“How’s your wife?” Asey asked.
“Oh, she’s quite well, if you mean after all that last night. She went to the banquet, and then she was going to the clambake. The women are running that, you know.”
“No men allowed?”
“Oh, no – men can go. Oh, you mean, why aren’t I there? I can’t touch clams. They do something to me. Oh, no. I never touch a clam. And Madame – er – Moo, she wanted to swim, and the fresh water appealed to her, so I thought I might bring her here and look around for Amos’s tag while she went swimming. Killing two birds with one stone,” he added brightly.
“Combinin’ business, as you might say, with pleasure,” Asey said.
He and Kay smoked in silence, and Brinley stood first on one foot and then on the other. Once or twice he absent-mindedly touched the welt on his cheek.
“I – uh – oh, there’s some goldenrod,” he said, pointing vaguely towards the woods that framed the pond. “I told my wife I’d get her some – I think I’ll get it now. I always say it’s almost fall, when the goldenrod comes, don’t you? Er – I’ll go get it—”
He almost fled to the woods.
Madame Meaux came out of the water, put on her wrap and walked over to them.
“How do the canaries taste?” she inquired. “You two cats, licking your chops! Did Arthur dissolve or did he melt away?”
“He’s going after goldenrod, believe it or not,” Kay told her. “What a right to the face you seem to pack, or was it an overhanging bough that hit J. Arthur?” Madame Meaux grinned. “I had a husband,” she said, “who was in the fight racket. So Arthur’s picking flowers, is he, the old president of Associated Button and Clasp Makers!”
“The old what?”
“Oh, once when I was broke, I was official soprano for that outfit’s convention. Ask me anything about buttons and clasps. Well, as I said, any woman who can go to bed looking like that has no one but herself to blame. What are you up to?”
“Did he suggest coming here?” Asey asked. “Or was it your idea?”
“Do you honestly think,” Madame Meaux inquired icily, “that I crave seclusion with J. Arthur—”
“You wrong me. Did he ever tell you that he had anything to hunt up here?”
“He murmured something about a dog,” Madame Meaux took one of Kay’s cigarettes, “but he may have been speaking in general terms.”
Asey laughed. “The point is, where he was just hunting, we just found a shot- o gun. At least, Kay did. We wondered ill about the dog and the license tag story he told.”
“That dog makes me jealous,” the soprano said. “Gets much nicer meat than we have – did Arthur say he was after a license tag? He lies. I was playing with the brute this morning, and his collar was lousy with tags. Inoculation, and license, and a batch of others. One with the official Billingsgate seal, with that man dressed like a Pilgrim about to throw a fish at someone. Perhaps Amos is the Old Home Week hound. Look, can’t we get somewhere where it’s dry? Sitting in this rain will never make me render ‘Billingsgate Beautiful’ any better.”
The door of the old ice house was slumping on its hinges, and Asey kicked it open.
“What a nasty smell!” Kay said.
“Salt hay an’ stuff. I wonder they don’t tear this down, they ain’t used it for years. Tell me, Madame – look, can I call you Mrs. Slade?” Asey asked. “It’s easier.”
“Call me Emily.”
Asey felt Kay’s elbow dig into his ribs.
“Okay. Look, on Monday night you was up to the midway with the Brinleys. Were you there while Mrs. Brinley was caught up on the ferris wheel, maybe?”
“Oh, boy, was I?”
“Where was J. Arthur?”
“I don’t know. I rather felt he was a prospective Button and Clasp Conventioner, in a small way, so I hung around with the boys from the band. Arthur was around, I guess. He – oh, what lovely goldenrod, Mr. Brinley!”
“Isn’t it?”
J. Arthur turned down his coat collar and mopped at his dripping face with a handkerchief.
“Really, it’s quite a rain,” he said. “I do hope my wife is all right at the clambake. And the governors, at the ball game – but Weston had planned an alternative program in the field house in case of rain. That man,” Asey knew instinctively that he referred to Mike Slade, “was to put on some sort of show. Tableaux or something. Weston has been very efficient about things like rain.”
“Where was you,” Asey asked, “durin’ the time your wife was stuck up on the ferris wheel the other night?”
J. Arthur turned such a deep red that the shade was apparent even in the dim interior of the ice house.
“Er – when? I mean, what?”
Asey repeated his question.
“Oh. Then? Why, I was around, talking to the man and trying to see if someone couldn’t do something to repair the car engine – it worked by a car engine, somehow. My wife was tremendously upset. Really, this week has been very hard on her, with that wheel and then that man last night.”
“Don’t care much for him, do you?”
“Slade? I hate him!” J. Arthur spoke with a bitter ferocity that startled Kay and rather amazed Asey. “I hate him! And I don’t care who hears it! And my wife says, she doesn’t think that Warren girl is a bit better than he is. Turning up her nose at the town, and making fun of everyone, and talking about how much better they do everything in New York! What’s New York?”
He paused for a moment as though he expected someone to tell him.
“That’s what my wife says, what’s New York?”
“Concrete, carbon monoxide, a lot of noise,” Kay couldn’t resist the opportunity. “Sirens, dirt—”
Asey shook his head and she subsided.
“Brinley, I s’pose, if you had to, you could prove just where you was Monday night, from – say the time your wife got stuck on that wheel to the time the fireworks ended?”
“I don’t see that it matters where I was!” Brinley said hotly. “If you want to find someone you think killed Mary Randall, find Mike Slade!”
“And how,” Asey asked blandly, “did you know that Mary Randall had been killed?”
Brinley’s breath sounded like the air escaping from a child’s balloon. It was weak, but gasping.
“How?” Asey asked again. “This is news, J. Arthur. Where did you pick up that tidbit?”
He reached over and caught Brinley as the latter started to dash for the door.
“You don’t really want to go out into the rain,” Asey said, “an’ listen to that thunder! Come, J. Arthur, stay. Stay an’ talk!”
Brinley’s explanation was dragged out, item by item. In brief, Mary Randall was not at the hollow, Eloise and Jane were with Aunt Sara, he knew Mary Randall had no relations in New York, let alone sick ones, and Mary was too shrewd a business woman to leave town during a period when she could make so much money. Slade had spoken of a murder. Asey was hanging around. Police were around.
“Therefore, therefore,” Asey said. “I see. Think this out last night?”
“No, today when Governor Skellings asked for Mary. He said, where was she, because he collects sandwich glass and pewter, and he had bought things from her before, and she said she had something for him, and he was planning to look at them while he was here. He asked Weston, and by the funny way Weston acted, it came over me.”
“Maybe that explains the Israel Trask pewter,” Asey said, “but it don’t explain you. Where were you, durin’ the time I asked you about? An’ why do you prod for dog license tags when Amos has more than the usual collection, right this minute?”
“If you want your murderer, go for Mike Slade! Don’t you—”
“Did you write this note, tellin’ him to get out an’ stay out?”
“I – that’s my writing, but I – see here, just what are you trying to do?”
J. Arthur blustered for ten minutes, without seeming to stop for breath.
Asey made no effort
to curtail the flood of words. Instead he walked over to the door and looked out at the rain which continued to drive down in torrents.
Kay had commented on the bright blueness of the water when they first came, but now the pond and the sky above were nearly black. Lightning jagged down in brilliant flashes, and the thunder was almost continuous.
“Quite a tempest,” he said to Kay, who had come over beside him.
“Asey, he may not be a fiend, but I’m beginning to wonder if he’s quite the fool I thought. What about this dog tag business?”
“Easy enough to check on.”
“If only he hadn’t been hunting Fido’s tag – how flimsy that is! Don’t you suppose he was after the shotgun? He was prodding pretty hard. I bet he wanted to make sure it was still safely there. By the way, where is the gun now?”
“Locked up in the car, an’ the person ain’t livin’ who can get at it inside of three hours,” Asey assured her. “One nice thing about havin’ pull with the comp’ny, you get locks that don’t pick so easy.”
J. Arthur stomped to the door.
“Now, Mayo, I want you to pay some attention to what I’m saying!”
“When,” Asey said, “you cond’scend to answer the questions I asked you, I’ll pay so much attention you’ll be flattered by it.”
Brinley stomped off.
“D’you really think he guessed?” Kay asked. “About the murder, I mean?”
“I wouldn’t know. I thought we had him pretty well convinced last night that it was all Slade’s nonsense.”
“Slade!” Brinley overheard the name. “Slade! There’s your man. Slade and that Warren girl. Two people on earth who have the most to gain from Mary Randall’s death. And what do you do? You – you park in bushes with young girls, malingering around while justice waits! You—”
“Poor justice,” Asey said, “certainly is taking an awful lickin’ from the folks in this town.”
“You,” Brinley was thundering, “you call yourself a detective, you do! First you carry on with that woman,” he pointed to Madame Meaux, “and then you take young girls—”
“Toots,” Madame Meaux said calmly, “shut your face and pin it up tight.”
“Don’t you talk to me. I—”
“Toots,” Madame Meaux said,“I told you to shut up. You shut up. Or maybe you’d like me to stage a little act for the benefit of your wife?”
“Wha – you wouldn’t dare!”
“Oh, toots, wouldn’t I? Keep in mind, Arthur, that you play ball with Asey, or very shortly your wife will find you in what is known as a compromising position with her star boarder, see?”
“You – what do you mean?”
“It would be so simple,” Madame Meaux said, “to make a pass at you just as she comes in the room. And mind, toots, you’re the one that does the explaining. Not me. I’ve got a contract. I get paid no matter what happens. No moral turpitude clauses in my contract. And I’m going to stay right through to the bitter end. But if you force me – well, I’m sure that dear old Mr. Leach would believe me if I said I was leaving because of your undesirable attentions. And Mr. Mayo’s cousin told me when I came that I was to march straight to him with any complaints. He meant Pinky Upjohn and the boys, but you’ll do. Asey, if the rain’s letting up, how’s for taking me home along with you two? I don’t trust myself with Casanova here.”
“Oh, you can’t!” Brinley was on the verge of tears. “You’ve got to drive home with me! My wife would ask questions – she knows you started out with me!”
“And I’ll tell her plenty, toots.” Brinley collapsed and never uttered a word until half an hour later, when the rain abruptly stopped.
“Okay, toots.” Madame Meaux relented. “You can take me home, but just keep in front of your mind just what’ll happen if you don’t behave. Okay, Asey?”
“Fine,” Asey said. “Keep him in hand for me. I’ll see you later, Brinley, an’ you better be thinkin’ up a lot of nice expl’anations, because considerable checkin’ is goin’ to be done on you. So long – where’s your car, on the east road? ’Bye.”
Kay’s teeth were chattering as she and Asey walked back to the roadster.
Asey gave her a coat from the rumble seat.
“I was goin’ to stop at the hollow,” he said, “but that can all wait. You’re due for a hot bath an’ dry things. I forgot you was wet to begin with.”
But as they passed by the hollow and the figures out in front of the Randall house, Lane and two of his troopers hailed them triumphantly.
“Shells!” Lane shouted. “Hey, Asey, we got a shell!”
Chapter 12
In spite of Kay’s appeals to Asey to stop and find out everything at once, Asey merely slowed up long enough to call out and assure Lane that he’d be right back. Then he continued on to Aunt Sara’s.
“Don’t wait,” Kay hopped out of the car. “Hurry right back there, and when I’m ready I’m going to steam back after you in my percolator. Asey, do hurry – Lane was so excited!”
“I’m goin’ to wait for you,” Asey said. “Hustle up, an’ put on somethin’ that’ll withstand the next shower we’re goin’ to get, because—”
“Asey, Lane’ll be frothing at the mouth! He wants you, and—”
“Uh-huh, an’ I want you. You got a job to do for me, young lady, so hustle up.”
Kay rushed off.
While she took a brief hot bath and a briefer cold shower, Asey sat there in the car and puffed at his pipe. He was very pleased with the two discoveries made that afternoon, but not at all for the same reason Kay supposed.
He started the car as Kay appeared, dressed in a light tweed suit and wearing black and white sport shoes.
“I’m simply thrown together – what’s the big idea, anyway?”
“You’ll see.”
Back at the hollow, Lane was annoyed at the way Asey had flipped past, and he went into the subject at some length.
“Nice way to treat the only clew we got so far,” he said. “Zipping past in “You may have the ham,” Asey told him, “but we got the rest of the sandwich.” He unlocked a compartment in the roadster and displayed the shotgun Kay had found.
“Where’d you find that?”
“Kay found it, over in the pond yonder. Now, let me gape at that shell, will you? An’ then you play around an’ see if it c’nects with the gun. That r’minds me, where’d Jane go to, anyway?”
“Jane shut up shop,” Lane said, “and went tripping off with that Chase boy. She just ignored some customers. She—”
“With Zeb Chase?”
“Yes. She said something about a clambake. I said what should I do with the customers, and she said, the hell with ’em. No one’s been around lately, though. They got rained out.”
An hour later Lane lined up half a dozen shells for Asey’s inspection.
“There.” There was a note of joy in his voice. “There you are. See? The same. This is the gun that fired the shell that killed Mary Randall. There you are.”
“This is the gun that fired the shell,” Asey corrected him.
“I suppose you think – look, you come out here and let me show you where I found it.”
Asey and Kay followed him out to a small and badly kept garden at the side of the house.
“Now, here’s where the shell was. See how the rain washed it out of that hole? It’s smack on our line, or near enough, anyway. Someone tossed it there, and covered it over. See – Asey, what’s the matter with you?”
Lane was annoyed and impatient. Usually Asey caught on to things before you expected him to. This afternoon he was being unnecessarily slow.
“In spite of the rain,” Asey said, “you can tell that these flowers ain’t been watered, or dug around, can’t you? The ground’s hard as a rock, even a little under the surface. That was a heavy downpour, but it didn’t soak in much. It’s been pretty dry lately. And here, on this slant, the water run down an’ off into the drive. See where it went?”
/> “What if the rain didn’t soak in? It could have washed out the shell, couldn’t it? Asey, don’t you see where it was? It washed out, right there.” Lane pointed to the hole again.
“It did,” Asey said, “because it was stuck there this mornin’, or last night, so that a good rain would wash it out. Lane, I’m not tryin’ to muss this up, but can’t you see? The ground around is hard. Where you found the shell, it’s soft. It was dug up, an’ the shell stuck in, just so it’d wash.”
Lane said a number of bitter things.
“Yesterday mornin’,” Asey said, “you raked this whole area, didn’t you? Monday night you an’ me took flashlights, didn’t we, over this whole area? We raked it. We walked up an’ down around this garden plot. We both said it was hard an’ dry. Lane, how could we of missed seein’ it? If the ground around were softer, I’d say it could have washed out. But it’s hard. And this rain wasn’t heavy enough to wash anything out of a hole like that. And if the shell had been buried here before, we’d have found it, see?”
“Listen,” Lane said, “can’t you figure that this means the case?”
“I can figure enough to figure that someone wanted me to think so.”
“The Warren girl,” Lane said firmly, “stood near here, probably in the lee of the apple tree, and shot Mary Randall, and then tossed the shell—”
“That’s another point,” Asey said. “Shell. Why not shells, Lane?”
“Tossed the shells aside – I bet you I can find the other if I dig up this garden—”
“Why,” Asey inquired, “bury ’em sep’rate? Oh, Lane!”
“If I dig up this garden, I’ll find another. Anyway, then Warren took the gun and beat it to the pond, and tossed the gun in the water. Then she came back and let you in the house, and let you find the woman.”
“If it were me,” Kay said, “I wouldn’t have tossed a shell, or the shells, aside. Not if I intended to dunk the gun in the pond right afterwards. I’d have flipped the lot into the water, all at once. Why complicate things by leaving the shells here?”
“All women,” Lane said, “don’t think alike. Where are you going, Asey?”
“Kay an’ I,” Asey said, “are goin’ to make a little geographical survey. While we’re gone, you dig up the zinnias an’ prod around the petunias, an’ find the other shell for us, an’ I’ll bet any sum you want, you’ll find it in a nice little hole dug just for it. So long.”
Figure Away Page 14
