Death Checks In

by David S. Pederson

  I laughed again. “Maybe so. But I’m still going with the theory that Blount knew his killer. After all, he certainly had a lot of enemies. Mr. Bennett, Gloria Eye, Walter Gillingham, and Mrs. Gittings among them.”

  Alan nodded and stretched again. He could be very distracting. “It’s true none of them cared for Mr. Blount, but people just don’t go around murdering folks they don’t care for. If they did, you’d be a very busy man.”

  “Point taken,” I said, admiring his form in his soft white boxer shorts but still trying to concentrate, “but those four seemed to almost despise him. George Bennett, Gloria Eye, Walter Gillingham, and Mrs. Gittings. Say, did you notice what they all have in common?”

  “Besides Blount, you mean?”

  “Yes, they all have a ‘G’ in their name. George Bennett, Gloria Eye, Walter Gillingham, and Mrs. Gittings.”

  “So what?”

  “The spool of green thread. Maybe Blount grasped it while he was dying because it was green, which starts with ‘G.’”

  “Now you’re grasping, Heath. That’s a stretch.”

  “But Wolfgang being a fellow tailor back in France whose favorite color was green isn’t?”

  Now it was Alan’s turn to laugh. “You have me there. But if you’re right, who was he trying to point to if all the suspects have a ‘G’ in their name?”

  I scratched my unshaven chin. “Hmm. Well, the bloody ‘W’ could be for Walter? The bloody ‘W’ for Walter, the green thread, ‘G’ for Gillingham.”

  “Walter Gillingham, the trumpet player?”

  “Why not? He so much as told us he didn’t like Blount and wanted to teach him a lesson.”

  “Why wouldn’t Blount just write out ‘WG,’ then? Why write just the ‘W’ and then be all cryptic with the green thread?”

  “Good question.”

  “And all good questions need answers,” Alan said.

  “Exactly. Maybe he was going to write ‘WG’ but died after he finished the ‘W.’”

  “Possible, I suppose.”

  “Besides, writing in your own blood as you lie dying on the floor must be difficult. I imagine he could only manage an initial or two at best.”

  “So you think he wrote the ‘W’ and intended to write the ‘G’ but couldn’t manage it or died before he could?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe. Supposedly Blount was murdered at 8:02, which would leave Mr. Bennett out, as we ran into him in the hallway upstairs about 7:40 as we were waiting to go up with Mrs. Verte, and we didn’t part again until I came downstairs to look for my dad’s tie around 9:00. Which, I just recalled, I still don’t have. Remind me to ask Mr. Bennett about buying one of his ties to give to my dad.”

  “Mr. Bennett said he’d give it to you with his compliments.”

  “Yes, but I’d feel better paying for it. I’d feel even better if I could somehow get the one from Blount’s, since I already paid for that, but I doubt that will happen.”

  “Not likely.”

  “Right. So anyway, if Mr. Bennett is in the clear, that leaves Miss Eye, Mr. Gillingham, and Mrs. Gittings, and certainly Miss Eye and Mr. Gillingham could have been in it together. Maybe that’s what Blount was getting at. ‘W’ for Walter, ‘G’ for Gloria.”

  “I think you’re overthinking this, Heath. It still could have been a random burglar or somebody we don’t even know.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe so. Say, I’d better phone my dad before the day gets away from me. Today is Father’s Day.”

  “Long distance?”

  “It’s Sunday, so weekend rates apply. I’ll bill it to the room.”

  “Okay, big spender.”

  I laughed as I picked up the phone on the desk and dialed for the hotel operator.

  A moment later a young woman’s voice answered. “Operator.”

  “Yes, I need an outside line, long distance to Milwaukee, Wisconsin, please, Juniper Lake 5-2327. Bill it to room 804, Heath Barrington.”

  “Yes, sir. One moment, please.”

  A click and a buzz, then another female voice, this one a bit older. “Long distance.”

  “Yes, long distance to Milwaukee, Wisconsin, please, Juniper Lake 5-2327.”

  “Just a moment while I connect you.”

  Soon I heard it ringing, once, twice, three times, and then my mother’s voice.

  “Hello?”

  “Oh, hi, Mom, it’s Heath.”

  “Heath. What a nice surprise. We’re just heading out to church.”

  “Oh, okay, I won’t keep you. I was just calling to wish Dad a Happy Father’s Day.”

  “I’ll let you talk to him, but why don’t you join us for church? You don’t go at all anymore, and it would make us so happy.”

  “Gee, Mom, that would be fun, but I’m in Chicago this weekend, remember? A little getaway?”

  “Oh. That’s right.” She paused. “With that friend of yours.”

  “Yes, Alan. Alan Keyes. We’re having a nice time. It’s been, uh, interesting.”

  “I don’t understand why you had to go down there on Father’s Day weekend, Heath. You hardly see your father at all anymore. It’s like he doesn’t even have a son.”

  I sighed. “I’ll be over for dinner tomorrow night, Mom, when I get back into town, remember? We talked about this Thursday night.”

  “Yes, I remember. Monday is meatloaf night. I’ll set an extra place for you. We eat at six, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  “I know, so you and Dad can listen to The Bell Telephone Hour at seven.”

  “That’s right. I ran into Rosemary Adams the other day at Schuster’s. She works in the millinery department there, you know.”

  “Yes, I ran into her myself a while ago.”

  “She mentioned that. She’s seeing Henry Applegate now, from over on Sixth Street.”

  “That’s nice, Mom. Rosemary’s a nice girl.”

  She made that clicking noise with her teeth again. “She is a nice girl, and you’re a much better catch than Henry Applegate. She said you never called her.”

  “I’ve been busy, Mother.”

  More of the clicking noise. “Well, Adele Swanson is still available. I’ll see her mother at church today, most likely. I’ll ask her if Adele can come to dinner tomorrow night.”

  “Who’s Adele Swanson?” I asked, though I knew I shouldn’t have.

  “Marjorie Swanson’s daughter, little Adele, only she’s not so little anymore. Her husband was killed in the war, poor thing. Oh, she’s a lovely girl, Heath, and she’s a Methodist.”

  “Of course she is.”

  “Well, it’s short notice, but hopefully she can come. Are you going to church today, Heath? They do have churches in Chicago, you know.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “People talk when you don’t go to church, son.”

  I sighed. “If I may quote President Truman, Mother, he said, ‘I’ve always believed religion is something to live by and not to talk about.’”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” The teeth clicking had gotten louder.

  “Nothing to you, apparently. Look, Mom, I’m calling long distance, so if Dad’s handy…”

  “Long distance, oh my goodness, yes, I suppose you are, all the way from Chicago. Frank. Heath’s on the phone, long distance from Chicago, hurry up.”

  I heard shuffling and scratching noises, then my father picked up the receiver.

  “Hello, son.”

  “Hi, Dad. Happy Father’s Day.”

  “Thanks. How’s Chicago?”

  “Oh, fine, the weather hasn’t been too nice.”

  “Same here. Better today, though.”

  “Yes, same here, Dad.”

  “That’s good. Did I hear you’re coming for dinner tomorrow?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Fine. Meatloaf, you know.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “Fine. See you tomorrow, then.”

  “Right, Pop. Good-bye.”

  �
��Bye, son.”

  I hung up the phone and glanced at Alan. “Meatloaf tomorrow.”

  He laughed. “Meatloaf Monday, could be worse.”

  I grinned. “Yeah, I suppose so. Mother says they have churches here in Chicago now.”

  “Do tell?”

  “Yes, and she’s going to try and fix me up with someone named Adele Swanson tomorrow night.”

  “Is she a Methodist?”

  “It’s like you know her.”

  “I know you, and that’s all I need to know.”

  “Good. Let’s forget about my mother. Now, where was I in regard to this whole Blount thing?”

  “You were saying Mr. Bennett was in the clear because he was with us at the time of the murder. But don’t forget, he did use the bathroom just before eight, and he was gone a fair amount of time.”

  “Good point. But was it enough time for him to take the elevator downstairs, run around to the alley, shoot Blount, and get back upstairs?”

  “It depends, I suppose. I think he was gone about ten minutes.”

  “Yes. Still it doesn’t seem likely, though. He would have been winded and frazzled. But when he returned to the table, he was calm and put together, not a hair out of place. In fact, he was more calm and put together then when we first ran into him getting off the elevator.”

  “Because he’d been out hunting for purple passion or whatever it was.”

  “Lavender Lilacs.”

  “Right.”

  “But Miss Eye and Mr. Gillingham, both of whom were supposed to be onstage at eight p.m., didn’t show up until nearly eight twenty, both looking definitely frazzled. Very curious.”

  “I agree with you on that, Heath.”

  “And I think Mrs. Gittings is still a suspect, too. I ran into her downstairs when I went to find Blount last night. She was out very late and acted quite odd.”

  “Acting odd is normal for her, Heath, I think.”

  “I know, but she was saying something about blood on the hands. Blood stains the soul, and something about in God’s hands now and a white angel. And remember, Blount did tell us she had threatened him. She clearly despised him, she said he was evil. I think she knew more about him than she let on.”

  “But gee, Heath, she’s a character and all, but she looks like such a nice lady.”

  “Looks can be deceiving, and all kinds of people are capable of doing all kinds of things. I also noticed she clutched her handbag more tightly than normal. As if she had something in it she didn’t want me to find out about.”

  “Like a gun? You think she shot him?”

  “Perhaps. Blount’s gun is missing, by the way. I checked his desk before the police arrived.”

  Alan shook his head. “You’re going to get in trouble doing stuff like that.”

  “Don’t worry, I didn’t leave any fingerprints. But if I recall correctly, when Blount mentioned having a gun in his desk, Mr. Bennett and Mrs. Verte were with us.”

  “Yes, that’s right. It was Friday night when we were having cocktails in the lobby.”

  “Right. So Mr. Bennett would have known the gun was there, and he bought a suit yesterday afternoon and tried it on. He would have been alone in the back room and could have easily taken the gun.”

  “Yes, he could have.”

  “And certainly Mrs. Gittings would have known about the gun, since she had worked for him in that very back room. Remember she was back there alone yesterday, too.”

  “Talking to the headless dress form,” Alan said with a grin.

  “Yes. But she also could have easily taken the gun before Blount came back and found her.”

  “Maybe, but I just can’t believe it.”

  “You’re a sucker for the sweet, batty old ladies.”

  He laughed. “I guess so. She reminds me of my grandmother on my dad’s side.”

  “Did she drink too much?”

  “No, but she was an odd old lady. And sweet.”

  “Sweet old ladies can still be killers. Remember Arsenic and Old Lace with Cary Grant?”

  He sighed. “I guess you’re right. She certainly didn’t care for Mr. Blount.”

  “That’s putting it mildly.”

  “So, she’s a suspect.”

  “Yes, I’m sorry, Alan, but she is. She had motive and opportunity. And then there’s Miss Eye and Mr. Gillingham. I wonder if they knew about the gun in the back room, too.”

  “They both knew about it. I told them at breakfast yesterday morning, remember? We were in the coffee shop, and Mr. Gillingham was talking about teaching Blount a lesson.”

  I sighed. “That’s right, I’d forgotten about that. So everyone knew.”

  “I’m sorry, Heath.”

  “It’s all right, it was just a comment. Under normal circumstances, no harm would have been done at all, and it still may be nothing.”

  “But still…”

  “Don’t give it another thought, Alan, please.”

  “And Miss Eye was in the back room alone yesterday when we were picking up my tux.”

  “Yes, and she insisted on trying on the dress, even though it had only been steamed and pressed.”

  “You think she used that as an excuse to get back there and pocket the gun?”

  “Possibly. Perhaps she came in close to closing, hoping to find him alone. She’d slip in the back on the pretense of trying on her gown, find the gun, and shoot him, possibly through the curtain, then flee out the back into the alley.”

  “Only we were there when she came and fouled up her plan, so she had to come back later. Maybe using the excuse she left something behind in her haste.”

  “A definite possibility. And Gillingham may have been an accomplice. Maybe she unlocked the back door when she was trying on the gown, and he was waiting in the alley.”

  “And he slipped in, maybe hiding in the dressing room, until Blount closed up. Then he stepped out, shot him, and fled out the back.”

  “Yes, except that Blount was shot just after eight. Do you think Gillingham could have hidden back there for an hour?”

  “Maybe. Or maybe he confronted Blount and they talked, argued, that sort of thing, Blount hoping to convince Gillingham not to shoot. It all took some time.”

  “There’s the burned ashes in the bathroom, too.”

  “Right. What do you think that was?”

  “Evidence of some kind. Whatever it was, maybe Mr. Gillingham forced Blount to hand it over. Maybe it was in the safe. I suppose that all would take some time. And if Gillingham shot him just after eight, that would explain him and Miss Eye being late to take the stage upstairs.”

  “That’s true.”

  “And that spool of thread. The name of it was Jewel Green, and Miss Eye was wearing a large emerald that night. And the spool had a needle stuck in it.”

  “So?”

  “So, needles have eyes. Blount could have been pointing the finger to Miss Eye by grasping the thread, and Walter Gillingham with the bloody ‘W’. Maybe they were both there.”

  “Jeepers. So it looks like Miss Eye and Mr. Gillingham are the prime suspects, huh?”

  “Suspects, yes, but not exactly prime. This is all very circumstantial. Remember, Mr. Bennett, Miss Eye, and Mrs. Gittings were all at one point in the back room alone yesterday. Any of them could have pocketed Blount’s gun with the intention of coming back later.”

  “True, since they all knew it was there. But the idea of Miss Eye unlocking the back door and letting her fiancé in to hide seems so logical.”

  “But crime and passion don’t always follow logic. We must keep an open mind to all possibilities until they are ruled out.”

  “Including it being a robbery gone bad, like Detective Wilchinski said?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “Maybe. I can’t rule it out yet. But of all the scenarios, of all the suspects, that one to me seems the least likely.”

  “How come?”

  “Maybe because it’s the most obvious, the easiest, but why the g
reen thread? Why the ‘W’ in blood? Why wasn’t anything missing?”

  “Nothing we noticed was missing. He might have had cash the robber took. And possibly the robber got scared and fled before taking anything.”

  “But there was no forced entry. As I said before, why would Blount let someone he didn’t know into the store after hours? And as I recall, there’s a peephole in that back alley door. He wouldn’t just open it up to some stranger without looking out the peephole first, would he?”

  “As you’re fond of saying, Heath, all good questions.”

  “Indeed.”

  Chapter Eleven

  We both jumped at the knock on the door. I threw on my dress shirt, letting it hang open, and padded over to the door in my boxers as Alan fled to the bathroom again, also in his boxers. It was the bell boy with the room service cart.

  “Just set it up over there by the window,” I said.

  “Yes, sir. Good morning. Supposed to be a beautiful day.”

  “Good morning,” I replied. “Yes, supposed to be warmer today.”

  “I brought your newspaper in too, mister. I’ll set it on the desk for you. Anything else I can get ya?” he asked as he walked back to the door.

  “No, thanks.” I signed for the tray and gave him a quarter.

  “Thanks. Did you hear about the murder last night? Right here in the hotel.”

  “Uh, yes, I did. Mr. Blount of Blount’s clothing.”

  “Yes, sir. Somebody shot him, I hear, five times. Blew his head nearly clean off. There was blood everywhere, I hear.”

  I shook my head. “Not quite. He was only shot once from what I could see, and it was in the chest. His head was completely intact, and there really wasn’t all that much blood.”

  “You were there?” His eyes widened.

  “I found the body. I’m a police detective.”

  “Wow, a real live dick, just like in the movies.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Golly, that sure is something.”

  “I’m afraid detectives in real life aren’t as exciting as in the movies,” I said.

  “But still, a real live dick, wow. I’ve never seen one in person. You’re the first one I’ve met.”

  “I’m honored.”

  “Say, Mr. Blount was having a terrible argument with a fella in his store yesterday afternoon, you know.”