The So Blue Marble

by Dorothy B. Hughes

  Jasper walked to the door. To their questioning faces he said, “I’m not leaving. I’m just going to get a room and go to bed.” He half-banged the door after him.

  Dardess asked, “Suppose he means it?”

  “He does.” Tobin strolled to the window.

  Dardess lit a cigar. “What beats me is what a movie star like Nesta Fahney was doing up here anyway!”

  No one spoke. Irish stood in the corner, his fingers nervous. Con held Griselda’s knee. Schaffer walked. Tobin said, “There’s a big car coming in now.” Schaffer and Dardess went out.

  Irish bleated, “I better get me a room if we have to stay all night.”

  Con said, “Sit down.”

  Tobin turned, “It’s the twins.”

  Griselda’s throat was dry. “And-Missy?”

  He nodded, went out.

  Irish pleaded, “You said yourself the place would be overrun with photographers and newspapermen as soon as the planes could get here.”

  Con said, “Hide in the bathroom if you don’t want to see them. Tobin’s going to bring them up here.”

  Irish shot in; the bolt clacked. Con and Griselda didn’t say a word until the corridor door opened. David in hunter’s green coat, black boots, a crop; Danny in sand color; Missy, a tiny boy in jodhpurs, checkered jacket. Three city vacationers. The three officials were behind them.

  David came to Griselda. “This is horrible. Inspector Tobin just told us. I’m too shocked to be lucid.”

  Danny wiped his forehead. “I can’t believe it. It’s impossible.”

  Missy said, “She was so beautiful,” but behind her face a leopard licked his chops.

  David’s dark brows raised. “And how ghastly for you, Griselda, to discover it.”

  She nodded, “Con, these are the Montefierrow twins I’ve spoken of.” She completed the introductions, “My husband, Mr. Satterlee.” They shook hands, everything mannerly.

  Con said, “You don’t remember me, Missy?”

  She wriggled. “I remember your name. And the wedding.”

  Griselda spoke again. “I don’t believe you’ve met my sister, Inspector Tobin, my other sister, I mean.”

  “Only downstairs. I’ve heard of you.” They shook hands, Missy dimpling up at him like a child. Jasper Coldwater had a word for it: revolting.

  Dardess was impatient of the preliminaries. He rolled his cigar from the left corner of his oblong mouth to the right. “You folks knew the deceased?”

  It was commedia dell’ arte: David, Danny, Missy, all feeling for their cigarettes, the monogrammed ones, all lighting them from separate matches.

  Danny spoke first “Know her? Yes. She drove up here with me on Sunday night I’d mentioned the place and it appealed to her. She was worn out from her Hollywood schedule and had a hard London session ahead. She really needed a rest. She asked if I’d mind if she came along.”

  Schaffer’s voice was gentle. “Why did you claim to be husband and wife?”

  “Oh, that!” Danny didn’t give his schoolboy smile. He was solemn, respectful. “She didn’t want to be known. She explained how in the cinema there was no privacy and she needed it And also,” he was delicate, “she didn’t wish anyone to be shocked, our staying together. Although the house was large enough, as you know, for a half dozen or more. That is why.” He seemed to think it was well-explained.

  Danny went on, distraught now, but Griselda watched his eyes. They were like glass, as if they did not know what his voice and hands and brows were doing.

  “I don’t know who could have done this fiendish thing. My brother and Missy,” he spoke as if she were a little girl, “drove in early Tuesday morning.”

  David took on now, pleasantly, easily. “We liked the idea of the lake rather than inland. Nesta-Miss Fahney-decided not to move on with us. She was to sail the first of the week for her London engagement and thought she should get back to the city although wishing to stay on here. We left early. She said she would sleep a while longer, leave in the afternoon. We thought that was what she’d done.” He shrugged. “You can’t imagine the horror of your news to us.”

  Missy was malice but no one could know. “She was so beautiful.”

  Danny’s crop twitched.

  Schaffer’s easy voice came again. “What I’d like to know is how you moved into Wilson’s place when it was already rented.”

  Danny seemed surprised at the question, genuinely surprised. “We rented it through an agent a Mr. Galvatti.”

  Griselda’s mouth straightened. Irish was to stand the gaff then.

  ”Mmm.” It was Schaffer again. “Irish Galvatti?”

  “Yes. That’s the name.”

  “Where is that guy?” Dardess wanted to know.

  Con said, “I sent him out to get some air. He was getting jittery.”

  Tobin spoke aside, “Is his alibi real, Con?”

  “I’d oath it, Toby.”

  Danny asked, “You mean Galvatti is here?”

  “He was here,” Con said.

  Schaffer remarked, “Even if he didn’t kill her he’ll have a few things to answer for when he comes back-if he does.”

  “He’d better come back,” Con said. “He’s paroled to me out of Mexico and I got to get him back in.”

  “Paroled for what?” Dardess demanded.

  “Got mixed up in a knife scrape. But I’m telling you he couldn’t have killed Nesta Fahney. He hasn’t been out of my sight.”

  There was pounding at the door. “Probably the news hounds.” Tobin opened it a crack, held it You could hear voices. “What you doing here, Toby? What the hell, Toby!”

  He said, “Sit yourselves in the lobby or the bar. We’ll give you all the dope in a little while. But you can’t come in here.”

  “Who’s in there? Got the killer?”

  “If you won’t play ball, you get nothing.”

  They went away, noisy.

  Griselda whispered, “I didn’t hear the planes,” and Con said, “I did.”

  Tobin came back, sat down again.

  Con continued, “You say the dame’s been dead for twenty-four to thirty-six hours at least. We were still West then.”

  Danny spoke. “We’ve been at the lake since early yesterday morning.”

  “And Griselda was in the city,” Tobin told them. “I saw her at the Waldorf last night. Plenty of alibis.”

  Danny smiled wistfully. “What good are alibis? They can’t re-create a beautiful girl.”

  David said, “If there’s anything at all we can do to help clear this up, call on us.”

  “You’re still planning to stay up here?” Tobin asked.

  David swung his crop. “We’ve taken the Queechy cottage for this week. We plan to sail for home at the end of that time.”

  Tobin crossed his legs. “I thought you’d come to make us a longer visit.”

  “Sorry.” David smiled. “Business brought us over, and it takes us back.”

  “Your business here is finished?”

  “It will be by then.” A charming smile.

  Tobin rose. “I imagine Sheriff Dardess will want you for the inquest. That right?”

  Schaffer said, “Nine in the morning.”

  Dardess cleared his throat. “I expect we ought to be seeing the press, eh, Inspector?”

  “Yeah.”

  They filed out. Griselda undertoned to Con, “Don’t leave me here alone.”

  He walked the twins and Missy to the door. “See you at dinner? Or are you back to the lake at once?”

  David nodded, “We’ll probably be here. Nice to meet you.”

  More politeness. Missy behaving as a sweet child, which she had never been. Then they were gone. Con locked the door.

  He said, “Lie down again, sugar. You need it.” He pushed her back on the pillows as he walked by to rattle the bathroom knob. “You can come out, punk.”

  The whisper came through. “Is the door locked?”

  “Yeah. Come out.”

&nbs
p; Even then he didn’t, not until Con said, “Well, come on. If you’ve been listening, and I know damn well you have, you ought to know by now that I wouldn’t doublecross you.”

  “I’m not afraid of you.” The match for his cigarette was as in wind.

  “But you are afraid of certain other guys not so far off. All right. I get it. Now listen, Irish, it so happens that a bunch of us want to get back home so we’d just as soon not have any more killings around here. That’s the only reason I’m getting you out of this.”

  “Oh, God, Con!” He was shaking. “Get me out and you can write your own ticket. You don’t know-”

  “My imagination’s up to par, thanks. You do as I say and you’ll get out whole.”

  Griselda was weary. “I don’t see how you’re going to do it.”

  “I do. You’re going to get under that bed, Irish, and stay there until I tell you to come out”

  The boy’s eyes were round, like blue marbles.

  “Griselda stays in bed. Downstairs there’s the press. There’ll be some guys I know. I can trust them. They’re going to get you out of here tonight and fly you back.”

  Irish twittered. “I’m afraid. I’m afraid, I tell you.”

  Con’s lip was disgust. “How you ever got into the Montefierrow bunch, I don’t know.” He shouldered the boy. “You’re not afraid of me. I’ve been square with you. I didn’t tell them it was a woman you killed down there, did I?” He flung him away. “Stop being a sniveling idiot and get under that bed. It’ll be dirty and hot, but it’s better than the twins.” Irish bolted, wiggled under. “Now, Griselda, I’m going down and have a few drinks with the boys. You get up and lock this door when I go. Leave the key in the lock. Put a chair under the knob. When I come back I’ll holler and you’ll know it’s I. If anyone else knocks, you’re asleep. And if anyone tries to break in, you yell bloody murder. Understand?”

  She nodded, eyes wide. He bent over her and kissed her mouth, so quickly she didn’t know it had happened until it was done. “O.K., kid.”

  She followed, locked the door and braced it went back into bed. Con had kissed her. But it didn’t mean anything. She knew what it was. She’d seen him kiss other women. It was commendation for being a good sport.

  PART XI

  Con didn’t come back. But the twins couldn’t have hurt him. Tobin was there. Besides she’d kept quiet; she hadn’t ever said a word against the twins. They wouldn’t hurt Con when she’d been good.

  Once Irish whispered, “Could you get me a drink of water?” She did; shoved it under. She was afraid of him, too. She was afraid of everyone, everything. She didn’t deserve Con’s kiss.

  It was dark. She turned on the light. There wasn’t any lamp, only a top light She looked to see if Irish showed but the old-fashioned white bedspread hung to the floor. Someone knocked, once, again. She held her breath. Someone went away. She tried to read the fan magazine of Jasper’s. Inanities. Griselda Cameron Saterlee, rising young fashion designer, has gone to New York for a month’s vacation. Nesta Fahney and Jasper Coldwater leaving on the Sky Chief. Nesta smiling. It is rumored Nesta and Jasper are two-ing, although both deny.

  Footsteps, noise, knocking. Con’s voice, “Wake up, Griselda! Let me in.” She scurried to the door.

  Con had been drinking. He was lively. ‘”Lo, honey babe. You guys know my wife?” One, called Tom; one, Skipper; one, Tookey; one, Quip, and Tobin. “She discovered this.” A swarm towards her. Con halted it, “Not now. She’s got to eat. Tobin’s going to buy you dinner while we…”

  Quip had a bottle, Tookey, cards. They were taking off their coats, rolling up their sleeves, settling their hats. One said, “I’ll get a coupla more chairs out of our room.”

  Griselda took her bag, went into the bathroom. She washed her face, lipsticked, combed her hair. She came back, put on her hat and coat and her glasses, took up her gloves.

  Con put his arm around her shoulder. “Hurry back, now. No tricks, Toby.”

  There was laughter in the confusion. Her cheeks were pink. She and Tobin went down the stairs. The dining room was crowded with others like those upstairs. There was a table saved for her and Tobin. He said, “I’ve eaten. There’s no choice but it’s good. Con thought you’d prefer an escort in this mob.”

  She was grateful to him. She was afraid of the twins. She mustn’t be alone.

  She said, although she knew she should not, “I’m sick with killings-senseless killings…”

  “I should think you would be.” He was kind. “Did you see Nesta killed?”

  “No. Oh, no!” She began to eat hurriedly.

  “Grain?”

  She shook her head.

  “You were at the bank. You saw that man die.”

  She swallowed, kept shaking her head senselessly.

  He said, “We’ve definite proof, you know. Gram was killed in your apartment. You were in the bank that night. You were in Nesta’s bedroom.”

  She knew how trapped things died, their hearts pounding too hard, their bones like sticks.

  He leaned to her, “Why did you come to New York at this particular time? What’s your tie-up with the Montefierrow twins? Why were these three murders committed?”

  He was waiting for an answer. Words crammed her brain, choked on her tongue. She broke out, “I can’t tell you. I can’t tell you anything. Don’t you think I want to?” Tears blinded her. “If I’m put under oath I know I’ll have to talk. But I won’t now. I-I can’t.” Water spilling on the fried chicken.

  He sighed, passed over a spandy handkerchief.”Mop up. I can’t figure you in this, Griselda. Con thinks you’re O.K. He’s even introducing you as his wife to put you across to Schaffer who isn’t dumb, and to Dardess who isn’t smart. Maybe Con knows you better than I. He should. All I know is that whether you’re innocent as you look or guilty as hell, you’re in this thing up to your neck.”

  She touched her neck with one finger. She didn’t speak.

  “Did you see the hatchet?” Tobin asked.

  Her throat was stuck. “What hatchet?”

  “The one that cut up Nesta.” Her breath said no.

  “It was in the sheet. We’ve sent it for prints. If there’s any on it the Montefierrows weren’t there. They don’t leave calling cards.” It came so suddenly, she jumped. “Where’s the blue marble?”

  Her reply was mechanical. “I don’t have it I don’t know anything about it.”

  He escorted her to Con’s room. The door wasn’t locked. The five were still at the table, matches for chips, the air dusty with smoke.

  Con yelled, “Join us, Toby?”

  “Not you crooks. I’m off to bed.”

  The newsmen protested volubly.

  Toby said, “Goodnight” banged the door.

  Con pulled out his watch. “Nine-thirty. At nine-forty-five, Skipper, you go up and talk to him. Griselda, honey babe, you get yourself ready for bed.”

  She eyed him. “I didn’t plan to spend the night.”

  He looked back at her, then his mouth was a grin. “Oh. My bag’s in that closet. Help yourself.”

  She found pajamas, dark paisley, bluish, greenish. She undressed in the bathroom, rolled up sleeves and legs, came back to the bed and leaned on it The men ignored her. She picked up the fan magazine but she didn’t read it..

  Tookey said, “Quarter to, Skipper.”

  “O.K.” They checked over the matches, paid off to Quip, Con and Tookey. Skipper said, “Give me ten minutes, then shoot.” He went out.

  Con’s watch lay on the table. They were more noisy now. Con locked the door. He said, “Keep it up.” Tom began to sing. Quip harmonized badly.

  Con reached under the bed, hauled out Irish, whispered, “Don’t say a word, punk. Go in the bathroom and take off your things.” Tom went with him, still singing. Tookey stood against the corridor door. Tom emerged in the yellow jersey, the gray flannels. “I look like a god-damn pervert.”

  Irish came after him. He had on Tom’s
un-pressed suit. Con pulled the hat down over the yellow hair, looked at him.

  Tookey said, “Give him goggles.”

  “Need mine,” Quip protested.

  “Me, too.” Tom held his.

  Con spied. “Baby’s!” He pulled them from her nose, put them on Irish. “O.K.”

  Griselda wanted to know, “What am I supposed to do?”

  “You don’t need them as much as I. Besides you’re better-looking without them.” He pushed a bottle under Irish’s nose. The boy drank until he said, “Enough. You know what to do. Irish, keep your mouth shut and play ball. And may I never see your puking mug again.” He pushed him doorwards.

  Tookey was on one side, Quip on the other. They linked the boy’s arms, took up their song again, made an epithetic loud-sounding farewell. Con yelled after them, banged the door, wiped his forehead with his hand. He went to the table, shook the last drop from the bottle into his mouth. Tom was by the window. “There they go.” Faint discords in the night. A car noising away.

  Tom announced, “I’ll sneak out but not in these damn canary feathers. Give us your coat, Con.”

  “Bring it back in the morning.”

  “Oke.” He winked at Griselda. “Pleasant dreams.”

  Con locked the door, spraddled a chair. “Wish I had a drink.”

  “You’ve had enough.”

  He looked at her as if he’d forgotten she was there. “Not by half.”

  She put down the magazine. “Will they get him away?”

  “Those guys would cut Toby’s throat for an exclusive.” He began to take off his shoes. She folded, unfolded the pajama sleeves. He took off his shirt, scratched his back. It was like five years ago. “God, I need a drink. You don’t have any?”

  She waved her head.

  He opened the closet door, kicked out his bag, rummaged for a toothbrush, shaving tackle. He left the bag a cuckoo’s nest. He always had. He went into the bathroom. She sat on the outside of the bed, her hands folded.

  When he came back he said, “You’ll have to spend the night with me. Those country cops think we’re married. They needed a respectable touch what with movie stars and international soc boys.”

  He put out the light. His cigarette was a tiny rose madder circle. She wriggled to the far side of the bed. His side creaked when he swung in.