Living Spectres: a Chesterton Holte, Gentleman Haunt Mystery

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “I’d say that’s a safe bet,” said Poppy, and excused herself.

  In the study, she sat down at the writing table and paused to sharpen her pencil with the rotary sharpener attached to it, then she took the cover off the Remington typewriter she had purchased the week before she had moved. She had to admit that she missed Aunt Jo’s Smith, but there was no doubt that the Remington had crisper action and a lighter carriage-return, and she knew that, in time, she would become accustomed to her new machine. She looked at the wall-clock, reminding herself that Loring would be stopping by later, and that she should phone him to be certain that was still his plan. Satisfied that her schedule was set, she opened her notebook on the left side of the typewriter, took up a sheet of standard bond, a sheet of carbon paper, and a sheet of onion-skin, stacked them together, inserted them in the platen, and began to type. She was well into her notes when Missus Sassoro came in with a mug of tea and a slice of pound cake on a dessert plate. Poppy nodded her thanks but kept on typing, and her aunt’s cook, used to this kind of concentration from Esther, left Poppy to her tasks.

  TWENTY-ONE

  IT WAS EIGHT-THIRTY BY THE TIME LORING ARRIVED; HE LOOKED HARRIED AS HE came into the entry-hall to Poppy’s welcome, his eyes had that ancient appearance they had had when they had first met at the Moncriefs’ house the day that Madison’s body had been discovered; his tie was loose, his hair fell over his brow, and his jaw was showing a stubble-shadow.

  “I’m glad you’re here at last. If you’ll go into the sitting room?” Poppy said, gesturing to the right of the entry-hall. “I’ll have Missus Sassoro bring in something to drink—coffee, if you’d like, or there’s still some stronger fare available after last night. She’s staying until nine tonight.”

  “That would be one way of destroying evidence that you’re breaking the law, making me an accessory after the fact. Not that I mind.” He chuckled. “Where is your aunt, by the way? I’d like to thank her for her hospitality.”

  “She’s out in the garden,” said Poppy. “She and Galliard have done some planting today, and she wants to have a last look at the three young birches they put in this afternoon. She went out with a flashlight about half an hour ago. I’m sure she’ll be back in before you leave.”

  “What about your housekeeper? Or isn’t she on door-duty tonight?”

  “Miss Roth is having dinner with her sister and her family tonight. We don’t expect her until after ten.” She smiled as she opened the pocket-doors leading into the sitting room. “Sit any place you want.”

  “I like that wing-back chair,” he said, and went to it.

  “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back in just a moment; I want to tell Missus Sassoro what you’d like, but you haven’t actually told me.”

  “Nothing much for me.” He thought for a second or two, then said, “Maybe a cup of coffee and a little of that very good rum I had last night.”

  “I’ll let her know about the coffee, and see if she can come up with a little something solid as well.” Poppy went off to the kitchen to tell Missus Sassoro what Loring wanted, and added that she would like some hot chocolate; the night had turned chilly, and hot chocolate seemed the right way to keep warm. “Are there any of those marvelous tartlets left over from last night? Would you include them, along with the coffee and hot chocolate, please?”

  “Right away, Miss Poppy,” Missus Sassoro promised. “Just so you know, I’ve got some fruit pastries in the cooler that will do for your breakfast tomorrow, and you can choose among the left-overs for your dinner. My husband will be by to pick me up in twenty minutes; he doesn’t like to be kept waiting, so I won’t linger to bring the tray back to the kitchen when you’re through with it.”

  “I think we can manage it. Have a pleasant Sunday,” Poppy told her, and went back to the sitting room, saying as she sat down again, “I thought you must have dined by now, so I didn’t ask for anything too substantial.”

  “You mean, to sop up the booze?”

  “And to be hospitable.” Poppy sat down on the settee that was at right angles to the wing- back chair.

  The light in the floor-lamp flickered twice.

  “Another light-bulb problem?” Loring asked.

  “It’s probably due to the weather,” said Poppy mendaciously. “It’s supposed to rain tonight.”

  “So I’ve heard, but you know how unreliable weather reports can be,” Loring said, and shifted his place in the chair so that he was able to face her. “I understand that you talked to Missus Butterworth today.”

  “Yes, I did,” said Poppy, settling down to business.

  “How did that go?” He pinched the bridge of his nose, a sure sign of fatigue for him.

  “Well enough, all things considered,” said Poppy. “She seemed candid to me, and though she didn’t have much to contribute to the hunt for GAD, she helped clarify a little about her daughter’s relationship with him, as she understands it.”

  “That must have been informative. I’m supposed to have a talk with Miss Merrinelle Butterworth tomorrow. Eleven a.m. at the Butterworth’s house. Any suggestions?”

  “About Missus Butterworth or her daughter?” Poppy asked.

  “Both, if you can. I’m still a little uncertain as to why they asked me to come tomorrow.” He studied her face while she summoned up a response.

  “You mean on a Sunday?” Poppy marveled. “I wouldn’t have thought… They must be extremely worried. All the attention that Merrinelle’s getting isn’t any more welcome to the Butterworths than it is to the Pearses.” Either that, she thought, or the Butterworths were hoping to lessen their daughter’s histrionics.

  “I gather the family is expecting that the press will not be out in force until Monday,” said Loring. “That, and they want to be able to say that the police are officially involved. Mister Pearse told me that he doesn’t want the Federal Bureau of Investigation brought into this—he thinks they’re too greedy for publicity, and is afraid that might endanger GAD, if he has been kidnapped and hasn’t instead gotten in deeper with the Living Spectres, which is what Mister Pearse believes is the case. He authorized me to expand my inquiries to Europe, and I hope to give him some news on that front come Monday or Tuesday.” He coughed once, diplomatically. “I’ve sent a telegram to that investigator in London you told me about: Blessing. I hope to hear back from him shortly. If he’ll take on the search, I think it might be possible to keep this under wraps a little while longer. I know that would be a welcome change to the Pearses, and the Butterworths, as well.”

  “What about the Tattler?” Poppy asked.

  “Well it is the Old Colonial Tattler, isn’t it?” he asked, using the paper’s full name. “Nobody takes anything in it too seriously, particularly if it is from an excitable young lady like Merrinelle Butterworth. They ran the story on page four, didn’t they? And not on the front page, above the fold.” He shook his head. “You see? I’ve learned that from you.” He did a partial smile. “I think both families will be able to ride it out, especially if Isadora Pearse doesn’t get the bit in her teeth. I don’t know if she can restrain herself—she’s distraught, and no wonder, but it wouldn’t be wise for her to dignify Merrinelle’s melodramatic performance.”

  “Does she really still want to tell the world about her fears for her son? Do you think she’ll insist on responding to the Tattler piece? I trust she has better sense. The last thing that’s needed now is a press carnival.” Poppy had to resist the urge to take notes, all the while aware that Isadora Pearse had been willing for weeks to tell anyone who would listen about her fears for GAD. “I’ll be talking to her on Monday morning,” she added, and heard the garden-door open and shut, followed by the tramp of mucking-boots. “Aunt Esther’s back inside.”

  “Is she going to join us?” Loring asked.

  “That’s up to her. She doesn’t think that I need a chaperone at my advanced age, and you a policeman, at that, but she may want to say hello.”

  “I’d li
ke to see her again,” said Loring.

  Poppy wondered what Holte was making of all this—so different from Aunt Jo’s house—and decided to ask him later; she returned to the matter of the Pearses. “Are you expecting to have to talk Missus Pearse out of countering what Merrinelle Butterworth told the Tattler?”

  “No; I assume her husband will do that. It is, as you point out, in their best interests to have as little flame in this particular fire as possible, and I hope Missus Pearse knows it, which means downplaying the story, not screaming it in headlines. Miss Butterworth’s interview is going to end up ignored, unless the Pearses make a cause out of it. Then there’ll be problems, and the FBI will try to horn in on what we’re doing. As much as they like the spotlight, in this kind of case, it tends to muddy the waters.” Thinking aloud, Loring stood up and took a turn about the room. “I know the government in Washington wants to keep a closer watch on foreigners in the country, in case they’re spying, or up to no good in some other way, but I think they should tell the FBI to leave police-work to the police. Besides, GAD is somewhere in Europe, and the FBI can’t operate outside of the United States.”

  “Then you’re anticipating a territorial dispute with them?” It was more than a guess, and Poppy was not astounded by Loring’s answer.

  “If they get wind of it, you bet I am. That’s one of the reasons I wired that Blessing fellow. He can go where the FBI cannot, and it would give the Pearses’ a good reason to decline their aid, if they offer it.” Stopping next to the glass-fronted bookcase, he scanned the titles on the spines of the volumes inside. “Your aunt has very eclectic tastes, doesn’t she?”

  “Yes, she does,” said Poppy.

  “Have you read any of these?” He sounded genuinely curious.

  “Not these specifically, but I have a couple of selections from her library up in my room. One is on the new discoveries in Egypt; another is on the history of the Silk Road in Asia. She’s been along a stretch of it herself, you know.”

  “No, I didn’t, but I’m not surprised to hear it,” he admitted. “Quite an intrepid woman, from what Doctor Wickman told me last night. I did enjoy meeting him. It’s unfortunate that he had to leave early; he’s a great source of information, and he thinks so clearly. I was very much impressed. He told me that he thought your aunt should be a member of the Explorers Club, but that they—”

  “—wouldn’t hear of it,” she finished for him. “I agree with Doctor Wickman.”

  Missus Sassoro appeared in the doorway, with a large tray in her hands. There were two mugs and a large cup on it, along with three plates of various flavors of fruit tarts, a large pot of coffee, and a smaller one of chocolate, along with three forks, three spoons, and three napkins. She put it down on the coffee table in front of the love-seat, saying as she did. “Miss Thornton will be with you shortly. She is in her room, changing out of her boots and trousers; she doesn’t want to track mud all over the place.” She studied the contents of the tray, making sure it was all correct. “There’s sugar in the breakfast-nook, and cream in the refrigerator, if you should need it, or I can bring it in now.”

  “Thank you, if you would please,” said Loring. “I didn’t think I was hungry, but this is changing my mind.”

  “It will be good to see Aunt Esther as soon as she’s ready,” said Poppy. “Thank you for this, Missus Sassoro. I’ll take the tray back to the kitchen before I go up to bed.”

  Missus Sassoro nodded. “Incidentally, your cat is in the kitchen, having his dinner, so don’t let him tell you that he hasn’t eaten later on. I’ll see you on Monday morning, Miss Poppy.”

  “Have a pleasant Sunday, Missus Sassoro.” Poppy glanced toward the kitchen. “Could you leave the kitchen door ajar, so Maestro can roam, if he wants to?”

  “I will,” said Missus Sassoro in approving tones; with a duck of her head, she departed.

  As soon as she was out of earshot, Loring said, “She’s an excellent cook, if last night was any example of her talents.”

  “She is,” Poppy agreed. “Her husband is a lucky man; I hope he knows it.”

  Loring lifted one brow. “Is there any reason to think he doesn’t?”

  “Not really, but I’ve gotten the feeling that there is some tension between them, you know how you do, from time to time?” Poppy shrugged. “I haven’t been here long enough to be sure about it, but I notice a hesitation when she’s mentioned him, and there’s a tightness in her voice when asked about him; it’s not there when she mentions her children, so I can’t help but wonder if there’s trouble between her and her husband. He’s works at the roundhouse in the mole, directing trains to their tracks. It’s dangerous work, which might explain why she sounds nervous when he comes up, but I can’t help but think it’s more than that. Do you understand?”

  “Oh, yes. Police depend on those kinds of feelings. Sometimes they’re wrong, but often they’re right, and we ignore them at our peril.” He came back to his chair and sat down. “Should we wait for your aunt?”

  If this were Aunt Jo’s house, Poppy would have said yes at once, but now she faltered. “I suppose so.”

  “Well, you needn’t; I’m here,” said Aunt Esther from the doorway; she had on a calf- length pleated skirt with a cashmere sweater over it; her shoes were low-heeled with ankle-straps. “Poppy, I nearly tripped over your dratted cat on my way down the hall. I think he may have gone to ground in my closet.” She came in and held out her hand to Loring, who had risen from his chair. “Good to see you again, Inspector. I hope I find you in fine fettle.”

  “As fine as can be expected in my job,” said Loring, getting to his feet again. “Thank you so much for that wonderful buffet last night, and the fascinating company. I enjoyed myself tremendously.”

  “I’m pleased to hear it,” said Esther, pulling up a side-chair from its place against the wall, gesturing to Loring—who had taken a step toward her to help—to stay where he was. “Sit down, Inspector. About the party: it came off quite well for the most part, I think, aside from Jo and Isadora’s little set-to. I am generally pleased. All things considered.” She pursed her lips to show her reservations about the considered things. “I trust you will be willing to come again? For a less hectic event?”

  “I’d be delighted,” said Loring.

  Poppy intercepted what she guessed was a half-smile from Loring. “Missus Sassoro left this for us, Aunt Esther. After all you’ve been doing in the garden, I believe you’re ready for a snack.”

  “And a little brandy,” she said, and went over to the chest next to the glass-fronted bookcase. She opened it and took out a bottle of brandy, then glanced at Poppy. “Not all the bottles are in the pantry, or in the high-boy in the parlor. I have some here. And you, Inspector, would you like some rum?”

  “Rum would be most welcome,” said Loring.

  “Poppy? Cognac?”

  “Yes, please, Aunt Esther.” She suddenly worried that she should not have changed into her slacks, since her aunt had put on a skirt, but it was too late to run upstairs now, and it would make what was beginning to be a clumsy moment even more awkward. She made up her mind to brazen it out. “How are the baby birches?”

  “Secured to growing stakes and the fence. They’ve been watered and given fertilizer which is why I changed; I smelled like a midden.” Esther brought out the appropriate bottles and then went back into the chest for glasses. “Give me half a minute and we should be ready.”

  “You needn’t hurry on my account,” said Loring.

  “Nor on mine,” said Poppy, as Esther emerged with glassware in hand. “We’ve been talking about the London investigator who may be working on finding GAD.”

  Esther gave a quick, approving smile. “That’s the first sensible thing I’ve heard about GAD being missing. How very pragmatic.” She was concentrating on her pouring, but remarked, rather distantly, “Your mother did a marvelous job teaching you manners, Inspector. I’m most impressed. My congratulations to her. I’d wager a fair
sum that your conduct is not typical of most policemen.” She gave an impish smile.

  “I’d tell her if she were still alive. I’ve found good manners can be helpful in my work. You’re right: not all my fellow-policemen agree with me.” He waited for her to hand him his glass. “Thank you Miss Thornton.”

  “I gather you and Poppy are sharing information again, not all of it about GAD,” Esther said, as she handed a glass with a fair amount of cognac in it to her niece. “I won’t stay with you for very long; I have work of my own to do. But I’ll admit that I’m glad you’ve come by, Inspector. Stay as long as it suits you to stay, and have whatever refreshment you like.”

  “It’s your house,” Poppy said, no indication of resentment in her voice. “If you want to use this room after we have our snacks, Loring and I will go elsewhere; the breakfast nook would be a good place.”

  “No, no,” said Esther, settling into her chair, her feathers unruffled. “This is a comfortable room for guests; you stay here. I need to spend some time going through notes in my journal. I want to be prepared when I present my information on the Armenian refugees to Mister Lowenthal. He strikes me as the kind of man who cares about preparedness. My memory is holding up pretty well for my age, but I like to refresh myself on details.” She lifted her glass. “To our happy futures,” she said.

  “Amen,” said Loring.

  Poppy echoed her aunt’s sentiments and tasted her cognac; she saw that Loring had sipped his rum, and said, “Three spirits in one room.” She meant it as nothing more than a witticism, but Loring responded promptly.

  “Don’t you include your invisible friend? Make it four spirits.” He lifted his glass. “Whatever you are, if you’re here, you’re included in my toast.”

  “Ye gods, Loring!” Poppy exclaimed, almost dropping her glass. “I wish you wouldn’t talk nonsense.”