So Nude, So Dead by Ed McBain

to close the door. He finished buttoning his shirt, his broad back to Ray, then tucked it into the trousers.
    “Well, what can I do for you?” He picked a pair of cuff links off the long buffet, deftly fastened them at his wrists.
    “How well did you know Eileen?”
    “Oh, pretty well.” Sanders seemed engrossed in the cuff link at his left wrist.
    “How well was that?”
    Sanders looked up, his eyes wide, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I knew her long before she even met Dale Kramer. In fact, we were going steady—to use the vernacular.”
    “Umm?”
    Sanders smiled. “As you put it, ‘umm.’ I suppose you’re wondering why a girl like Eileen would marry a crumb like Kramer, and leave a rich guy like me, eh?”
    Ray found himself liking Sanders. He grinned and said, “Well, now that you mention it—”
    Sanders turned his back to Ray, took a black tie off the buffet, walked to the long mirror over the sectional. “I always dress in the living room,” he explained. “Bedrooms aren’t for dressing; they’re for undressing.”
    Ray grinned again, watching Sanders’s hands move in the mirror.
    “About Eileen,” Sanders went on. “Crazy kid. Wanted to sing, can you imagine? I told her that with my money, we could hire every singer who ever showed his tonsils. Nope, wouldn’t do. She had to sing.” Sanders shrugged. “Artistic temperament. Never could understand it.
    “So, Kramer came along with his music box and waved it in her face. She jumped at the chance. Exit Tony Sanders.”
    “Just like that?”
    Sanders tugged at the tie. “Well, not exactly like that. There was all the preliminary horse manure, you understand. I’m trying to cut it short so I won’t be late for my date.” He looked up suddenly. “What time is it, anyway?”
    Ray glanced unconsciously at his wrist, forgetting that he’d hocked his watch long ago. In embarrassment, he looked up and stuttered, “I—I—”
    “Well, I’ll make it. You a close friend of Eileen?”
    “Well, yes and no.”
    “That’s elucidating.” He turned to face Ray, indicated the tie. “This damn thing straight?”
    “Yes.”
    “Hate bow ties. Silliest damned things a man—”
    “Was Eileen an addict when you knew her?”
    “Eh? Oh no, that came much later.”
    “Then you knew she was an addict?”
    “Of course.” He grinned again. “Perhaps I forgot to mention that I saw Eileen every now and then—friendly basis, of course—right up until her death.”
    “Did her husband know this?”
    Sanders shrugged, whipped a white dinner jacket off the back of a chair. “Never asked him.”
    “Just how friendly were you and Eileen?” Ray asked.
    Sanders slipped into the jacket. “Here’s another silly thing, these jackets. White.”
    “Just how friendly were you and—”
    “I heard you the first time. Shall we talk about dinner jackets?” Sanders’s tone still wasn’t harsh. It was rather pleasant, Ray thought. But it left no doubt that he did not wish to discuss the extent of his relationship with the dead girl.
    “Sorry,” Ray said.
    “That’s quite all right.” He took a gold watch from the buffet, slipped it over his wrist, glancing at it quickly. “I’m going to be awfully late, old man. If there’s anything else, perhaps you’d better—”
    “When was the last time you saw Eileen?”
    Sanders made a clicking sound with his mouth. “Let me see.” He thought for a moment, then flashed his disarming white smile again. “This will sound terribly melodramatic, but I’m afraid it was on the afternoon of her death.”
    “Oh?”
    “Terrible, isn’t it?” Quickly, he walked into the kitchen and snapped out the light. He came into the living room again, stuffed his wallet into his back pocket and said, “I hate to rush you out, old man—”
    “That’s quite all right. Thanks a lot for the information.”
    “Not at all.” Sanders paused. “You never did tell me how well you knew Eileen.”
    “Shall we talk