There were still one sandwich and a few ginger cookies in the basket; Tweeters offered them to Max as a good host should, but Max shook his head.
“You have it. I'm too …oh, hell. You know.”
Being a bachelor, Tweeters probably did not know; but neither did he refuse food at any time, in any quantity or any place. If he didn't eat it himself, which was unlikely, there would surely be a customer among the puffins, the kittiwakes, or some other avian friends. He whiled away the last leg of the ride caroling “Lets all sing like the albatross sings …” It was doubtful whether Max heard a single note of the serenade, which was just as well since Tweeters did sound a lot like an albatross.
The welcoming committee was even bigger than Max had anticipated, but they had the decency to stand back while Max extricated himself slowly and painfully from his cramped quarters and limped into Sarah's outstretched arms. Tweeters leaped out on the landing deck and diverted Davy by showing him how to feed the last of the sandwiches to a flock of visiting terns. There was no holding him for long, though, and after a far too short interval the whole crowd converged on the wanderer and bore him in triumph to his chariot. They all piled into various other vehicles and formed a parade all the way to Ireson's Landing, horns tooting and banners flying.
Packed in the backseat of the Thunderbird, with one arm around his wife and the other around his son, Max didn't even bother fending off Davy's hugs. “All right, son, simmer down. Give me a big kiss and I'll tell you about the fish that swam around the rock.”
“Why did they swim around the rock, Daddy?”
“Well, mainly because there was no place else for them to go. There wasn't much of a place for me to go, either. I had to just keep swimming around and around and around a big rock that had all kinds of seaweed stuck to it. And that's what I had to eat, all the time I was there. I was out in the middle of the ocean—well, maybe not quite the middle, but pretty far out, and there was nobody there but me, and that's what I did, and I hope I never have to do it again. I don't even want to take a bath in more than three inches of water.”
“You mean you were out there all by your only self?” demanded Davy.
He looked so worried, Max tried to think of something cheerful “Oh, no. There were a lot of nice little fishes swimming in and out of the seaweed.”
“Did you catch any? You could have played with them.”
“They didn't want to play,” Max said regretfully. By the time Tweeter came he could have eaten one of the nice little fishes raw. “And there were birds. Some of them were seagulls, but the others didn't have the decency to introduce themselves. You'll have to ask our friend Tweeter to tell you about them. He knows everything about birds.”
When they reached the house Jed Lomax and Mrs. Blufert were waiting. Finally Max excused himself to wash off some of the encrusted salt and find clothes that had been worn less than three days. He'd hoped Sarah would come and help him, which she appeared more than willing to do. Fortunately or unfortunately, Davy was determined to help, too. So Max cut his shower shorter than he'd have liked and changed into slacks and a shirt and joined the rest of the crowd on the deck, with Davy clinging to his hand.
Egbert mixed the drinks, and Charles served them, and Miriam had made enough hot canapás for an army. Max bit into a delectable concoction involving horseradish and a sliver of roast beef and wondered if the past few days had been only a horrible dream.
“So talk, little brother,” Miriam said, putting a platter of cheese puffs on the table. “This is probably the only time in your life you won't be interrupted every five seconds, so make the most of it. What happened?”
“I don't remember. Logic, and the bump on my head, strongly suggests that persons unknown knocked me out shortly after I left here, tied me up and dumped me into a boat, took me out some distance from shore, and then tossed me out of the boat into the ocean. For reasons that still elude me, they untied me before they dropped me over the side of the boat, so I managed to keep afloat until it dawned on me that I was close to a big rock, which was the only thing I could see except water. I climbed onto it, and then I guess I must have passed out. A few hours or days later I noticed that the stuff clinging to the rocks was seaweed. I happened to remember from my Boy Scout days that seaweed is not only edible, but just about the most vitamin-filled food there is. And that's what I lived on, from the time I opened my eyes and realized what I was seeing until sometime this morning when Tweeters showed up in his seaplane.”
Miriam was looking a bit green around the gills. “How ghastly, Max. Now, Mama, don't cry, he's back safe and everything's all right.”
“Seaweed!” Mother Bittersohn groaned. “Oh, Max, my poor boy! Is that all you had to eat? You must be starved. Miriam, go make him a sandwich.”
Max grinned at her. “It could have been worse, Mama. If I hadn't happened to remember my old scoutmaster, who used to take us down on the beach at Revere and give us lectures on what to eat and what to leave alone, I could have starved to death out of sheer ignorance.”
“You wouldn't have starved in three days,” said his sister practically. “What would you like to eat tonight? Not fish, I don't suppose.”
“I never managed to catch any, but I have to admit dreams of roast beef danced in my head.”
“Then I'd better go and see how soon it will be ready.” She gave him a pat on the head as she passed him. So did Theonia.
“I'll help,” she cooed. “Max, it sure is good to have you back.”
“Its good to be back.” Max shaded his eyes with his hand. “Who the hell is that coming up the drive? Not another distant relative with a belated wedding present?”
“Oh, my goodness,” Sarah gasped. “They must have let her out. I suppose she's coming to thank us, or—”
“The Zickery woman.” Calpurnia was still some distance away, but Max's vision was twenty-twenty. “Let her out of where? The Massachusetts State Home for the Bewildered?”
“No, not exactly. Max, dear, we have something of a situation.”
“So what else is new? Care to tell me about it?”
“I'd better, before she gets here.” Sarah glanced at Davy and lowered her voice. “What happened was that our friend here took it into his head to go visit the neighbors without mentioning his intentions to anyone. We searched for hours before it occurred to me to look for him there. He'd fallen asleep in the front room, unbeknownst to his hostess. I picked him up and started back, and then … well, then Alister ran after us with a club, shouting curses, and heaven only knows what would have happened if his sister hadn't pulled a cute little pistol out of that baggy jumpsuit she'd been wearing all week and put two bullets into her brother's head, neat as a pin.”
“You mean she just walked up to him and bang bang?” Max managed to get his breath back. “And he tried to—”
“Hush, she'll hear you. I'm sorry to spring it on you like this, darling, I was going to break it more gently.”
“Jesus,” Max muttered. “Gently, she says! Davy, will you do a big favor for your starving dad? Go ask Aunt Mimi for, uh, some cheese and crackers, and maybe a few cookies for the waiter.”
That got Davy out of the way. Sarah was not used to having a near neighbor who was a murderess in some degree, if not the first. She did the best she could on such short notice.
“It's nice to see you, Miss Zickery. Lovely evening, isn't it? The sunset over the water is, uh, lovely.”
“Which probably augurs a wet day tomorrow.” Calpurnia settled herself firmly in the chair Miriam had left. She was wearing a rather smart jumpsuit, dark gray piped in red, and she'd had her hair styled. She turned a curious stare on Max. “So you're back, I see. If you don't mind my saying so, Mr. Bittersohn, it was most inconsiderate of you to leave your wife and child unprotected. If it hadn't been for me, Alister would have done them in. Where is the dear little fellow?”
“With his aunt,” Max said. “I'm glad to have a chance to thank you, Miss Zickery. I assure
you my absence was, as they say, involuntary.”
“You mean somebody kidnapped you? How odd. I wonder if it could have been Allie.”
“Is he—was he—in the habit of kidnapping people?”
“No, not really. He was rather in the habit of hitting them over the head, but once he'd done it he usually just let them lie where they fell. He really was a nasty piece of work. Now that he's gone I can start enjoying myself. Perhaps you could suggest the name of a good electrician.”
Accustomed as he was to the Kelling clan, Max usually had no difficulty following eccentric conversations, but he wasn't at his best. “Why do you want an electrician?”
“And a plumber and a builder. I'm going to fix the old place up. It will be so nice having you all as neighbors.”
“Very nice,” Sarah said hollowly.
“I must be running along,” Callie announced, reaching for the last of the cheese puffs. “So much to do, and finally the money to do it with. I expect I'll see you in court, Mrs. Bittersohn, if not before.”
“How can she stay there?” Sarah demanded as the convivial murderess jogged briskly away. “The place is a wreck. It would probably cost less to tear the house down and start all over again.”
“Sounds as if she's expecting to come into an inheritance,” Jem said. “Hmmm. Have you ever heard of Plato Zickery?”
“No, I cant say I have. Enlighten me.”
“Happy to” Jem refilled his glass. “Plato was a miner who struck it big in the Gold Rush of 1849 and spent the rest of his life dinning it into his sons that they'd better hang on to their money because there wouldn't be any more where that came from. Needless to say, that was not the case. My great-aunt Cerissa either married Plato or didn't, I forget which.”
“You never mentioned that,” Sarah said.
“No, it slipped my mind. Things do. What the hell, I can't keep track of everything. But as I recall, the Zickerys each owned his or her personal bank, and every one of them was too mean to spend a nickel that they didn't have to. It wasn't until the great-grandchildren began flocking around with hope in their hearts and greed in their eyes that some of the older generation figured it was time to loosen the purse strings a little. Once they got in the habit they couldn't stop. Old Plato's legacy was gone when they used to come here for the summer, or so people said, but maybe one branch of the family managed to hang on to part of it. I can find out if you want me to.”
If it was anything about money, Jem got it right, but Sarah shook her head. “It's nothing to do with us, Uncle Jem. I hope the poor thing has enough to enjoy herself with, that's all. She must have led a horrible life with Alister, never knowing when he was going to attack someone.”
Brooks had been fidgeting, in his controlled way. Max was beginning to sag, but he knew his right-hand man well. “What's up, Brooks? Something on your mind?”
Brooks hesitated. “It can wait till later. I think I hear Miriam calling us to dinner.”
The food was superb, as it had to be with Miriam and Theonia cooking and Egbert helping. Davy behaved like a dream. All he'd wanted was his father back, and now he had him. He didn't even object to going to bed so long as it was Max who put him there, so Max tucked him in and told him a story about the little fishes swimming in the kelp and stroked his curly head until he fell asleep. Max would have given his eyeteeth to follow his sons example, but: duty called. He dragged himself back down the stairs to join the party.
They were still gathered around the big table in the kitchen, and it looked as if the celebration was in full swing. Max fixed his smile back in place, straightened his shoulders, and prepared to be a jolly good fellow for God alone knew how many more hours.
Sarah came to meet him and took his arm. “Excuse me, everyone. May I just say a few words?”
The tumult and the shouting died. Smiling faces looked expectantly at her.
“I love you all,” Sarah said. “And so far as I'm concerned you can sit here and celebrate till the dawn comes up like thunder, or however it comes. If any of you want to stay the night, you know where to find sheets and towels and anything else you may need. We will see you in the morning. Late morning. Good night.”
A hearty cheer, led by the unmistakable voice of Jem Kelling, followed them as they left the room.
21
Max could be almost preternaturally clever when it came to making coffee, sectioning grapefruit, and finding the bag of muffins that Sarah had brought home from the new bakery down near the Landing; but he had never yet been able to grasp the method by which a person of reasonable faculties and attainments could go about extracting the inside of a raw egg from the outside without making an ungodly mess.
Such a foray into farmyard matters must surely require iron nerve and careful treatment, which it was not going to get from Max Bittersohn. Not this morning.
He had waked up at dawn and found himself snuggled into bed with a beautiful women who happened by a felicitous coincidence to be his wife. It seemed a pity not to take advantage of the coincidence, and he was pleased to find that Sarah was of the same opinion. The next time he woke she looked so tired and so beautiful, he decided to surprise her by getting breakfast. He felt wonderful. He felt capable of anything. Except breaking eggs.
They were in the refrigerator, neatly arrayed in their individual cardboard coops. Max brooded over the eggs for a while, put them back in the refrigerator, made coffee, found the muffins, ate one, and was about to make it two when Sarah appeared in a ravishing garment of blue-and-white gingham with approximately twenty yards of ruffles around the edges.
“Goodness, Max, how can you make such a mess just standing in the middle of the floor?”
“It isn't easy, but I'm a man of many talents, in case you haven't noticed.”
“What are you grinning about?” Sarah asked suspiciously.
“If you don't know, you weren't paying attention last night.”
The mating call of the ruffled grouse echoed along the hall. It was answered by the seductive response of the female grouse. Brooks and Tweeters had met on the stairs, When the birders came in Sarah was breaking eggs and Max was busy with the coffeemaker, since he'd drunk the first batch.
“Ah,” Brooks said, “You're alone.”
“We were,” Max said.
Brooks tactfully pretended not to notice Sarah's pink cheeks. “Well, once this business is settled well all leave you in peace.”
Sarah turned, the egg whisk in her hand. “Oh, Brooks, dear, Max didn't mean—”
“Yes, he did.” Brooks and Max exchanged man-to-man smiles.
“Mean what?” Tweeters asked.
“Never mind, Tweeters.” Sarah patted him on the head.
“I believe”—Brooks took up his narrative—“that we are one step nearer to a solution. I didn't receive the news until yesterday afternoon, and what with all the excitement I decided it could wait until this morning.”
“What could wait?” Max poured coffee all around.
“Well, you see, I had a hunch,” Brooks said in a pleased voice. “After we realized Max had been snatched, as we say in the PI business, I got to thinking about Theonia's warning. They were after him this time, she said. That sounded like something personal. So I went back through the files, endeavoring to ascertain whether any of the individuals he had put away might hold a grudge.”
“I should think all of them would.”
“No, no, you'd be surprised what nice chaps the majority of art thieves are. Quite the gentlemen, some of them. The real professionals dislike violence. I concentrated on the ones who had committed violent crimes or who had expressed antagonism toward Max. One name stood out like the proverbial sore thumb. The man who deliberately and cold-bloodedly broke Sarah's arm, whom Max beat to a pulp immediately thereafter, and who was intimately connected with the Kelling jewels.”
“Good heavens,” Sarah exclaimed. “Aunt Caroline's little lover? But he's in jail, Brooks.”
“Where Max's evidence
put him,” Brooks pointed out. “However, Harry Lackridge is not in prison. He'd been a model prisoner, it seems, and he had developed a serious heart condition. The doctor gave him less than a year to live. Taking those factors into consideration, the parole board let him out three months ago. Sarah, do you remember what he looked like?”
“Physically, he was a watered-down version of Alexander. Alexander was the handsomest man I ever saw. Harry wasn't; but he had Alexander's height, and thin build, and aquiline features, and of course he'd gone to the same schools, so their accents were similar. I suppose,” Sarah said slowly, “he'd have been a fine-looking man if he'd been a better man. Character does have an effect on a person's looks, you know. Harry always looked as if he were sneering. There was no kindness in him, and it showed. I suppose some women find that arrogant manner attractive, though I can't imagine why. Aunt Caroline certainly did. She bilked Alexander and me of everything we owned in order to please her little lover.”
“Who proceeded to bilk her of everything she gave him.” Max still looked a little dazed. “Damn! Why didn't I think of Lackridge?”
“You wouldn't have recognized him,” Brooks said. “His hair had turned snow white in prison, and there wasn't much left of his face.”
“You mean Lackridge was”is”the corpse?” Sarah gasped.
“The identification has been confirmed,” Brooks said precisely. “Once we had a name it didn't take long to get a fingerprint comparison. I haven't been able to trace his movements between the time he was released and the day he signed up as a member of the tent crew, but we're working on it.”
“Macbeth,” Max muttered. “It makes sense, doesn't it? ‘Infirm of purpose! Give me the daggers!’ Caroline Kelling was the one who committed the murders, not Harry. That's why he got off with a relatively light sentence. I suppose he blamed her for instigating the whole ugly business.”
The Balloon Man Page 18
