The So Blue Marble

by Dorothy B. Hughes

  The Wilson house was a nice old New Englandish place, white frame, even a cupola. It was set in a treey yard already greening. Vines on the house must be roses in summer. They climbed the steps to the porch, twisted the old-fashioned bell, beard its metallic ring.

  Jasper had a new tremor. “I hope she won’t be mad. Nesta’s definitely revolting when she gets mad.”

  Griselda rang and rang to no answer. “I suppose they’re out picnicking.”

  Jasper said, “Let me try.” He was annoyed. He pounded.

  She told him, “It rings.”

  He rattled the knob. “It’s unlocked.”

  “Country style. We didn’t think.”

  They went inside. It was a big cheerful house, paneled with sun, too many ferns but that was to be expected. Griselda called, “Hello. Anyone home?”

  They wandered out through the dining room and kitchen, back into the spotless parlor bedroom.

  Jasper was cross. “They aren’t here.”

  “Obviously,” she answered. “Let’s go up. Make sure they haven’t flown the coop. It’s so tidy. It doesn’t look as if anyone was here. Not even an ash for diversion. They must have brought Bette along.”

  She led the way up the stairs; he followed. She said, “Bedrooms! We’re getting warm.” The first was open, again perilously clean. She was dubious at the starch in every inch of lace and linen.

  “You don’t suppose we’ve made a mistake in the house, that we’re making ourselves at home in some stranger’s place?” Then she saw tucked under the edge of the old marble-topped bureau something that had escaped notice. “No, we’re right.” She picked it up, the diversion, a gold-banded cigarette stub with the tiny gold letter. She laid it on the hand-painted blue forget-me-knots of the pin tray. He was in the hall again.

  He said, “Right or wrong, I’m looking for the bathroom.”

  He opened a door, said, “Yes, they’re here.” She peered in after him. Nesta’s opened bag was on the floor, clothes messily frothing out of it. She followed Jasper into the room. The door had hidden the bed. He was staring at it, the color of mayonnaise. His hand faltered towards the brass bedpost. She spoke furiously, “Don’t touch anything!”

  It must have happened a long time ago. It didn’t look like blood; it was like ugly brown paint all over the sheet, on the flowers of the rug, all over the white net and lace that didn’t cover Nesta’s body. It was Nesta. Those were her rings on the hand, her silver-tipped toenails. It was her hair, what there was of it, on her shoulders. There wasn’t any face at all.

  PART X

  1

  Jasper said, I’m going to be sick.”

  She clenched her nails on his arm. “You can’t be sick. If I’m not sick you can’t be sick.”

  He gulped. “I can’t-help-that-I’m-going- to b…”

  They heard the call from downstairs. “Hullo? Company? Who’s there?”

  Her fingers tightened on him. “Come on.” She pulled him out, closed the door after them. “Come on.” She dragged him to the stairs, looked down on the face of a stranger, a nice young stranger with curly yellow hair and sunburned face. He seemed as surprised as she. She ran down, still pulling Jasper with her. She demanded, “Who are you?”

  He began, “I’m…”

  But she looked beyond him and didn’t listen. She dropped Jasper’s arm; her eyes grew wider and wider; her head began to go around and around. It looked as if it were Con coming through the living room into the hall. Then her eyes went dark and she knew she was fainting.

  She was lying on a bed when she remembered again. She sat up quickly but this bed was clean. She put her head down again; it was still dizzy like a merry-go-round. She had seen Jasper in the chair.

  She was surprised at how tiny her voice sounded. “What has happened?”

  He looked resigned. “So you’ve come to. I don’t know what is happening. After you fainted the one called Con said Good God he didn’t think he’d be so much of a shock, and I told him it wasn’t him, it was Nesta dead upstairs, and that I was going to be sick and I was-loathsomely. And he and the one called Irish…”

  She whimpered, “Irish?”

  “Yes, Irish. Ridiculous name. They went upstairs and came racing down and told me to stay with you until they returned.” He added, “I don’t want to stay here. I want to get out of this revolting place. And what will Oppy say?” He closed his eyes at the mere thought.

  She wondered, “What is Con doing here? And Irish?”

  He was amazed. “Do you know them?”

  “I know Con. I used to be married to him. I’ve heard of Irish.”

  He looked out of the window. They were in the parlor bedroom. “They’re coming back. I suppose they brought the constable and he’ll ask us foolish questions.”

  It was really Con in the doorway. “Feeling better, honey?”

  “I think I can get up.”

  He told her, “Don’t. Not yet. Wait until I come down.” He went away. She closed her eyes; Jasper’s were already closed.

  They could hear men’s steps upstairs, then coming down. Con wasn’t alone now. The young blond boy was with him and a quiet farmer man.

  “Don’t get up, baby. This is Ed Schaffer. He’s the deputy. And this is my friend, Irish Galvatti. Mr. Schaffer, my wife, Mrs. Satterlee. And if my eyes haven’t deceived me, Jasper Coldwater.”

  Jasper admitted it

  Con sat on the edge of the bed near her. Irish leaned against the door. Schaffer squatted on the window ledge. He said, “Mis’ Wilson’s going to have a fit when she’s seen what happened to her bedroom.” He seemed in a way to relish the idea.

  Con said, “Now, baby, if you can give me an idea of what happened?”

  She nodded. “Jasper and I drove up from New York this morning to get Nesta.” She shivered. “Nesta Fahney.” He held her hand. “It was about one o’clock I think when we reached Canaan, a little after. I asked at the postoffice and the man directed me here. We thought they’d gone picnicking or something and we started looking around to make sure this was the place. When we looked in that room…” She was weak again.

  Con said, “Steady.”

  She opened her eyes. “We’d just seen her when you called from downstairs.”

  Schaffer twanged, “Anything you got to say, Mr. Coldwater?”

  If he said it was revolting or loathsome or the most revolting sight he’d ever seen, she would scream. He didn’t. He said, “Nothing.”

  Con said, “You can understand what a surprise this is to us, Mr. Schaffer. Irish and I needed a rest. We rented the place by mail.”

  Schaffer nodded. “Yes. Mis’ Strombaugh was expecting you. She cleaned the house spick and span last week. Then Sunday night these folks come for the keys, said they was friends of yours. Said their names was Mr. and Mis’ Green. I didn’t lay eyes on them but I expect that was the girl. I wonder where the man’s gone to.”

  Con said, “I never met Nesta Fahney. I never saw her before except on the screen. Irish never did either. I wonder who the man was.”

  Griselda feared to speak but Jasper said wearily, “It was Danny Montefierrow. That’s who it was. She went off with him Sunday. She didn’t come back.”

  Con acted as if he’d never heard the name. Schaffer hadn’t. Irish twitched but didn’t speak.

  Con patted Griselda’s hand. “You didn’t know I was coming back so soon, did you, baby? I’ve been saving it for a surprise.” He explained to Schaffer. “I’ve been away on an assignment. I’m a radio newsman.”

  Schaffer said, “Sure. I’ve heard you speak, Mr. Satterlee.”

  ”My wife’s been in New York. I was planning to wire her and here she is.”

  The law wasn’t dumb. “How did you happen to pick Canaan? Most city folks haven’t even heard of it.”

  Con said, “I prepped two years at Berkshire, and I spent one summer at a camp on Queechy.”

  Irish wanted to say something. He gulped it. “We just come this morning,
had to ground at Albany. Then we picked up that rattletrap and drove down here. I was sure surprised when I saw folks in the house.” His alibi unloaded, he felt better.

  Jasper opened his eyes. “Do we have to stay here? I haven’t had a bit to eat since breakfast.”

  Schaffer yawned. “No sense starving you to death, I guess. Go on down to the hotel and get Mis’ Strombaugh to fix up something for you. The Sheriff’s coming up from Chatham and a coroner. We’ll need you to tell us a few things so don’t leave town until I say so.”

  Con promised, “We won’t, Sheriff.” He braced Griselda, “Think you can make it, kid?”

  She had to hold tight to him. She didn’t mind. I’m dizzy. Probably it’s no food.”

  They all went out. Schaffer stayed on the porch, waved. Irish languished at the black motor, “Jeez, what a boat!”

  Griselda said, “We might as well all drive down together.”

  Jasper was still saffron. “I can’t drive, Griselda. Look at my hands.” They wobbled.

  “Let me drive it.” The yellow-hair was in at the wheel, his hands tender among the dash-board gadgets. Jasper climbed beside him. Con handed Griselda in back, sat by her.

  He wasn’t playing a part with her now. “How the hell did you get in this mess?”

  “I told you. Nesta disappeared. Oppy-Oppensterner-was badgering Jasper. I said I knew where she was and that I’d drive up with Jap to get her.” She began to shiver. “I didn’t think she’d be dead. I didn’t know it.”

  Con barked, “Don’t snivel.”

  They all went into the old frame hotel. Con called Mrs. Strombaugh, parched, ginghamy.

  “Ed Schaffer says to feed us and I think you’d better let us have a room. My wife’s not feeling so well.” He smiled his confidential smile. “Maybe we could have food in there?”

  The woman liked Con and she couldn’t get over the great Coldwater. “Well, I should say. You come right along.” She took Griselda’s arm.

  Con turned away. “I’ve got to phone. You all go on with Griselda. I’ll be up in a jiff.”

  They watched him cross to the postoffice before they followed the hotel keeper. Irish’s eyes slanted dubiously. Griselda lay on an old-fashioned double bed again. Jasper sank in a chair.

  Irish watched out the window. “I’d like to know who Con’s calling in New York.” Griselda glanced at him, but his face was untouched as a child’s. “Who do you think he’s calling?”

  Griselda answered, “Probably the newspapers. He used to be a newspaperman. And it’s a big story.”

  Jasper sat down again, worried. “Oppy’ll die when he reads about it in the papers. Do you think we could wire him?”

  Griselda said, “Let’s eat first.”

  Con banged in, threw his hat on the bureau, and straddled a chair. “I called Toby and he’s…”

  Griselda stiffened. “Inspector Tobin?”

  Irish started over, belligerent. “What you want to do that for?”

  Con said, “Shut up. Do you think I want to be stuck up here for the next two weeks playing ball with hick sheriffs? Toby’ll guarantee us and get us back to New York before Christmas.”

  Irish licked his mouth. “You got no right to be calling in the New York police.”

  Con took a bottle out of his pocket, unscrewed the cap, swallowed twice, put it back. He wiped his mouth with the knuckles of his hand. “I said for you to shut up. I covered you up on why we’re in Canaan, didn’t I? Suppose I’d told that guy that you had orders to rent a big dump in the country and that you were pea green because you’d get the finger put on you if you didn’t get it rented? So I helped you out. Suppose I told him that?”

  Irish was peaish again. “You wouldn’t do that, Con.”

  He lit a cigarette. “Suppose I told him the truth, that the only reason I’m along is because you went across the border, without orders, and got yourself in such a mess that you couldn’t get back in the States without me guaranteeing you, and that I got you back in because I have a sneaking liking for you after having you on my tail for months, and I didn’t want you to be bumped off because you couldn’t obey orders.”

  Irish muttered, “I didn’t mean it, Con. Forget it” Shame was on his face.

  “I’m not forgetting it.” He banged the chair around. “Now suppose you tell me who sent those orders to you.”

  The boy’s eyes rolled. “I can’t. Honest to God, Con, I can’t!”

  He broke off to the knock, to Mrs. Strombaugh and four gangly girls, all carrying good-smelling platters, all with white pieces of paper to present to Jasper. The girls sidled to him. He was gracious. He signed, handed the papers back, then made his first statement for the public. “I just can’t talk. No one will know what Miss Fahney meant to me.” He turned his back, took a maroon square from his pocket and blew his nose. It was a good scene.

  Mrs. Strombaugh was saying, “Now, if there’s anything else you want you just sing out. Couldn’t do so well not being regular meal-time and no notice, but it’s victuals.” She looked proudly on the chicken platter, the apple pies and applesauce, the hot biscuits, piccalilli, currant jelly, green beans, coffee, cream gravy, potatoes. “Had to fry the potatoes ‘stead of mashing them. Knew you didn’t want to wait for no potatoes to boil.”

  “No, sir!” Con saw her to the door, closed it after her and the string of girls. He put his back against it, continued, “You can’t tell me. Well, you can tell me this. Did you rent that house to have a place to murder Nesta Fahney?”

  Jasper seated himself at the table and began to eat. Griselda joined him.

  “Honest to Christ, no!” Irish was livid to his curls. “I never even heard of her. I swear to Christ!”

  “Answer this one and keep your voice down or it’ll all go back to Schaffer.” Con interjected to the table, “Save some for us,” then back to Irish, “Why were you ordered to follow me?”

  Irish stared at him.

  “It didn’t have anything to do with a blue marble, did it?”

  The boy goggled. He whimpered, “You’ve known all along. You’ve known the whole damn thing!” Rage ate at his face. Griselda cowered. Jasper looked up curiously. “You’ve been making a fool out of me!”

  Griselda screamed, “Look out, Con! He’ll kill you!” She jumped in front of Con, but he shoved her back into the chair.

  “He won’t kill me. I took his stinking gun away from him last night but he doesn’t know it.” He looked at her furiously. “And if anyone is going to kill me keep your puss out of it!”

  She swallowed the throat lump and nibbled again.

  Jasper said coldly, “Do you and your friend have to stage your revolting scene now, Mr. Satterlee? Why don’t you eat first? It’s really quite good.”

  Con said, “Smart idea.” He swung a chair to the table, watching the boy. “Sit down, Irish, and eat.”

  Irish took a step. “I’m getting the hell out of here.”

  Con mumbled through a chicken leg, “As you will. But it won’t help you much to tie up with the Montefierrows right now.”

  Irish licked his lips again, started to speak, then sat down and ate.

  2

  They heard the plane. Jasper laid down the movie magazine and came out of the chair. Griselda lifted her head. ‘That’s Tobin.” Both looked out the window. They went back to their places.

  Jasper sighed. “I hope he gets things fixed up quickly. Do you suppose that Con reached Oppy? I don’t think I’ll go back to Hollywood until this blows over. What was that fight about at lunch?”

  She closed her eyes. “I don’t know.”

  Jasper threw the magazine aside. “Do you think we might go find them?”

  She shook her head. “Con said for us to stay here, together.” He was rotten to her, but he didn’t want her to be alone. He’d insisted Jasper stay with her.

  They waited. It was a long time before the others came; it was twilight. Con, Irish, Tobin, Schaffer, and the Sheriff of Hudson County, his name w
as Dardess.

  She swung her legs off the bed, tried to flatten her hair.

  Tobin said, “Hello, Griselda.”

  Her smile was weak. “You’ll find me all over that room.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. I figured so.”

  Jasper didn’t care about the law. “Did you reach Oppy?”

  Con nodded. “Poor old goat. He was crying over the phone, after he got over the first shock. He’s flying East.”

  Jasper turned away.

  Tobin put his chair in front of Griselda. Con lounged beside her.

  “Now, suppose you tell me about this. You didn’t say you were coming up here.”

  “I didn’t know, Tobin.” She explained it step by step until she and Jasper were in the room; there she stopped. She couldn’t say anything about Nesta.

  He nodded. “Where are your pals? The twins?”

  “I haven’t seen them.” She insisted that he believe her. She couldn’t say anything about the twins either. Not with Con here. He would go after them if he knew, and they were killers. “I thought they were with Nesta.”

  Schaffer drawled, “They’re up at Queechy Lake. We’ve sent word for them to come down.”

  Dardess was an orator. “Must have been a tramp. The way she was chopped up.”

  Jasper wobbled towards the bathroom. Con put his hand on Griselda’s knee, hard. It helped.

  “No ceevilized body’d do that,” he concluded his address. “We get a sight of tramps in the spring.”

  Tobin asked softly, “You wouldn’t know anything about it?”

  She denied. “No, no! I’ve told you the truth.” She knew who did it. Of course she knew. She wouldn’t say. Not unless she could tell of the twins too. They’d made Missy what she was.

  Tobin spoke dryly, “Yeah. I think you’re safe about this.”

  Jasper returned. He was laundry white. “May we go back now?” He collapsed in his chair.

  Schaffer told him, “Sorry, but you’ll all have to be at the inquest in the morning.”

  Tobin added, “Mere formality, you understand.”