“Historical Day,” Brinley said automatically.
“Also judgin’ day,” Asey said, “for the exhibitions an’ contests in the hall. Historical tours. Weston slipped off on one of the tours, an’ sneaked in here. Came to see Eloise, found her goin’ down cellar, an’ realized that he had his opportunity, the opportunity of his life, to get rid of her. He did. That night he made one last attempt to get the shells he’d left in the figure’s pocket – sure, it was him we chased in Lane’s car, Kay. He left the car an’ beat it for Brinley’s, an’ got a swell alibi out of Amos. He strung me up there, though. Jeff an’ Lane an’ Brinley said he called’em, but we looked into the calls. He made’em enroute, not from his house. And there you are.”
“Maybe,” Kay said, “but the jelly – the beachplum jelly? What about that?” Asey smiled. “After the judgin’, that photographer took all the prize stuff, the veg’tables an’ preserves an’ all, to another room to make pictures ofem. Bertha’s prize jelly was among the stuff. He an’ Weston carted the stuff there, so as to take the pictures with the back ground of the big banner an’ the cups – Weston wouldn’t let the cups be moved. The photographer, General Philbrick remembers, had on his rain coat. Later, he took it off. He left Bertha’s jelly in his rain coat pocket.”
“What of it?” Kay said.
“Weston, in a hurry to see Eloise, grabs the photographer’s rain coat for his own. They’re most duplicates. In the kitchen here, Eloise, at the head of the stairs, throws the shears at him when she realizes somethin’s happenin’. They strike the rain coat pocket. Pop goes the jelly. We got Buck’s coat, where Weston cleaned it up. Buck didn’t notice it, but Lane found enough to prove our point. Weston has to have prize jelly. So he goes down cellar, grabs ajar of jelly from the preserve closet – well, it’s a book case that acts as one – an’ later puts the labels from Bertha’s jar on it. Takes it back to the show. Been all right, if Bertha hadn’t given me the jelly as a present.”
“How’d you know the jelly came from here?” Kay asked.
“I thought an’ thought,” Asey said honestly, “an’ the only person I could think of who could make as bad jelly as that was Eloise. I r’membered the preserves in the cellar, an’ hot-footed it up here, an’ found what was supposed to be Bertha’s was a mate to the stuff in this cellar. Took a little connectin’, but it proved someone who had to do with the judgin’, or the town, had been here. Wasn’t the photographer. He spent the rest of the afternoon at the hall. I could place Brinley, an’ Jeff. ’Bout that time, Paterson was sure of one or the other of you. But I could place you – that’s the advantage of havin’ wives. Weston started out to guide one of the historical tours, but he eased out on account of ‘Town Stuff.’ He came here, an’ then rejoined his tour. An’ r’member one more thing about Weston’s bein’ a bachelor. He wouldn’t see the error of switchin’ jelly, like Brinley or you, Jeff.”
“I still don’t see,” Jeff said. “But – yes, I do too. The more he protested that this trouble would have to come to light, and ruin the week, and the town, the more it spurred you on, Asey, and the rest, to keep it quiet. And then he had Eloise to play the trump card, and say that her mother would have wanted it kept undercover, to help the town. He bullied us into silence with his dolefulness. And he was the last person you’d suspect, Asey, too. By the time things got out, he would have been gone. He’s a planner. Mathematical minded – why did he plant so much against Jane?”
Asey smiled. “Jane,” he said, “when Weston first come here, did he specifically announce that he come to call on Eloise?”
“Why, no but—”
“You thought so, but he come to see you,” Asey said. “Yes, that’s so. Up to his house, we found four pictures of you. He come to see you, but he got Eloise. Does that clear some of that up? You naturally turned him over to Eloise, an’ she done the rest. She hated you, an’ I guess by then, he did, too. An’ then you want to r’member, on them chases we had, on foot an’ by car, he – he thought like a Mayo, pretty much. An’ today, when I seen him up to the ball park, runnin’ around, an’ winnin’ the tug of war, an’ all, I – well, there you are. Weston b’gun it an’ Eloise finished it, an’ him. Town money, an’ a lot of hate.”
* * *
Sunday night’s fireworks wound up Billingsgate’s Old Home Week.
Asey, a little apart from the crowd, watched the big cross with all the little crosses around it melt out of sight. Upjohn’s band struck up “Billingsgate Beautiful,” and Madame Meaux, with the expression of one tried beyond endurance but none the less determined to endure still more, began the song. She sang it with infinite care, and for the first time, Asey heard most of the words.
“Where e’er the wandering foot may roam,
On foreign land or sea,
Our thoughts turn even more to Home,
Oh Billingsgate to thee.”
He saw Kay and Zeb sneak away from the crowd to Zeb’s car. Jeff and Sara and the Brinleys stood by the grandstand spotlight, and something about their fixed smiles made Asey think of the stars at the final curtain on a Saturday matinee.
Upjohn’s band arose, and crashed into the “Star Spangled Banner.” They played it through twice before, rather belatedly, there burst across the end of the ball park Philbrick’s finest special, an enormous American flag. Mike Slade, Asey noticed, was the only person present who knew the third verse of the national anthem. Everyone else was humming self-consciously.
“Billingsgate,” Asey said, “Boom!” and walked to his car.
Today’s papers had no story of Mary Randall and all the rest, but tomorrow’s would. It was time for him to get along.
Half an hour later, the “Rock and Roll” set out from his wharf.
Asey, at the wheel, spoke to his cousin Syl.
“Take Win b’low an’ get him into his bunk.”
“D’want to go t’bed,” Win said. “Want t’stay an’ watch. Ain’t been out this harbor in years.”
“You won’t get no bluefish,” Asey warned him, “if you don’t get some sleep!”
“Huh,” Win said. “Anyone can catch a bluefish!”
Figure Away Page 25
