by Steve Laracy
“Do you know if there is any connection between the two issues?”
“Not that I know of. I have not read every issue in my collection. Occasionally, I pick one up at random and peruse it, but it’s mostly the fun of collecting. It’s not a big deal if I’m missing a few issues, but I’m curious to know what happened to them.”
“I’ll see what I can dig up,” I said. “Can you give me a list of the patients you saw that day?”
“Leo can check the appointment book and tell you. I’ll be glad to pay you your usual fee.”
“No charge, Doc. I’m doing work for Ben anyway, so I’ll be keeping my eyes open around town. Besides, in my line of business, a man might need a doctor at some point, especially in a dangerous town like Cordoba.”
Doc laughed as Sam and I went out to the reception desk. I asked Leo for a list of the patients Doc had seen last Tuesday.
“Let’s see,” she said as she checked her appointment book. “Indian Charlie was in to have cactus spines removed from his feet. This is pretty much a regular occurrence for him. Mrs. Cavendish was in early in the afternoon. There was nothing wrong with her, but she’s a confirmed hypochondriac. And the only other patient was that Mr. Costello. He was complaining of stomach pains, which turned out to be indigestion.”
So much for patient confidentiality, I thought as I reached for a piece of paper to write all this down, but I noticed that Sam was taking notes in a small notebook with a brown cover, spiral bound at the top. Relieved of my note-taking duties, I said to Leo, “You know, they have computers these days that can keep track of all that information.”
“We don’t need them. Besides, it’s hard to get any kind of service out here in the middle of nowhere. That’s why you won’t see any cell phones in town. You know that telephone company commercial that says they cover ninety-seven percent of the country? Well, we’re in the other three percent. Also, we’re limited to a few TV channels we can pick up with antennas from the broadcast tower near the highway. No cable companies operate out here. Someone could get a satellite dish if they could find someone to come out and install it, but nobody bothers. We don’t miss what we don’t have.”
“I have to admit that it was kind of pleasant sitting at the tavern last night without seeing a line of smartphones sitting on the bar,” I said. “Did you notice any of the patients acting unusual?”
“No. I’m sure both Mrs. Cavendish and Mr. Costello were looking at magazines, but I’m not sure about Indian Charlie.”
“Thanks,” I said and started to leave, but Leo called me back. Sam said she would wait on the porch. I returned to the reception desk.
Leo said in a concerned voice, “I know this seems like a trivial matter and Doc does not seem to be taking it seriously, but he prizes his magazine collection, and this hurt him a great deal, not only the fact that the magazines were missing but that someone would take them. I hope you take the investigation seriously.”
“I will,” I said. “You worry about Doc a great deal, don’t you?”
“I love him very much. If you’re referring to the difference in our ages, I can assure you that Lucky O’Leary is the only gold digger in town.”
“I wasn’t…”
Leo cut me off. “It’s okay.” She laughed. “I get the look all the time from strangers. I’ve been Doc’s patient since I was a little girl. As I grew up, I realized that he was the kindest, gentlest grown-up in town. Also, he was quite handsome when he was younger, with sandy hair and bright, beautiful gray eyes, and I had a huge crush on him as a teenager. Well, I guess the crush never went away, even after I started working as his receptionist. When his first wife died of cancer several years ago, we became closer. We’ve been married now for three years, and sometimes at night when we’re sitting in the living room reading, me with a romance novel and Doc with one of his magazines, I’ll look at him and if I look deep into his eyes, I still see the gentle, jolly, sandy-haired doctor with the sparkling eyes.”
“Well, don’t worry,” I said, “I’ll get to the bottom of this for Doc and you.”
> CHAPTER 10
A VISIT WITH MRS. CAVENDISH
I walked out of Doc’s house and onto the porch, where I found Sam sitting on the top step of the porch reading her notes with a serious expression on her face, munching on the ever-present bag of peanuts.
“What’s our next step,” I asked, sitting down next to her.
“Well,” she said, “I think we should concentrate on the people who had access to the magazines last Tuesday. I think we can eliminate Doc and Leo.”
“I agree,” I said seriously.
“That leaves Indian Charlie, Mrs. Cavendish, and Mr. Costello. Indian Charlie wouldn’t take the magazines to read, but he might want to fence them.”
“That wouldn’t be too easy to do in these parts,” I responded.
“You’re right. Mrs. Cavendish doesn’t need the money. She can be bossy and cranky, but I think she’s a pretty good person underneath. Besides, both Indian Charlie and Mrs. Cavendish live in Cordoba and know how much the magazines mean to Doc, so I don’t think they would take them.”
“That leaves Mr. Costello.”
“That’s what I was thinking. He’s a stranger in town and may also be involved in the snooping down at the diner. Maybe the two cases are connected.”
“Maybe, but what would be his motive for stealing old magazines? What motive would the other two have?”
“I guess that’s what we have to find out.”
“I’m thinking the two magazines that were taken were not random choices. Both the Look and the TV Guide were published in December 1954. Maybe there were articles in each that somebody didn’t want anyone to see. But that will be difficult to determine since I’m sure there are no copies of either magazine lying around in Cordoba.”
“What do we do next?” asked Sam.
“Why don’t you run back to the boardinghouse and check for magazines in the parlor. It’s a long shot, but I saw Costello reading a magazine in the parlor yesterday.”
“Maybe he was reading an article and took the magazine with him to finish it.”
“But in that case, he wouldn’t take two magazines.”
“Maybe two different people took the magazines.”
“I think we’ve got too many maybes and not enough surelys to solve the case at this point. While you head back to the boardinghouse, I’ll pay a visit to Mrs. Cavendish. Can you point me in the right direction?”
“She lives two blocks over on Fifth Avenue. It’s a big house and you won’t have any trouble finding it,” she said as she smiled. Then she took off running back to the boardinghouse.
Even at this point in the morning, the weather was heating up, but the walk was short, so I wasn’t much bothered. When I reached the corner of Fifth Avenue and Elm Street, I realized what Sam had meant when she said I couldn’t miss the Cavendish residence. The building was about as close as you could get to a mansion in a town like Cordoba, situated on a slight hill and surrounded by a lush green lawn, the first grass I had seen since I came to town. A fellow outside was watering the grass from a garden hose. Around the lawn, several barn swallows were gobbling up worms, no doubt courtesy of the Hector Suarez Gas Station and Bait Shop.
The building and grounds were surrounded by a wrought-iron fence with posts which came to a point at the top. Standing outside the gate and admiring the handiwork was Silas Collins. I approached him and said hello.
“Pretty good workmanship on the fence,” he said. “I don’t understand why people will install a fence to protect their property, but balk at installing a lightning rod to protect their house.”
“Is that why you’re here, to sell the old lady a lightning rod?” I asked.
“Yup, just trying to do her a favor. Her manservant, or whatever he is over there watering the lawn, said I had to wait here because she was eating breakfast. She’ll be receiving guests at her normal visiting hour, between ten and eleven.”
Since it was a quarter to ten when I arrived, I hung around.
“You said at dinner last night that this house needs a lightning rod. How can you tell?”
“It’s not the type of house or a physical feature,” said Silas. “I can tell by my senses. The way the wind moves around a house, the smell of the air, whether the hair on my arms stands up when I enter the building. I imagine you’ve seen lightning often enough, and heard the thunder, but have you smelled it and tasted it and felt the way the air moves around it? It’s got a purpose like everything else in life and a target, and you must use your senses to tell what the target is. My senses tell me this house is a target.”
By this time, it was ten o’clock, and the man who had been watering the lawn approached and shortened our conversation.
“Mrs. Cavendish declines to see you,” he said, addressing Silas with an English accent. “She informed you yesterday she was not interested in purchasing a lightning rod.” Turning to me he said, “And who are you and what is your business with Mrs. Cavendish? She doesn’t hold much stock with peddlers.” He flashed a disapproving glance at Silas.
“I’m not selling anything,” I said, as nicely as I could under the circumstances. “I’m just in town visiting the mayor, and he suggested I stop by and pay my respects to Mrs. Cavendish,” I lied. I was hoping Ben’s name would carry weight with the old girl.
It at least got me through the gate. “Come with me,” said Jeeves, or whatever his name was, “and I’ll announce you to see if Mrs. Cavendish will see you.”
Silas turned to leave and muttered, “I was just trying to help her.”
“Tough luck,” I said to him. Somehow, I got the feeling he was the lucky one being denied access to Mrs. Cavendish.
As he walked away, I thought of our conversation and hollered after him, “And if any mysterious carnivals should arrive in Cordoba by train in the dead of night in the next few days, I’d advise you to stay as far away as possible.”
At this, he turned and said, “Much obliged for the advice, Mr. Forbes,” and continued down the street.
I followed Mrs. C’s man down the path to the house like a man walking the last mile. When we entered the hall, I was directed to a sitting room on the left of the hall that contained more chairs, and of a much higher quality than those in Doc’s waiting room.
“Wait here and I’ll see if Mrs. Cavendish will see you,” said Lurch. He returned a moment later and said with a look of distaste, “Follow me.”
He led me into the room across the hall. It was decorated in Victorian style, with a large chandelier in the middle of the room. The sofa and chairs all had legs with lions standing on balls carved into them, and they were upholstered in a heavy fabric with a Jacobean design. There was a fireplace across from the entrance, and to my amazement, a blazing fire was burning. As I approached, the temperature seemed to rise with each step I took. Above the fireplace, I noticed a painting of a young man and woman, posed next to each other.
Sitting to the left of the fireplace was an old woman in her eighties or nineties whom I assumed was Mrs. Cavendish. It took me a while to focus on her due to the rapid onset of heatstroke and because the pattern on her dress almost exactly matched the pattern of the chair, she was seated in. She blended so perfectly, it gave the impression that there was nothing there except a floating head and two hands on the arms of the chair.
Although on in years, she had an upright posture and a face that still possessed some of the beauty she had had in her younger years. Her hair was snow white and tightly tied in a bun in back, giving her a stern and somber appearance.
“Please come in and take a seat, Mr. Forbes,” she said, motioning to the sofa and chairs around her with a wave of a spectral hand.
“Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Cavendish,” I responded as I chose a chair as far away from the fire as possible while still being within listening distance.
Noticing my choice of seat, Mrs. C said with a hint of a smile, “I apologize for the fire, but my bones can’t handle the cold like they used to. I know it’s a little early, but feel free to have a drink. Doctor Fletcher forbids me to drink anymore, so I get my pleasure watching others indulge.”
She motioned to a silver tray on the table before me which contained several glasses and carafes. “Rogers, pour Mr. Forbes a drink.”
Rogers stepped out of the shadows and said in a somber voice, “Orange juice or grapefruit juice, sir?”
I ordered the orange juice. Mrs. C then dismissed Rogers, who slunk out of the room.
“I understand you’re a detective friend of Mayor Nye, stuck in town for a few days due to car trouble,” she said.
“You seem to keep up with what’s happening around Cordoba,” I replied.
“I have my sources. Tell me, what do you think of our bustling metropolis?”
“It has a certain charm,” I confessed, “but the pace is a little slow for me. But if I may remark, you seem a little out of place here also. You are a more worldly and cosmopolitan type than most of the people around here. What appeals to you about Cordoba?”
“I came here many years ago from San Francisco. My husband had passed away and my health was failing. My doctor at the time recommended a dry climate. I’m a private person and I could not find anyplace drier or further off the beaten path than Cordoba, so I settled here. I know the townspeople consider me arrogant and standoffish (again, I have my sources), but I like to think I’ve helped the town with contributions for some improvements. Unfortunately, my health continues to suffer.”
Seeing an opening, I jumped in. “As a matter of fact, I visited Doc Fletcher this morning, and he mentioned that you were in last week.”
“In a town this size, everybody knows pretty much everything about everybody else,” snarled Mrs. Cavendish. “At least they think they do,” she continued with a Cheshire cat smile.
“I’m sure Doc meant no harm. He seems like a nice fellow. I also admired his selection of magazines.”
“His collection is impressive. Still, I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone interested in current events.”
“He mentioned that a few of his magazines had gone missing,” I slipped in. “You noticed nothing unusual or suspicious while you were there, did you?”
“The only unusual behavior in that office would be if that receptionist of his had the common courtesy to offer a patient a cup of coffee while the doctor was busy gabbing in the back room and keeping paying customers waiting. And the only thing suspicious is their relationship. He’s old enough to be her father. Besides, a few old magazines missing is not a big deal. And if you think I had anything to do with the disappearance, I resent the implication.”
“No, I wasn’t suggesting you were involved,” I said, although her guilty tone gave me something to think about. “But those old magazines mean a lot to Doc, so if your sources hear of anything, please let me know. I’m staying over at the boardinghouse.” I placed my glass back on the tray and got up to leave.
“I know where you are staying. And I will let you know if I hear anything. But I must warn you, in a small, isolated town like this, it is not wise, even for a man in your profession, to go around digging up dirt, unless you’re helping Mr. Suarez find earthworms. Mr. Forbes, you seem like a perceptive fellow, but you may find I am not the ogre that the citizens of Cordoba think I am.” The Cheshire cat smile appeared again as the rest of her disappeared into the chair.
When I stepped into the hall, the butler was waiting. “I’ll show you out, sir,” he intoned.
“Don’t bother, Rochester, I can find the way,” I said as I headed into the relative coolness of the ninety-degree day outside.
> CHAPTER 11
THE SECOND AFTERNOON
As I strolled along, I forgot about the enigma that was Mrs. Cavendish and thought about my next steps. Maybe pay a visit to Indian Charlie. Plus, I wanted to get a better look around the outside of the diner. I decided to stop by and have a talk with Hilda Bluff.
On the way, I stopped to visit the Flagg sisters. Mabel and Jewell were home, but Ruth, who was sitting next to Mabel on the swing, was somewhere in the heart of Africa, staring down a charging rhino with Clark Gable.
After a short visit, I gave my regards to the sisters and headed over to the diner. The place was empty except for Hilda, who was sitting at the end of the counter reading a magazine. She got up when I entered and stepped behind the counter. I walked over to the left toward where she had been sitting and took a seat, glancing at the magazine she left sitting on the counter, just in case. However, this magazine was one of those celebrity gossip magazines and was of more recent vintage than the ones Doc had lost, but not by much, judging by the pictures of Britney Spears and Madonna on the cover.
Hilda wandered over and said, “Hello, Milo. It’s a little too early to find Ben here. I don’t think he’s finished his morning nap yet. What can I get for you?”
“Just a cup of coffee.” I was still working off Felicity’s breakfast. “I’ll catch up with Ben later. Besides, I wanted to have a conversation with you about the shady figure that’s been hanging around.”
I studied Hilda as she got the coffee. She was a large woman in girth, but the face did not have the usual pudginess of a woman her size—sort of like when you blow up a balloon and one half fills up with air before the other. She wore heavy makeup and lipstick and had blond, curly hair in a Shirley Temple cut. The hair was either dyed or a wig since I detected some darker hairs around the edges. Her voice was high and squeaky when she spoke.
“Not much I can tell you,” Hilda said as she set down the coffee. “Frank has seen him once around midnight before he went to bed, and I heard noises in the middle of the night one time. I got up and looked out the window and saw movement but couldn’t make out any details other than that the prowler appeared to be large. Whether he has been snooping around on any other nights, I couldn’t tell you.”
