The Second Richard Deming Mystery MEGAPACK®

by Deming, Richard

  The doctor puffed at his pipe and gazed at me through the smoke. “I forgot about Paul. Of course he’d know.”

  I grinned at him. “You’re going to fight until you’re counted out, are you, Doctor? I’ve been back to the courthouse since I last saw you. You did a remarkable job on the records. It’s a matter of legal record that Paul Manners and his wife were both born, grew up and married. All five of those typhoid cases have their lives carefully recorded too. On paper they were all born, grew up, married and died. Except for young Herman Potter, of course. He was just born, grew to eighteen and died.”

  The doctor hiked his eyebrows. “What are you talking about?”

  “I just came from Boggs’s Funeral Home. He remembers conducting a funeral for Herman Potter, but he never heard of the other four typhoid victims.”

  Dr. Parks pursed his lips.

  “Furthermore, neither Emma Pruett, Sheriff Gaines nor Gerard Boggs ever heard of Paul Manners, which is a little odd considering he’s the only insurance broker in the county, was born here and lived here all his life. Sheriff says you’ve been selling insurance.”

  “Hmm,” the doctor said.

  “It was quite clever of you to take me to see Mr. Potter. Herman Potter actually did die from typhoid, didn’t he? I suppose that’s what gave you the idea for the others. You created your own little typhoid epidemic by insuring, and later killing off, people who never existed except on paper.”

  Dr. Parks’ pipe had gone out. He relit it and puffed it slowly.

  “Why did you risk taking me to see Potter, Doctor? I was ready to leave town. You must have sweated it all the time we were there, hoping I wouldn’t mention Paul Manners. And later, at the coffee shop, you must have sweated even harder.”

  He took his pipe from his mouth and regarded me with rueful sadness. “Impulse, Mr. Quinn. I hadn’t thought it through. It seemed wise at the time to lull your suspicions completely, in case future claim payments in this area later came to your attention. The danger of your mentioning Paul Manners to Potter simply didn’t occur to me until after I had extended the invitation. Inviting you to lunch was another mistake. I really didn’t want to, but unfortunately I’m innately courteous, and I didn’t know how to get out of it.”

  I studied him with a mixture of amusement and admiration. “This is the most brilliant insurance fraud I’ve ever run into, Doctor. You rightly guessed that insurance companies wouldn’t be suspicious of claims where the doctor who originally examined the applicant also signed the death certificate, particularly from a community this small. But you knew they would never stomach the doctor also being the man who sold the policy. You created a Paul Manners on paper, boned up to pass the state insurance exam and took it in his name. As postmaster you catch every bit of mail coming into Heather Ridge. When letters addressed to the people the fake Manners had given as references came from the state licensing bureau, they were never delivered. You simply forged answers and sent back glowing recommendations. In two cases, that is. You had also given yourself as a reference, so you didn’t have to forge that answer. In the same way, you caught the claim payment checks mailed to the mythical beneficiaries of the four mythical decedents. How many of the other policies you’ve written are on mythical people?”

  “About half,” he said in a low voice. “I’ve actually sold only eleven. Up until now the others are rather a financial burden. I’ve been planning to record a few more deaths.”

  “Why did you do it?” I asked. “A doctor shouldn’t be that hard up for money.”

  He snorted. “In this area the doctor gets paid in eggs and chickens and other produce. Up until now I’ve really needed my salary as postmaster and the fees from my various county jobs. Besides, I wanted to build my clinic.”

  After a pause, he added candidly, “A little greed entered into it too. I’ve set aside only half the money, so far, for the clinic. I’ve earmarked the rest for the traveling I’ve always wanted to do. I don’t suppose you’re open for bribery?”

  I examined him for some time, and silence built between us. Finally I said softly, “Try me.”

  “Hmm,” he said. “How much?”

  “Let’s consider the service I can render, in addition to merely keeping my mouth shut, before we arrive at a figure,” I said. “If I go back and give Paul Manners a clean bill of health, it’s extremely unlikely you would ever be caught again. Even if something roused the association’s suspicion again, almost certainly I would be the investigator sent, since I’m already in on the ground floor.”

  He gave me his most charming smile. “Your readiness to be bribed leads me to suspect you’re thinking of your expensive young lady. It won’t solve your problem, of course, because no matter how much you earn, she’ll always want more. That’s your affair, however. How much?”

  “Fifty-fifty, including the forty thousand you’ve already taken.”

  He pursed his lips. “I’ve earmarked twenty-five thousand of that for the clinic. Also the premiums on my fictional policy holders are quite a drain, and I don’t feel expenses should come all from my share. There’s only about ten thousand left to divide.”

  “All right,” I agreed. “I’ll settle for five thousand now and fifty percent of all future take, less premium costs. That suit you?”

  “It’s considerably better than going to jail,” he said with a smile.

  I rose and held out my hand, palm up. “Now if I may have my first five-thousand-dollar fee, I’ll be on my way. I’ll be in correspondence with you.”

  Parks got the cash from the bedroom, and we parted cordially a few minutes later, me with five thousand dollars in my pocket and considerably richer future prospects.

  THE JOLLY JUGGLERS, RETIRED

  Originally published in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, March 1967.

  They could hear the car coming long before its headlights would appear around the curve circling Indian Butte, because the clear desert air carried sound a remarkable distance. By the sound, it was traveling along the narrow gravel road at an unsafe speed.

  “Must be city folk,” old Ed Jolly said to his wife. “Be here in ten minutes at the speed they’re going, if they don’t hit one of them potholes in the road. If they do, might not get here at all.”

  His head cocked for listening, he preoccupiedly lifted four apples from a box lying on the counter on the grocery side of the combination General Store, snack bar, and tavern, and began expertly juggling them. He was still lean and erect despite his 75 years, and his hands were almost as supple as they had been 30 years ago.

  Mary Jolly, only a few months younger than her husband, was also in excellent health for her age. Her body had thinned out and lost its once lissome figure, but there was still a twinkle in her eye and the vestiges of a spring in her step.

  Standing several feet away, she eyed the arcing apples as they circled in the air from one hand to the other. Suddenly she raised her left hand and chanted, “A-one and a-two and away and go!”

  Grinning, Ed continued to toss and catch the apples until the last word of the incantation; then they suddenly sped toward his wife in such a rapid stream that two were in the air all the time. Expertly plucking each apple from the air as it reached her and tossing it upward, she started juggling them. When Ed raised his hand, they streamed back to him. He juggled them twice, then caught them and dropped them back into the box.

  “We could still wow them if there was any vaudeville left,” he said. “I better get outside.”

  By its sound he judged the car was now just beyond Indian Butte when he switched on the gas pumps. He knew it would stop, because cars coming from the east always did. Except for ranch houses, the Jollys’ filling station and General Store was the only sign of civilization for the 125 miles from Ripple City in that direction, and for the 65 miles to the nearest town west.


  Headlights appeared from around the curve circling the butte just east of the store. The car slowed and swung into the filling station. It was a new but dust-laden four-door sedan with four men in it.

  Bringing the car to a stop before the gas pump, the driver said, “Fill ’er up, Pop.”

  The four men got out to stretch. They were all somewhere between 30 and 40 and all were dressed in darkly conservative business suits.

  As Ed inserted the hose nozzle into the tank vent, the driver, a lean thin-faced man with a large nose, said, “How far’s Hooker’s Gap, Pop?”

  “Sixty-five miles.”

  The driver glanced at a wrist watch, then turned to a stocky man with heavy features and thick flat lips who had climbed from the back seat. “It’s not quite ten yet, Mark. We’ll be in well before midnight.”

  The stocky man nodded. He said to Ed Jolly, “You’re really isolated out here, old-timer. How do you make a living?”

  “Oh, a dozen or more cars a day take this toad,” Ed said. “Everyone stops, because there’s no place else to go. Most generally they have a drink or a snack besides buying gas, and a lot of them buy stuff from the store. We have a little grocery department, mainly for the convenience of nearby ranches, but tourists buy stuff too. Then we got a couple of sleeping rooms that people rent now and then.”

  “A drink, you say?” a gaunt, emaciated, and chinless man asked. “You got a bar here?”

  Before Ed could reply, the stocky man said in a definite tone, “Nothing doing, Sliver. There’ll be no drinking until our business is finished.”

  The fourth man, short and burly and red-faced, said, “You live out here all alone, Pop?”

  “No, my wife Mary’s inside, in case you want a snack and some coffee.”

  No one took the suggestion. The stocky man named Mark gazed around. Noting the dim outline of the big structure behind the store, he asked, “What’s that building?”

  Following the direction of his gaze, Ed said, “Barn. We don’t use it, except to garage our pickup. Fellow owned this place before us raised a little livestock on the side. We keep a few chickens, is all.”

  The stocky man continued to gaze around, his expression contemplative. “You have two sleeping rooms, you say?”

  “Uh-huh. One double bed and one twin bed, so folks can take their choice on how they want to sleep. Five dollars a night per person, with breakfast thrown in.”

  The tank overflowed. Ed cut the valve and hung up the hose. He cleaned the windshield, then asked, “Check under the hood?”

  The lean driver said, “No, it’s okay,” and glanced at the amount registered on the pump.

  It registered $3.10. The driver handed Ed four $1 bills.

  “Keep the change, Pop.”

  “Well, thanks,” Ed said. “Mighty good of you.”

  “Let’s get moving,” the stocky man said crisply, and climbed in back.

  As though they were soldiers obeying the command of a superior officer, the other three immediately climbed in too. Ed watched the twin taillights out of sight, then shut off the gas pumps and went back inside to report the ninety-cent tip to Mary.

  “Must be businessmen going to a conference somewhere,” he guessed. “Stocky fellow seemed to be the boss at least, the others all snapped when he spoke up. Probably the company president, and the others all work for him.”

  He plucked an apple from the box on the counter, tossed it in the air, caught it behind his back, then started eating it.

  * * * *

  Just before 4:30 the following afternoon the sound of a car traveling at high speed came from the west. Ed, who had nearly perfect pitch although he had never attempted to develop his potential musical talent, recognized the engine sound.

  “Those business fellows coming back,” he said to Mary. “Maybe this time they’ll have a snack.”

  He was waiting at the pumps when they drove in. The car didn’t pull up before the pumps, however. It swung in before the entrance to the General Store. Three of the men got out, the driver remaining behind the wheel. The stocky Mark carried a black, obviously heavy satchel.

  “Get our overnight bags from the trunk,” Mark ordered the two who had got out of the car with him. Then he said to the driver, “Park it in the barn, Joey, and be sure to close the door.”

  Ed, who had come over from the pumps, looked at the stocky man inquiringly.

  “We’ve decided to rent your two sleeping rooms,” the man said. “You don’t mind if we use your barn as a garage, do you?”

  “Course not,” Ed said. “Plenty of room. There’s nothing in it but our old pickup.”

  Joey, the driver, had handed his keys through the window to the emaciated and chinless man called Sliver. The latter unlocked the car trunk, lifted out four overnight bags, slammed the trunk lid, and handed back the keys. The burly, red-faced man picked up two of the bags, Sliver picked up the other two, and they went into the store.

  Joey started the car engine, backed and swung into the dirt lane leading to the barn. Ed followed the stocky Mark inside. The other two had set down the overnight bags just inside the door, but Mark hung on to the heavy satchel.

  Mary was behind the snack counter.

  “This here is my wife, Mary,” Ed said. “My name’s Ed Jolly, incidentally. Mary, these gentlemen and a fourth one who’s putting the car in the barn want to stay the night.”

  “How do you do, gentlemen?” Mary said courteously.

  The red-faced man and the gaunt Sliver muttered barely audible greetings. Mark said, “Glad to know you, Mrs. Jolly. My name is Mark Jones. This is Sliver Smith and Puffy Brown.” He indicated first the gaunt, chinless man, then the red-faced one. “The guy who will be along in a minute is Joey Black.”

  Mary smiled acknowledgment of the introductions and came from behind the counter. “I’ll show you the rooms and let you decide who sleeps in which.”

  Mary led the way through the door leading to the back hallway off which were their own bedroom, the two guest rooms, and the bath. Sliver Smith and Puffy Brown picked up the four overnight bags and followed. Mark brought up the rear.

  The lean thin-faced Joey came in the front door.

  “My wife is showing the others the rooms,” Ed said. He pointed to the door leading to the rear hallway. “You’ll find them through there, Mr. Black.”

  “Huh?” Joey said. “Oh, yeah. Sure.”

  He disappeared through the indicated doorway. Ed rubbed his chin and frowned.

  When Mary reappeared, alone, a few minutes later, she was delightedly clutching two $100 bills.

  “They’re going to stay several days,” she said breathlessly. “Mr. Jones paid me ten days in advance and said if they leave sooner, we can keep the change. I tried to tell him we’d adjust the rate for so long a period, but he said never mind.”

  Ed was still frowning in the direction of the rear hall. After 55 years of marriage, Mary was sensitive to his moods almost to the point of being able to read his mind.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked quickly.

  “That fellow Joey—the driver. His name isn’t Black. When I called him Mr. Black, he looked blank. Then he caught on that the stocky fellow had told me that name and covered up.”

  Mary gazed at him puzzledly. “You’re sure?”

  “Uh-huh. Think about the other names—Jones, Smith, Brown. Funny that four fellows traveling together should all have such common names. And why would they want to spend several days here? There’s no hunting or fishing around here, nothing to do but look at the desert.”

  Mary studied his face with dawning understanding. “You think—you think they may be criminals hiding from the law?”

  “I don’t know, but I think I’ll phone the Sheriff’s office and ask somebody to come out and
give them a look-see.”

  The stocky Mark returned trailed by his three companions. He stopped before Ed and Mary while the other three took seats at the bar.

  “You say about a dozen cars a day stop here, Mr. Jolly?”

  “About,” Ed said.

  “Then I think we’d better have a little rehearsal before the next customer arrives. We’re very retiring men, Mr. Jolly. We hate a lot of people around, so we prefer that no one learns we’re your guests. Understand?”

  Ed was afraid he did, but he let his face assume a puzzled expression. “No.”

  “I’ll make it plainer. As far as possible I want you to service your customers outside—keep them out of the store. To tourists you can just explain that the place is closed down for alterations. Anybody you happen to know well enough so that the news might surprise them, let them come in and serve them. State Troopers or Deputy Sheriffs, for instance. We’ll remain out of sight in the back, and you won’t mention our being here. All clear?”

  Ed narrowed his eyes. “Why should I steer business away?”

  The thick flat lips spread in a humorless smile. “Because if you cooperate, nothing will happen to your wife. While you are serving customers, Mrs. Jolly will remain with us, Mr. Jolly. If anyone inquires about her during daylight hours, just say she’s taking a nap. After dark just say she’s in bed for the night. Any attempt to pass on a message for some customer to relay to the cops will have most unfortunate results. I guarantee it.”