that name moved out of the building over a year ago. And I believe that this Beauregard was indeed a dog."
"A dog? Well that is strange."
"Now, Quigley. Before you jump to any conclusions I have a task for you. Here's a list of potential suspects I've gathered over the course of the last two weeks. See what kind of information you can come up with and get back to me as quickly as possible. We must get this case solved before something else happens. Something worse than nasty notes."
"Mews, you're playing with fire. I'm not sure I can go along with this charade. I'm ill at ease with this plan, my dear friend," Quigley said nervously sipping at his coffee.
"It's really quite simple Quigs. I'm sorry if I'm putting you out, but really, this is the best plan. If Mrs Snodgrass thinks that you and I are on the outs based on her conversation with me then I have a way in with her. She is much too clever to divulge any information at face value. And I know she knows something about the nasty notes Quigley."
"And why is that Mews?"
"It's a hunch, Quigs. But my intuition has never let me down just yet."
"Yes I know of Horst," Mrs Snodgrass said. "The canine from Bavaria. No, I can't say I know anything about him and I'm not afraid to say that I don't really care much to. He is after all, a dog Mews. What is this all about?"
"As you may know someone in the building is leaving nasty notes on Horst's door," Mews said.
"Yes, I've heard of these notes. And I assure you I know nothing of their origin. Surely you don't think that I have anything to do with this Mews?"
"I'm by no means implying that you have anything to do with this. I'm just asking around the building. Do you happen to know of anyone that might have an issue with Horst?"
"Certainly. More or less every bird and cat. Even that dreadfully hyperactive Quigley would agree with me on that. Maybe you ought to look a little closer to home to find some answers Mr Mews. Perhaps you don't know this Quigley as well as you think. He seems to make enemies rather easily. Now, let me ring for dinner. I can smell the lobster bisque and it's driving me to madness!"
"Those crabs cake were exceptionally moist Constance."
"It's all Mrs. Crowley's doing, my cook. I took her on after her husband passed. I'd be a slip of a woman without her-oh, but that might not be such a bad thing."
"Well, now, I think your shape is quite healthy and robust for a woman of your-ahem-maturity." Mrs Snodgrass smiled and her eyes narrowed.
"You do have a unique command of the language now don't you Mews." She settled into her seat. "Now that we've had something to fill our stomachs why don't we get on with things. Why is it, Mews, that'd you've so campaigned for my ear. Are you here to discuss building politics or my physique?"
"I'm afraid I do have an ulterior motive. What do you know of Horst, the dog from Bavaria?"
"Mr. Mews, do come in. At last, we finally meet. I have my cook mixing up some crab cakes for us-would you like a cocktail? How about a kir royale to start things out. I do adore a reason for a late afternoon champagne."
"Yes, sounds lovely Mrs Snodgrass. That's sounds just about right."
"Good. I do hope we can get started off on the right foot. There seems to be a tremendous amount of rumors running wild in the building-perhaps it's up to us to set things straight being the, well, more mature denizens of Hoyt Street. It's been ages since we last talked. It seems that I'm spending more time in my Florida penthouse than I do here anymore. I suppose I've become one of those snowbirds. Oh look, here come the crab cakes now. Do sit before they get cold."
"This is the third letter I've received as of today," Horst said while looking on at Mews and Quigley over a pot of Irish Breakfast.
"And the others? Do you have the first two letters?" Horst shook his head.
"Sadly no," he said. "I tore them up and tossed them in the trash," Horst said with doleful eyes. "At the time, I felt that was the best place for them." Mews wasn't sure but he thought he saws some tears welling up.
"Right, well, what's done is done. Let's review what we know. There have been three letters-the first two handwritten, and now this one. The first two said "Get lost Dog." Mews shakes his head. "I don't like the fact that this one is not handwritten."
"And why is that Mews?" Quigley asked.
"Well, not only does it evoke a sort of ransom note, but it suggests that the perpetrator might be taking further steps to disguise his or her identity. If that is the case, it might suggest that they are in fact not finished with their campaign. Of course this is all speculation. What else do you have to add Horst?"
"A thud."
"Pardon?"
"Yes, I'm sure I heard a thud right before I opened the door and found the letter."
"Yes, all right. A thud. Make note of "a thud" Quigley, won't you?"
"Quigley, you're right. Enough of this dithering. I've thought and I've thought and then I've thought some more."
"That's a lot of thinking, Mews. So where has all this thinking gotten you?"
"Here's what we'll do. We'll let Mrs Snodgrass get her way this time. Let her think she has the upper hand. That way she'll be relaxed and more likely to let her guard down. And while she's vulnerable I shall trap her. I shall get my answers and then-case solved!"
"Sounds like a good plan," Quigley said finishing the rest of his muffin. "Not that that old battle axe might ever relax. But I like where you're going with this Mews. I fully support your decision to join her for dinner. Let's get this show on the road and begin our investigation! Might I suggest that you bring a stiff bottle of Brandy to aide in her relaxation?"
"Yes, that's good Quigs. Now here's the rest of the plan. We join Horst tomorrow for lunch and extract as much information out of him as possible before my dinner with Snodgrass. It's important to be armed properly with the latest information," Mews said tapping at his tea cup.
"And your strategy with Mrs Snodgrass once you've got her under your spell?"
"Hmm. Yes. Strategy. Might have to do some thinking about that Quigs."
"
"This situation is getting complicated Quigley," Mews says over the phone. "Mrs Snodgrass seems to be more clever than we once thought. Yes, I think we should discuss this in the morning over coffee. I have to say I'm not quite sure what my next move is. I daresay, Quigs, it's true. I'm actually. . . confused."
"Oh, Mews. You are a rare creature. I simply cannot decide if I should despise you or shake your hand. It wouldn't even have occurred to a lesser man that my request was inappropriate. And for that I admire you. Yet, I'm still feeling a bit slighted and I'm not sure I'm feeling as if I might just roll over and expose my furry belly for you and that Quigley fellow whom I still find suspicious. I am willing, however, to extend an invitation to you for dinner at my house. That way we can forget this whole unfortunate Quigley problem and you can retain your unwavering principles. Yours, Constance Snodgrass."
"So, Mews, have you heard from Snodgrass yet? I thought I saw her peering at me from her window while I was collecting some seeds from the courtyard. It was rather unnerving."
"Oh, yes about that," Mews said as he walked into the kitchen.
"So you have heard from her?" Quigley was shouting from his chair. "What did she say? Are you having dinner?"
"Not exactly Quigs," Mews said standing over the sink. "You see, I had to withdraw my invitation."
"What? What on earth are you talking about? What did she say?"
"Well," Mews said taking a deep breath. "She said that she would have dinner with me as long as you weren't there." At this Quigley choked on his tea and snorted.
"Indeed. And let me guess-you rejected her out of principle."
"Of course, what else could I have done?"
"I applaud you Mews, but have you forgotten the plan to investigate Snodgrass? She is still the number one suspect in the anti-Horst campaign. Did you hear that another letter has appeared? Oh dear, I'm afraid we may have lost our chance to interview her."
"Yes, I considered all of this Quigley. But take heart. I have a feeling we'll be hearing from her again. She isn't one to quietly retreat in silence."
"Well, I hope you're right Mews. I hope you're right."
"Dear Mrs Snodgrass. After a thoughtful holiday weekend considering your response to my invitation, I've come to the regrettable conclusion that I must withdraw my invitation to you for dinner on account of the unfortunate attitude you have taken with my dear friend Alistair Quigley. It is with a heavy heart that I tell you that I simply cannot allow a potential guest of mine to dictate to me my very own guest list. Again, it is with a most lamentable tone that I compose this missive as it has led to another unfortunate situation which is the awkward gesture of withdrawing my invite, but I wouldn't be a principled man if I didn't stand by my own principles. As a lady of society I'm sure you can see the predicament I currently face.
In conclusion, I do hope that you, Mrs. Snodgrass, do not view this as a rejection but as a problematic compromise. I shall end this letter with a request that you take heart and reconsider your initial response. Perhaps you made your decision amidst an emotional moment and that with time and a proper understanding of my position you will come to respond next with the tact and character that is expected of you. Yours in sincerity, Mr Mews."
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