Figure Away

by Phoebe Atwood Taylor

  “Now what,” Kay asked as Asey took her elbow and propelled her toward the woods, “what is your idea, and what is your theory?”

  “Someone,” Asey told her, “after givin’ the problem due thought, come to the c’nclusion it’d be easier for him if instead of makin’ this a hundred percent mystery, we was allowed to find a suspect. First point is shells. So Lane finds a shell, in a place I personally grubbed every inch of. Shortly he will find another shell.”

  Kay walked along a few steps in silence.

  “Then you think that the gun I found is planted, too?”

  “Wa-el,” Asey drawled, “now s’pose you wanted to get rid of a gun, yourself. You got two things handy. Thoph’s Pond, an’ the Atlantic. There’s an undertow alongshore, an’ you got a fifty-fifty chance of havin’ your gun go forever, or havin’ some bather find it at low tide. To do a good job with the ocean you ought to dump your gun in the channel, an’ that needs a boat. Too hard. The pond’s nearer. The pond’s also more obvious like, ain’t it?”

  Kay nodded.

  “But now,” Asey paused for a moment, “s’pose you d’cided that Thoph’s Pond was the ideal spot to get rid of your shotgun in. So what?”

  “Why, you’d dump it there!”

  “Sure,” Asey said with irony. “You’d march right out on that old wharf pilin’, an’ you’d dump it right off the end, wouldn’t you? Right where all the tourists dive, an’ the summer cottagers get clean, an’ where all the dogs, includin’ Amos the wonder dog, get their weekly wash. A nice, safe place. Sure.”

  “I never thought of that,” Kay said honestly. “I suppose you would at least hurl it off a bit.”

  “At least, you’d go round to the other side where no one bathes, an’ it makes off into the real mud, an’ you’d pitch the gun as far as you could send it onto the mud bottom. Now, climb up on this stump. Can you see the pond?”

  “Of course I can!”

  “An’ you can see the house?”

  “In the hollow? Yes. For that matter, I can see the ocean, and the lighthouse, and two coalers off shore, and the Town Hall tower, and the belfry of the First and only Congregational church. What is this, a course in landmarks?”

  “Exactly,” Asey said, “and you are Jane Warren. I’ll give you an hour to work out the shortest an’ most direct route, an’ the most passable, from Randall’s in the hollow to the ice house. There are two paths. You take ’em an’ get familiar with ’em, an’ then we’ll try a little experiment. Oh, it’s rainin’ some more. You mind? If you don’t want to do this-’’

  “I only get about half the idea,” Kay said, “but I’m willing to do anything that might help.”

  “This will. Now, this is your affair. Personally, I think the lower path is saner. If you want to make detours, or anything, you can.”

  “I won’t need an hour for that.”

  “Oh, yes, you will. You pick your path,” Asey said, “an’ learn it. Think how this’ll help you. Local color. Bay’bries, scrub pines, checkerberries,” he picked a leaf and chewed it, “nice Cape air, an’ a first-hand acquaintance with Cape rain.”

  At the end of an hour Kay returned to where Asey sat on the stump.

  Her legs were scratched with brambles and one shoe string had broken, her face was smudged and her red hair was soaking under her beret.

  “Add local color,” she observed, “mosquitoes, red ants, two snakes, three skunks – happily not very observant – and a splendid assortment of insect life and prickers. How did the early settlers take it?”

  “I’ve always wondered,” Asey told her. “When you’ve rested, we’ll go back an’ try this out.”

  Lane greeted them with little enthusiasm.

  “It’s the shotgun the Warren girl bought with that check of Prettyman’s,” he said. “I called Boston and checked on it.”

  “That bears out your ideas,” Asey said.

  “I suppose so. But the other shell – yes, I found it. It was dug in, like you said. What’ve you been doing?”

  “I just been sittin’,” Asey said. “Kay, she’s been investigatin’ our local flora an’ fauna.”

  “What are you up to?”

  “Well,” Asey said, “this is a continuation of our timin’ project – how you pick up these words! My cousin Syl has takin’ to callin’ his garbage hole a refuse disposal project. Well, Lane, Kay’s goin’ to stand by the apple tree, an’ say ‘Boom,’ an’ then she’s goin’ to pretend to dig two shells in – just for fun – an’ then she’s goin’ to run to the ice house at the pond, dump a gun in, an’ rush back to the house. In eight minutes I’m goin’ to bang the knocker. Let’s see if she can be back there to answer. Now look, we’ll time this shell diggin’, too. Let’s see what happens.”

  Lane hesitated. “But Jane knew the ground,” he said at last.

  “Kay prob’ly knows it just as well, an’ she’s got the advantage of not havin’ any shotgun to carry, an’ daylight, an’ the disadvantage of a light rain. That ought to even it all up. Set, Kay? Got your watch ready, Lane. You start her off.”

  Lane gave the signal, and Kay darted to the garden, where she dug two imaginary holes, inserted two imaginary shells, and covered them over with a brushing motion of her hand. Then she turned and set off toward the pond.

  Asey and Lane walked over to the house.

  “Guess you’re right,” the latter said. “You seldom aren’t right, but damn it, no one ever solves a case of this kind, and I got carried away. Why the plant?”

  “Find out someone who doesn’t like Jane,” Asey said. “An’ – I must tell you about Brinley.”

  Lane interrupted him in the middle of his story.

  “Eight minutes are up. Go on.”

  Asey had time to finish his story before Kay panted back.

  “Eleven minutes over time,” Asey moved aside to let her sit on the front step. “Are you done up?”

  “Give me a cigarette!” Kay said. “I haven’t done anything so strenuous since I played hockey in my youth – isn’t it amazing, the way you get to lose the use of your legs as you grow older? Anyway, Asey, I went the shortest way, and I was like to break my neck I went so fast, and here I am. Even if you take time off for the digging process, I’m still way behind, aren’t I?”

  “That dishes that,” Lane said. “Asey, Mike Slade couldn’t have – oh, I forgot. You’ve got him placed uptown, haven’t you? Her other boy friend was with you. She couldn’t have done it and been back here by the time you and Zeb – look, did you know it all the time?”

  “He’s smug, almost,” Kay said. “How did you know, Asey?”

  “She had on socks,” Asey said, “Jane did. It’s been stickin’ in my mind since Monday night that they was silk socks, an’ no pulls an’ runs in ’em, an’ her legs wasn’t scratched. Look at yours, Kay, just from rompin’ around. We – ah. We have visitors, Sara an’ Jeff, no less!”

  He walked over to meet them.

  “This is Jeffs contribution,” Sara passed over a piece of paper, “but I thought of asking him about it. Anyway, this is a copy of the notation. Jeff gave her the permit himself.”

  Asey read through the sentences which announced that Jane Warren had, two weeks before, been given permission to carry a gun, “For defense of self and property.”

  “Gun license, huh? Who issued it?”

  “I did,” Jeff said. “She told me she was scared to death up here in the hollow sometimes, there were such awful sounds. I could see the sense of it, so I gave it to her. Edwards was sick that week, and with everybody so busy about this Old Home Week, I did all the red tape myself. She said she wanted to get herself a little gun. I asked if she could shoot – it always seems rather futile to me to give permits to people who can’t. They do far more damage than good. Anyway, she said she was being taught by an expert, and she was picking up.”

  “Who was the expert?”

  “Zeb, I thought. Under the circumstances, she probably meant Slade. He’s done a
lot of shooting ever since he came to town.” Jeff looked curiously at Kay. “What have you been doing to the girl, Asey? She looks exhausted.”

  “She is,” Asey said. “Take her along with you. I got to do some putterin’ around, an’ she’s chatterin’ wet again. Look after her.”

  Kay made no protest. “It’s not that I’m tired of detecting,” she explained to Asey, “but I’m going to leave the concrete detail to you for a while.”

  Asey grinned and went back to Lane.

  “Well,” he said, “here’s where she got a permit to carry a gun, which she can’t deny. Legal sort of step for anyone contemplatin’ murder, ain’t it? She’s got a shoulder bruise that might of come from a gun kickin’, but she says cellar steps. She bought a gun, an’ Slade says she gave it to him an’ someone stole it. Turns up in the pond, but Jane couldn’t have stuck it there on Monday night, an’ with you here or one of your men, I don’t see how she could of since. Besides, where’d she hide it in the interval? She’s got the nicest motive, an’ she was here. What does that make?”

  Lane shrugged. “You tell me. Let’s look into Brinley. I’ll call up some of the boys an’ have’em stay here. Let’s grab at straws.”

  “An’ while we do it, let’s find out why someone plants the gun an’ shells here for us. Lane, put two men up here tonight, will you? I don’t know why, but every time I look at the place, I get a feelin’ of what you might call impendin’ disaster.”

  Up in the village he found Mrs. Brinley issuing orders to a group of tired- looking women. They brightened visibly when Asey managed to drag her away.

  He cut short her stories of the day – of the soaking everyone got at the clambake, how the governors had been so nice, and General Philbrick and exSenator Mulcahey were looking after them until the ball that night, and whatever they were going to do about Win Billings, she didn’t know, the man was an ungrateful wretch.

  With a masterly display of patience, Asey brought up the problem of Amos, the black dog, and his lost license tag.

  It appeared, finally, that Amos had lost his tag, though Mrs. Brinley was sure she didn’t know why Mr. Mayo cared. She, Mrs. Brinley, had put on his last year’s tag, that was all, because everyone knew they were honest people, and the records would show they had paid the fee anyway, and what with Arthur being a selectman, it seemed the best way out, and it was little things like dog fees, wasn’t it, and three cent postage, and the gas tax, and gracious only knew what others, that all made life so hard. Mr. Brinley, she added, was beginning to think there might be something in the single tax, after all.

  The question of where Mr. Brinley was during the stuck ferris wheel episode was harder to get anywhere with. Mrs. Brinley frankly confessed that she had never spent such a time in her life, and was too terrified to look over, anyway, and what would have happened if the thing had collapsed, Mrs. Brinley for one hated to think.

  Asey finally managed to tear himself away. Outside the post office he met Lane.

  “No one seems to know where Brinley was,” he told Asey. “I’ve asked all the people with badges, claiming I thought I’d given one of them my glasses to hold while I went on the merry-go-round, and maybe it was Mr. Brinley, but I hadn’t been able to find him. Of course they all said they was there Monday night, but I hadn’t given them any glasses to hold, and on delving into the matter, not one of them remembered seeing Brinley there. Now what?”

  “For my part,” Asey said, “I’m goin’ home an’ get me an early supper. Lane, I ain’t no seventh son, but this feller’s b’ginnin’ to act. Have your lads around everyone’s place again tonight, an’ give blazes to them outside Brinleys’. The whole blinkin’ household skylarked out last night, as well as Slade’s climbin’ the Paul’s Scarlet, but your men was two other places, doin’ a lot of other things.”

  “Don’t think they haven’t heard about it,” Lane said grimly. “They told me something about some wandering woman from the midway, and I told them plenty, believe me. Look, Asey, this bothers me. When were the shells and the gun planted?”

  “Slade claims the gun was stolen Monday night. It could have been stuck into the pond any time after then, but somehow I think it was today or yesterday. The shells – well, the house’s had you or one of your men around since Monday night. Except when Prettyman had Konrad hogtied last night. Durin’ the time I was chattin’ with Tertius would have been a good time. Konrad was inside with me. Takin’ a chance then, to plant’em, but it worked.”

  “I’m wondering about those customers, too, Asey. A lot ofem wandered around, looking at the figures, and I know that some went near the garden. I was so busy thinking of things that had been left, I never considered people leaving anything.”

  Back at Aunt Sara’s, Asey ate his supper by himself out in the kitchen, to the accompaniment of Bertha’s version of the day’s doings. All these endless stories of the celebration were, he thought, rather like a comic strip or a cartoon. If you didn’t see it yourself, someone was sure to tell you about it and explain, and usually twice, to make certain you got the point.

  After he had eaten, he went up to the room he shared with Zeb, and stretched out on his bed. To judge from the last two nights, things started to happen late rather than early, and tonight he was going to be prepared.

  Somehow he couldn’t seem to get away from a feeling of impending trouble, and it worried him.

  He had wanted this person, whoever he was that they were up against, to act. Now the fellow had begun to show his hand, there was no telling what to expect. The planting of the shells had been beautifully timed, and so had the shotgun. This fellow knew what he was going to do, and he did it.

  Asey got up and hunted out Sara, and tried to impress on her the necessity of being careful.

  “We’re all of us going to the governors’ party,” she said. “I’ll see to everyone, I promise you. Yes, Eloise is going too. She’s recovered, she thinks, but I feel for Mike when she sees him. Yes, we’ll be careful. Zeb and Jeff and I will look after them, and Kay, too. I wonder, Asey, is Zeb’s stock piling up again with Jane? She seems to have spent the entire afternoon with him, and Slade hasn’t called or been near the house today. Dear me, I suppose I was just as odd when I was young, but it doesn’t seem to me that I could have been, possibly. I know I wasn’t.”

  “If what folks say is true,” Asey told her, “you had Jeff Leach on his ear, an’ forty-seven others practically in the asylum. An’ you worry about Jane with I two! Well, look out for’em all.”

  Before the fireworks were due to begin, Asey climbed in his roadster and drove up to the hollow.

  It had stopped raining, but the fog was coming in and the wheel was wet and slippery under his hands.

  As he turned into the driveway, he was pleased to see two flashlights shoot at him from different angles.

  I “On the job, huh?” he asked Konrad, who came running over to him.

  “Say,” Konrad said, “this place is worse tonight than last. Honest, this fog is creepy, and it has more noises in it—”

  “Thought you was to get tonight off?”

  “Yeah. But Lane said two men,” Konrad told him sadly. “I’m the other.” Asey picked his car flashlight off the clamp on the steering wheel. “I’ll stay with you a spell,” he said. “I want to watch this place, but I couldn’t tell you why.” He looked at the illuminated dial of his wrist watch. “It’s most time for the fireworks to begin. Twelve minutes more. I think I’ll—”

  “You’re slow – see, there they go,” Konrad said. “Hear – hear that?”

  “Shut up!” Asey said. “Listen!”

  The other trooper loomed out of the fog. “Say,” he said, “was that fireworks, or a shot?”

  “They’re beginning the fireworks,” Konrad said. “Hear that? Now? That’s another—”

  But Asey and the other trooper were already pounding towards the woods.

  That strange laugh Asey had heard before rang out somewhere in the fog ahead.


  “Jesus!” the trooper said. “Hear that? That’s a woman screaming, that is!”

  “No,” Asey said, “that wasn’t, but what you hear now is!”

  Chapter 13

  The woman screamed again. The sound cut through the fog like a knife.

  “This way!” the trooper grabbed at Asey’s arm. “She’s over here, somewhere—”

  “No, she’s—”

  “This way! Come on, quick—”

  “Stop a sec.” Asey knew how many tricks fog could play with sounds. “Listen.”

  But with Konrad blundering and crashing along behind them it was useless to try and gauge the direction with any hope of accuracy.

  “Go where you think,” Asey said. “I’ll cut over here. Wait – maybe,” he pulled out the old forty-five Colt and fired a shot into the air, “maybe I might scare someone off—”

  He fired again, and then started to run.

  Once more he heard the woman’s voice.

  “Asey!”

  Whoever she was, calling to him, at least she could yell. At least she was alive and apparently kicking.

  He bellowed out an answer.

  As he raced along he tried to remember how things had looked that afternoon. He had sat there long enough on that stump to memorize the whole surrounding countryside.

  He could hear no footsteps except those of the two troopers pounding along; still everything pointed to some struggle going on.

  But no sound of it. That meant – he swerved to the left, that meant they were in that patch of tall old pines, where the needles underfoot were deep enough to deaden the noise.

  “Asey!”

  He was getting nearer. And they were there in the pines. He could hear, now. The pine needles were slippery under his feet, and the low hanging boughs twice nearly dropped him in his tracks. He crouched low and sprinted.

  At last, ahead, the blurred beam of his flashlight made out a figure against a tree. As he approached, it slumped and fell into a heap. Somewhere beyond he heard the rustle of someone hurrying away through the pines.