The Balloon Man

by Charlotte MacLeod

“That's the way a mind like his would work,” said Theonia, sweeping into the kitchen in a flutter of silk and lace. “Many people think in those terms, I'm afraid, always trying to shift the responsibility onto someone else. Sit down, Sarah, I'll wait on myself.”

  Brooks wouldn't allow that, of course. He seated his lady and brought her juice and coffee.

  Max had been thinking. “That still leaves a lot of questions unanswered, Brooks. If Lackridge was trying to get the rubies back, who brought them here, and who killed Lackridge?”

  The discussion had to be postponed. Davy came in, towing Jesse and demanding watercress sandwiches so they could go feed the gulls. He graciously agreed to eat his cereal and drink his juice first. Before long the whole group was assembled, except for Charles, who had gone back to Tulip Street. Sarah was cooking eggs as fast as she could. When the eggs ran out, there was one of Theonia's almond coffee cakes to be devoured and a few more pots of coffee to be drunk. Before they finished, Mrs. Blufert arrived. She had brought her grandchildren, who were great pals of Davy's, and the three were soon happily having alligator races on the upper deck.

  Mrs. Blufert cast an appraising eye around the kitchen and reached for an apron. “Now you all just get on out of here,” she ordered. “No, Mrs. Sarah, don't you dare touch a single dish, just go and set a while in the sun and rest. I don't want any help from anybody. Leave me to get on with things.”

  There was no arguing with Mrs. Blufert when she was in that mood. They retreated to the seaward deck, from which Sarah could keep an eye on Davy, and Max said, “We need to settle our plans for the day. Jem, I can't thank you and Egbert enough for keeping the home fires burning and the martinis mixed, but you must be yearning for Beacon Hill.”

  “We have no intention of deserting the ship, Mr. Max,” Egbert said stoutly.

  “I think we're almost out of the woods now, Egbert, if you'll excuse me for mixing my metaphors.” Max had been thinking. “It must have been Alister who killed Lackridge. Didn't Calpurnia say he had a habit of hitting people on the head, more or less at random? He was loony enough to go in for smoke bombs and stupid enough to think hiding the body under the tent would get the police off the track.”

  “You were hit on the head, too.” Sarah shivered. She was remembering the maniacal look on Alister's face and the club he had brandished.

  “That could have been Alister,” Max agreed. He rubbed his head. “Damn, I wish I could remember more. He must have done something to get me to stop the car and get out. Ran out in the road waving his arms and yelling for help, maybe. After he knocked me out he could have dumped me in the backseat and driven to the shore, kept me tied up and unconscious till after dark, then transferred me to a boat. Do the Zickerys own a boat?”

  “Easy enough to rent or steal one,” Brooks said thoughtfully. “There are a lot of boats and a lot of docks in this neck of the woods. Could he have done all that by himself, Max?”

  “No. He had to have had help with some of it. Calpurnia might have lent a hand with moving the corpse. Once the deed was done she might have gone along with Alister to keep him from walloping her. She wouldn't admit it because that would make her an accessory after the fact. I can't see any sane person conniving in premeditated first-degree murder, though, which is what it would have been if they'd dumped me into the ocean with my hands and feet tied. Somebody did untie me. Maybe that was Calpurnia. Then there's that balloonist or handyman, or whatever he is; is he still there?”

  “Why don't I just wander over to the Zickery place and look for him?” Jesse suggested hopefully.

  Max grinned at him. “Aching to punch someone, are you? You probably couldn't find him, Jesse, he seems to be good at being inconspicuous. There's somebody else who knows some of the answers, and this time I'm going to get them out of him one way or another. Maybe with Egbert's rubber hose.”

  “Louie,” Jem said. “Good thinking, Max. I'll be happy to lend a hand with the rubber hose. That's probably the only satisfaction I can get out of him for wrecking my car.”

  “Charles is going to get your vehicle out of the police lot and take it to a body shop he knows,” Brooks said. “It's still driveable, but I'm afraid that the fines and the repairs will amount to a tidy sum.”

  Jem looked as if he had been struck in the face. “Never mind the rubber hose, Max. Where can we borrow a rack?”

  He cheered up, though, at the prospect of returning to the beloved apartment on Beacon Hill. He and Egbert went off to pack. Brooks and Theonia followed them upstairs; they had brought clothes enough for only one night, and the office work was piling up.

  “Do you have to go, Max?” Sarah asked.

  Jesse was looking tactfully out to sea, so Max gave his wife a quick kiss. “I have a feeling we're on the verge of ending this thing, süssele. It would be good if we could clear it up before the kids come back from their honeymoon; you don't want it hanging over them, do you? Don't worry about me, I'll have Jem and Egbert with me, fully armed with penny whistles and rubber hoses. Jesse will stay here with you till I get back, which won't be long. Stick close to the house, and don't fall for any phony telephone calls, okay?”

  “You'd better tell Davy you're going,” Sarah said. “I hope he won't be upset.”

  Davy took the news far better than she had expected. Max promised to be back by suppertime and assured his son he wouldn't go out in the ocean anymore without Davy to look after him, and that did the job.

  “He's a changed child,” Sarah said wonderingly. “He knew, Max. I swear he knew you were in real danger.”

  “So did you.” He hadn't told her he had dreamed of her, heard her voice calling him. “‘There are more things in heaven and earth…’ as Mortlake the tent man might have remarked.” Max put his arm around Sarah's shoulders. “There's nothing to worry about this time, love. I'll have those two stalwarts Jem and Egbert with me.”

  By the time everyone got packed and collected it was almost time for lunch, so they finished the rest of Miriam's salad and the last of the bread and cheese and ham, and finally Max got his elderly passengers into Sarah's little compact. The police had found no trace of his car. He'd better talk to Ira about a replacement, Max thought. If the Mercedes hadn't been found by now, it was probably gone for good, driven over a cliff or sold to a dealer in stolen cars.

  Jem was still brooding over the damage to his cherished vehicle. He sang songs about bodies and hangings all the way to Boston.

  As Max had expected, Louie was still incarcerated. The new Charles Street jail, as it was still called, wasn't as easy to get out of as the old one had been, but Louie didn't want to get out anyhow, as he was the first to admit.

  “Good of you to drop in,” he said, rising politely to meet them. “I trust that's all you have in mind. If you've any intention of offering to make bail, forget it. I'm quite comfortable here. The food is rather boring, of course. If you can believe it, they refused my request for Gorgonzola. I haven't tasted the ambrosial stuff since I was locked up. And unfortunately I lack the facilities for entertaining visitors properly. You didn't happen to bring an electric teakettle and a supply of Lapsang Souchong, did you?”

  “Cut it out, Louie,” Max said. “Since we last spoke I've been kidnapped and cast out to sea, where I spent three days sitting on a rock eating seaweed. I'm not in the mood for fun and games.”

  “Oh, dear.” Louie remained standing, since Egbert and Jem were occupying the bunk. “I'm sorry to hear that. You don't think I had a hand in it, do you? I have the perfect alibi, best one I've ever had.”

  “No, but I think you know who did. Your brother Dewey.”

  “Why on earth should you suspect Dewey?” Louie's close-set eyes shifted. “There isn't any such person. I made him up.”

  “Like hell you did. One of the few things I remember from my lost weekend, or weekday, is seeing a face resembling yours bending over me. There can't be more than two people in the world who look like that, and one of them was here in Charles Str
eet Jail at the time. What does Dewey do for a living? I know, I know, he's an actor and you're his stand-in and if you think I'm dumb enough to believe that, you can think again. Does he pick locks, too, or has he other equally unacceptable skills?”

  Louie sighed. “I suppose I had better come clean. Dewey's a basket weaver. He's quite good at it, too.” Seeing Max's expression, he added hastily, “That's the plain truth, Mr. Max. How do you think Dewey broke out?”

  “Of prison? Now we're getting somewhere. So Dewey's on the lam, eh? What was he in for?”

  “Oh, Dewey isn't violent. He's a very gentle soul. They got him for bank robbery, but he never hurt anyone, and he always wrote ‘I apologize for the inconvenience’ on the notes he handed the tellers.”

  “Very considerate,” Jem said.

  “Oh, Mother brought us up right, at least until she went into detox. So you see, there was poor Dewey in one of those tedious prisons where there's nothing to do but listen to psychologists explaining about your childhood neuroses and ministers insisting that you find Jesus and earnest people trying to teach you various crafts. You know, turning pots and weaving mats and, in Dewey's case, learning how to make baskets. After five years he got to be very good at it, and then it occurred to him to turn his newly acquired talent to practical ends. He began weaving a particularly large basket. The guards were very amused. One of them said it reminded him of his aunt Matilda; she liked to knit socks, but they got out of hand, or foot, as the case may be, and kept getting longer and longer. She used to give them to a bird sanctuary, for the flamingos.”

  “Louie,” Max said.

  “Yes, of course. So there was Dewey with a very large basket and a yearning for freedom. It was full moon that night.” Louie said dreamily. “Can't you picture it”the accordion wire lacy black against the sky, the balloon rising gracefully over the wall, silhouetted against the big silver globe of the moon, and Dewey leaning over the basket, waving his hankie at the guards down below?”

  “No,” Max said. “I can't.”

  “Really? I thought I expressed it quite poetically. Well, you're right, of course. Dewey toyed with the idea, he'd always been fond of balloons, but he decided that even the guards might get suspicious if he asked for several hundred yards of nylon and a propane burner. What he actually did was climb in the basket under his used sheets and unmentionables, and wait for the laundry people to pick him up. It really was a most inefficiently run establishment,” Louie added critically.

  “Fond of balloons, was he?”

  “Very. Dewey's a free spirit, he never could stick to one job for long. One of his jobs was as assistant to a balloon man at a carnival. The old fellow was really a wizard with balloons, he taught Dewey everything he knew. Said Dewey had a real aptitude. One can't actually steer the things, you know, but one can direct their course to some extent. It requires study of upper air currents, and knowing just when to let the air get cold and when to heat it up again. I never understood those things myself, but Dewey took to them like a duck to water, so to speak.”

  “How did Dewey get involved with the Zickerys?”

  “The balloon, of course. They were looking for someone to handle theirs, and there was Dewey””

  “Oh, for God's sake,” Jem shouted. “I've had enough of this. Not even a profound knowledge of English music hall songs can excuse your dithering, Louie. Hit him, Max. Or let me hit him.”

  “That won't be necessary, Jem.” Max reached into his briefcase, took out a package, and began unpeeling layers of plastic wrap. Louie stiffened.

  “The carrot and the stick, Louie.” Max smiled fiendishly. “The Gorgonzola sandwich is the carrot.”

  Louie's greedy eyes were fixed on the sandwich. “What's the stick?”

  “We drop all charges and throw you out on the street.”

  22

  Tweeters didn't want to go home. Considering what they owed him, Sarah hadn't the heart to come right out and tell him to leave. She tried an indirect approach.

  “You haven't mentioned your puffin, Tweeters. How is his damaged beak coming along?”

  “Oh, Sarah, I am so sorry. I was supposed to give him his beak builder two hours ago, but I've been having such a wonderful time that I completely forgot about Cuthbird. Can you forgive me if I rush off in a swivet?”

  “Of course I can, Tweeters. I understand perfectly. I'd feel just the same if it were my puffin.”

  Tweeters still wasn't quite ready to fly. “I may have to fashion him a prosthetic beak.”

  “Oh, is it that bad? Do keep us informed, won't you?” This was a hint that even Tweeters Arbuthnot couldn't miss. He looked around for a hole to fly out of. “Where did I leave my plane? Do you happen to remember?”

  “No problem,” said Sarah. “Brooks and Theonia will drive you down to the landing and your plane will be right: there with its pontoons on. It shouldn't be more than a fifteen- or twenty-minute hop from here to Jamaica Pond. Isn't that where you park?”

  “Sometimes. There's a lot of sky out there, you know, and quite a bit of water under it. Well, I suppose I'd better get back to Cuthbird. Thank you for a lovely time.”

  “The thanks are all on our side, Tweeters.” Sarah gave him an impulsive hug. “I don't know what we'd have done without you. Perhaps you'd like to come for dinner one night next week, after things get sorted out here. Give our regards to Cuthbird.”

  “I did mention to you, I hope, that the blue-faced booby with the sore claw is coming along well, and we hope to have some good news for you very soon.”

  She and Theonia followed Tweeters and Brooks to the latter's car. “I always have the feeling that Tweeters is looking around for a good place to roost,” Theonia said. “Do you think it's because he's lonesome?”

  “I suppose he must be. I've only been there once, but Tweeters has this big old Victorian house with nothing in most of the rooms but birds in big cages. They go in and out just as they please.”

  “Who does the cleaning up?”

  “He has a man and wife”I guess they're man and wife”who take care of the place. Between them they do most of the daily chores like the cooking and housekeeping and keeping up with the bird counts and all that stuff. They're both pretty old, they get somebody in a few times a week to scrub out the cages and sweep up the birdseed that gets kicked around. Most of the birds seemed to be damaged in one way or another, broken wings or blindness, things like that. Some of those birds are real bastards. There's one called a skua that will hatch an egg, then take that one and feed it to the next in line if the supplies run low.”

  “Oh, dear. Brooks never mentioned the skuas.”

  “He was trying to spare you, I expect.”

  Theonia laughed, and then grew sober. “Take care, Sarah. Are you sure you don't want me to stay?”

  “Absolutely. Jesse will be here, and Mrs. Blufert, and Mr. Lomax is somewhere around, and Miriam and Ira are ten minutes away if I need them. The most important thing is to find out what Harry Lackridge was up to. It's a terrible thing to say, but I have to admit I'm relieved he's dead. He was a dreadful man. Now if we can just dispose of those rubies! You know, Theonia, I'd like to throw the case over the cliff and be done with it.”

  “We'll figure it out, Sarah.” Theonia enveloped her in a soft, sweet-smelling embrace. “You take it easy today, you've had a bad time. We'll let you know as soon as we learn anything.”

  Sarah was glad to take Theonia's advice. Davy told her ominously he was getting too old to take naps, and Sarah was afraid he was right. He finally consented to make camp beside a pyramid with his trusty crew, so Sarah bedded them down in Davy's room with ample supplies of molasses cookies in case the camels deserted them. Then she sent Jesse in the office to field business calls and stretched out in a deck chair on the lawn. She was too old to take naps, too, but the strain of the past few days wasn't something that passed in a night.

  She was still worried about Max. That was something that wouldn't pass, either. She would
always worry about him. But she'd have to get used to it; danger was part of his life and part of Max. Maybe that was one of the reasons why she loved him so much. He wasn't afraid of life.

  Alexander had been afraid. Afraid of hurting people, of being hurt, of living. And because of his fear she and her husband and her son were still in danger. Talk about the Hope diamond! The rubies were beginning to look like the Curse of the Kellings. I'll get rid of them, Sarah thought drowsily. They aren't mine anyhow. Percy's daughter, Belinda, should be next in line because she's a triple Kelling, though she did have sense enough to pick a fourth cousin twice removed for a husband. I was afraid for a while that Belinda had her eyes on Kenneth's brother James, and he's only twice removed. No wonder the Kellings are so peculiar. … Thank goodness I had sense enough to marry a man who wasn't even distantly related to me. I hate to think what a child of mine and Alexander's might have been like.…

  She hadn't meant to fall asleep, but when she opened her eyes the sun was halfway down the sky and Davy was sitting on her lap.

  “Is it suppertime yet?” he demanded.

  Sarah rubbed her eyes. “No, not for a long time. Where is everybody?”

  “I'm here. Josie and Jim are helping Mrs. Blufert make cookies.”

  Sarah gave him a hug. “Why don't you go and help, too? I'll come as soon as I wake up.”

  She had seen something that made her want to get Davy out of the way as quickly as possible. He ran off, and Sarah braced herself for another visit from her homicidal neighbor. Calpurnia was tastefully attired in a navy sweatsuit, and she was showing all her teeth in a smile.

  “I thought you might condescend to join me for tea this afternoon,” she called as soon as she was within earshot. “You've entertained me so nicely, the least I can do is return the compliment.”

  Sarah wasn't in the mood for Gallie, here or at the Zickery house, but good manners prevailed. “I thought you didn't have a teakettle.”

  “I'm afraid I was teasing you. The fact is, Alister and I have had quite a lot of work done on the old place. I didn't want to encourage you to come while he was there, but now that he's out of the way I mean to begin entertaining again. I'd like you to be my first guest. You and your dear little boy.”