The Third Girl Detective

by Margaret Sutton

  “Girls!” Mrs. Heath called. “What’s taking you so long up there?”

  “We’ll be down in a minute,” Lucy called back, and looked searchingly at Vicki. “What message? From whom?”

  Vicki hesitated. She did not want to upset Lucy visibly in front of Mrs. Heath.

  “It’s not something I can tell you quickly or—or simply,” Vicki said. She also would rather obtain proofs of Lucy’s identity before revealing too much. “Can we talk after Mrs. Heath has gone to bed?”

  “I don’t understand why we need to be secretive. Mrs. Heath is my friend—”

  “Lucy, I don’t blame you for wondering about me. But your old friend, the Reverend Mr. Hall, knows me and in a way he sent me to you.”

  “Mr. Hall! How do you know I know Mr. Hall? I don’t understand this at all!”

  “There isn’t anything difficult to understand,” Vicki reassured her. “I’m looking for a girl named Lucy Rowe, that’s all. Her parents were Jack and Eleanor Rowe.” Vicki was careful not to mention the Bryant name—not to give away any leads. “According to the minister, that’s you, isn’t it?”

  “Why are you looking for this girl?”

  “For a confidential reason. A happy, wonderful reason.”

  Lucy did not or could not believe this.

  “But I’ve come to you as a friend,” Vicki said. “Mr. Hall can vouch for me—and honestly, I’m bringing you the most wonderful news—”

  Lucy swallowed hard. “Of course, if he vouches for you—But at least tell me, who sent you?”

  Vicki put her hand on Lucy’s, and touched the silver ring. “Your grandmother sent me.”

  The girl stiffened, distrustful again. “I have no grandmother. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She was pale and trying not to cry.

  “If you’re not the granddaughter, where did you get your silver ring?”

  Lucy took a deep quivering breath. She admitted she was Marshall and Lucy Bryant’s long-unwanted granddaughter. Vicki noted that Lucy, not herself, was the first to bring up the Bryant name.

  “If you want proof of who I am, Vicki, I have proof. Right here in the house with me. Letters, photographs, this ring. My mother gave it to me when I was a child. There are only two rings like these in existence.”

  There were supposed to be only two such rings, Vicki thought. She had seen three rings—one which Mrs. Bryant had taken from her trinket box, one on the hand of Lucy in New York, one on the hand of the Lucy here beside her.

  One of the two Lucys was an impostor. The Lucy in New York also possessed letters and documents to prove her identity. Those things could be forged, a ring could be copied. Which girl was the true Lucy? Vicki believed her to be this friendly light-brown-haired girl, the girl of the portrait, the girl whom Mr. Hall, Jill Joseph, the clerk at the Hotel Alcott had reported to be with Mrs. Heath—the girl whom Mr. Dorn easily could have traced, if he had wanted to.

  Mrs. Heath called again. The girls started downstairs together. Vicki whispered, “Not a word to Mrs. Heath about this,” and Lucy nodded. She was still shaken.

  The lady announced with some impatience that she was keeping dinner hot in the warming oven. Would Lucy make the salad and coffee, while she herself set the table? Lucy hurried into the kitchen. Vicki went into the kitchen, too, to help. In low voices they arranged to meet at midnight to talk further. Lucy thought the guest bedroom would be the safest place. Mrs. Heath would have no reason to enter Vicki’s room, even if the light were on.

  “You two girls,” said Mrs. Heath, coming into the kitchen, “seem to have a great deal to say to each other.”

  Lucy murmured an apology for their delay, and hurried to finish making the salad. Vicki helped Mrs. Heath bring the food to the dining table, in an area just off the living room. Then the three of them sat down.

  Dinner was rather strained. Vicki’s hostess seemed to expect the intruder to account for herself. Vicki talked about her flight stewardess job with Federal Airlines, and her enthusiasm for the sport of private flying. Lucy listened with interest; Mrs. Heath was thoughtful.

  “About two weeks ago,” the lady said, “a small plane flew back and forth over our house and meadow. It upset me—it seemed so deliberate. Was that you, by any chance?”

  Vicki did not dare glance at Lucy. “It must have been someone else, Mrs. Heath. I was quite lost this afternoon, that’s how I got here.” She disliked telling an untruth, but she was not sure enough of Mrs. Heath’s friendship for Lucy to reveal anything of importance.

  Mrs. Heath talked about her book of memoirs “—though I’m afraid we haven’t actually done much on it, have we, Lucy? I’m still in the planning stage.” Then Mrs. Heath mentioned a plan for her and Lucy to go abroad.

  “I don’t really want to go,” Lucy said uncomfortably. “Not very much.”

  “It’s only perhaps,” said her employer. Lucy looked down at her plate and kept still.

  Mrs. Heath changed the subject to the countryside around here. They had many lovely trees and birds to enjoy, without ever leaving their own grounds. Mrs. Heath remarked that Lucy particularly liked birds. Vicki started to say something about Mrs. Bryant’s collection of parakeets, then caught herself just in time.

  During the evening Mrs. Heath and Lucy did not work on the book after all. They chatted with their guest and watched television for a while. Vicki borrowed a flashlight and went outdoors to make sure that the plane was safely staked down and the wheels chocked. At nine o’clock Mrs. Heath announced it was bedtime.

  “We’re early birds in the country. Good night, Vicki. Rest well.”

  The girls wished her good night and started to go upstairs.

  “Lucy!” Mrs. Heath called her back. “Help me lock up down here.”

  Was she trying to keep her and Lucy apart? Vicki wondered. Did Mrs. Heath suspect something? That was hard to tell. In any case, Mrs. Heath was keeping a close watch. She and Lucy would have to be careful tonight.

  From nine until midnight was a long stretch. Vicki changed into the borrowed night clothes and put out her light. She heard Lucy go to bed and, at last, Mrs. Heath. She rested but was afraid to sleep lest she and Lucy both sleep straight through the night. The house was absolutely quiet. The night grew chilly.

  On the stroke of midnight, by the luminous figures on her wrist watch, her door opened soundlessly and someone slipped in. Vicki was surprised at how hard her heart beat. She waited until the figure stepped into the moonlight, until she saw Lucy’s face, then whispered:

  “Wait. I’ll get out of bed.”

  “Don’t turn on the light, not yet.”

  Both girls perched on the edge of the bed, wrapped in robes and sweaters. They were able to see each other’s faces clearly in the moonlight. Lucy said softly that Mrs. Heath was asleep on the other side of the wall.

  “She’s a sound sleeper.”

  “I hope so!”

  “I don’t see why you mistrust Mrs. Heath, she’s almost like a mother to me,” Lucy said warmly. “Well, never mind that—I’m dying to know what my grandparents want! What are they like? Is my grandfather still awfully stern?”

  “In some ways he is,” Vicki said. “But he’s not so formidable, and Mrs. Bryant is lovely. Both of them want to know their granddaughter and—well, make up for—” She realized she was saying too much too soon. “Lucy, first I must have more proof of who you are. Not that I question your word, but—”

  Lucy nodded. “That’s all right. Though I can’t imagine why anyone would have any doubts at all about knowing I’m Lucy Rowe.”

  Vicki kept silent about the other Lucy Rowe in New York, established in the Bryants’ house. She could discuss that difficult situation later. Lucy was digging into the pockets of her robe.

  “Here, Vicki, I want you to see these.” She handed Vicki a few worn documents. “I’ll just t
urn on this little bedside lamp, and tilt the shade.” She did so. “The letter on top is—well, read it, Vicki.”

  Vicki unfolded the letter, so old it was tearing at the creases. The ink had faded and the note paper was losing its tint. This letter was authentic, all right. It was addressed “Dearest Eleanor,” and was signed “Mother.” It proposed a family reconciliation and offered aid for small Lucy. Vicki glanced up inquiringly. Lucy said:

  “Mother never accepted Grandmother’s offer. I guess she never even answered this letter. We all had such strained feelings about—about my father. He was a darling. Here’s a snapshot of him.”

  Lucy handed Vicki a thin bundle of old snapshots and photographs. One was of her parents taken at a picnic. One was of Mr. and Mrs. Bryant, very formal, taken years before. One was a print of the same snapshot of Lucy as a little girl, seated on the porch steps, which Mrs. Bryant had shown Vicki earlier. These pictures, too, impressed Vicki as being authentic, not clever forgeries.

  “I’d have more photographs and letters to show you,” Lucy said, “except that Mrs. Heath insisted on putting them away for safekeeping. She wanted me to give her all the letters and photographs for her to put away—she even urged me to let her put away this silver ring.”

  “She did!” Vicki exclaimed, then remembered to lower her voice. “Where did she put your things?”

  “They’re locked in her room somewhere, along with her own valuables, and she keeps her door locked, too. She says it’s safer that way in the country.”

  “Is that really necessary?”

  “Well, you see, I do want to please her. So I gave her most of my letters and photos to put away, but I just have to keep a few things with me all the time. I’ve done that ever since my parents died, I suppose it’s awfully sentimental. And of course the silver ring. I couldn’t bear to part with it, even though Mrs. Heath predicts that I’ll lose it gardening, or something.”

  “I don’t think you’ll lose your ring,” Vicki said dryly. “I think it’s strange that Mrs. Heath made such a point of putting away your very personal things.”

  “No, it isn’t. She locked away all her own things, too. And she says any time I want my things, I only need to ask her.”

  “We-ell—Ssh! Do I hear her moving around?”

  “Oh, my! Sometimes she knocks on my door when she doesn’t feel well—”

  Both girls listened. Lucy put out the lamp, and moonlight poured into the room again. On the other side of the wall Mrs. Heath was stirring. They held their breaths. They heard bedsprings creak, then quiet. Lucy let out a sigh of relief.

  “I guess she just turned over in her sleep.”

  Nevertheless, they kept perfectly still for a few minutes, and left the lamp off. Lucy ventured to speak again, softly, eagerly.

  “You still haven’t told me the message from my grandparents, Vicki.”

  “I’ve told you most of it, or you’ve guessed it. They want to give you all the advantages and good things which they feel you, as their granddaughter, are entitled to.”

  Lucy murmured, “That’s wonderful,” then asked what made them change their minds, after so many years? Vicki explained how Mr. Bryant’s severe heart attack had made him stop and take moral stock of his life. She added that Lucy’s grandmother had for a long time grieved about the family separation.

  “Now they want you to come live with them, Lucy, or near them, if you wish.”

  The eagerness drained out of Lucy’s voice. “They don’t really want me.”

  “Lucy, they do want you! Very much!”

  “But I can’t decently leave Mrs. Heath now. If you had brought me this news a few weeks ago, it would have been wonderful—it would have transformed my life! But it’s impossible now. I’ve promised to stay with her—she needs me.”

  “Why did Mrs. Heath talk at dinner about going abroad?” Vicki asked. “Have you also promised to go out of the country with her?”

  “It’s just a vague plan Mrs. Heath has had ever since I met her. I don’t know exactly what she has in mind.”

  Vicki asked whether they would go soon.

  “I suppose it might be soon. Mrs. Heath does things on the spur of the moment.”

  Vicki found this a troubling prospect. If Lucy went abroad and stayed a long time, she might never be reunited with her grandparents. Even if she remained abroad a short time the separation was risky; the Bryants were elderly people, Mr. Bryant had a heart ailment. However, on this point Lucy was stubborn. Vicki saw that she felt really committed to her job with Mrs. Heath.

  “Lucy, do you ever,” Vicki said tentatively, “wonder about your employer? Don’t you ever have any doubts about her and her plans?”

  “How did you guess that?” Lucy exclaimed. Then she seemed confused. “I shouldn’t really have said that. Mrs. Heath is kind to me, and this is a pleasant job. But to tell you the truth, some things do strike me as strange. Especially now that I have a chance to talk about it—I mean, now that you make me think about it.”

  “What things?”

  Lucy gave a sigh of relief. “All right, I’ll tell you, though maybe I’m being disloyal.”

  Ever since they had come to Pine Top, Lucy said, Mrs. Heath had not actually written anything, though the book was their reason for being here. Mrs. Heath had not given Lucy any dictation beyond a few letters, mail orders, to San Francisco stores. As for the mail, what there was of it, Mrs. Heath handled it herself and never let Lucy touch outgoing or incoming letters.

  “But surely you could mail a letter if you wanted to,” Vicki said. “When you go down to Pine Top or drive into the nearest sizable town.”

  “But we haven’t left these premises since we first got here,” Lucy said. “We’ve stayed right here for—let’s see—a month now.”

  “What! Why, for goodness’ sake?”

  “Oh, Mrs. Heath says she’s thinking out her book, she’s concentrating and doesn’t want to be distracted. Besides, she hasn’t been feeling very well.”

  “But you could leave this place for a few hours, surely, just for a change of scene,” Vicki said.

  “Mrs. Heath wants me with her. We’re busy enough. We keep house and cook—we brought a big supply of food in the car, and Mrs. Heath phones Mr. Potter when we need more. She tells him to leave it at the wall door, and she leaves payment for him in our mailbox. Mrs. Heath doesn’t like being bothered with deliveries. And, well, there’s the garden to take care of, we read, we chat. It sounds pretty dull, doesn’t it?” Lucy said uncertainly. She seemed to be reconsidering their routine. “Mrs. Heath has kept me busy doing some rather pointless research for her.”

  “Hmm.” It was extraordinary, Vicki thought, that for a month Lucy had not seen nor talked with anyone except Mrs. Heath. “Don’t you get restless or lonesome?”

  “Yes, I do! I wanted to call up a couple of my friends in San Francisco, but Mrs. Heath discouraged me from doing so. She won’t even let me answer the telephone, though it seldom rings. It’s in her bedroom, and she keeps her bedroom door locked.”

  “But why locked?”

  “Because of the valuables she keeps in there, she says.” Again Lucy seemed to reconsider. “It is odd, isn’t it?”

  “Lucy, I want to say something which I hope won’t offend you. I know that you’re fond of Mrs. Heath—you’ve mistakenly made her almost a substitute for your own mother. Well, like her or not, it sounds to me as if Mrs. Heath is keeping you a prisoner here.”

  Lucy remained silent and motionless. The moonlight had shifted, the room was darker now, so that Vicki could not read her expression. At last Lucy said:

  “That’s a harsh thing for you to say. But—but I’ve once or twice thought the same thing. A prisoner.”

  “You could leave, you know.”

  “It’s not so simple, Vicki. I haven’t any money.”

  Mrs.
Heath did not pay her a salary on a weekly basis. That would not make much sense here in these hills. She promised to pay Lucy’s salary in a lump sum later on. Mrs. Heath had given her a sum in advance, when Lucy first took the job with her. But the girl had spent it on clothes and paid some old bills. “And Mrs. Heath persuaded me to bank what was left.”

  “You could leave if you wanted to,” Vicki pointed out. “Even without money. There are always people who’ll help you, and organizations who’ll help, if you seriously need help in an emergency.”

  “Well, I don’t feel I have the right to leave. I promised to stay with her for a certain length of time. It’s more than a business obligation, Vicki. She cares more for me than my grandparents ever did. And Mrs. Heath needs me. She depends on me.”

  But Vicki had seen that Mrs. Heath was neither ill nor dependent. In fact, she was a vigorous woman with a decided will. True, the employer had to be considered, but Lucy needed to consider her own welfare, as well. Vicki suspected Mrs. Heath of playing upon Lucy’s sympathies, and her lonesomeness for her family.

  “Lucy, how did you happen to strike up such a close acquaintance with Mrs. Heath in the first place?”

  “Well, it was rather sudden,” Lucy admitted. At the women’s hotel, Lucy said, the residents easily became acquainted in the lobby, in the dining room, in the television lounge. She and Mrs. Heath had liked each other from the start. She felt complimented when Mrs. Heath decided almost at once that Lucy was exactly the girl she had been looking for, to be her secretary-companion. In offering the job, Mrs. Heath showed Lucy unassailable credentials and identification.

  “She comes from Chicago,” Lucy said. “I think she has friends in New York, too. I overheard her phoning once when she had given me an all-morning gardening chore. I ran out of seeds and then the spade handle broke and I came up to her room to tell her about it, only her door was locked. I heard her, though. She was having trouble getting her number. She was trying very especially to reach someone in New York. I guess you think I’m awful to be an eavesdropper, Vicki.”

  “Not at all, under these strange circumstances. What did you hear?”