The Judas Cat

by Dorothy Salisbury Davis

  “Don’t be too hard on Mabel, Waterman. She’s getting old. You forgive old people a lot of things.”

  “Not where a man’s death’s concerned, you don’t, not till you know where she stands on it. There’s nothing you want to tell me on it?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Doc, I’d like …” He was interrupted by a light tapping on the door, after which Mrs. Barnard came in immediately. She was wearing a blue chiffon evening dress with a silver waistband.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, gentlemen. I thought Jeff was alone. How are you, Alex? And how is your young lady?”

  “Well, ma’m, thank you,” he said, standing up.

  “I wanted your opinion on my dress for the dance this evening, Jeff, but I can wait. I think we should have dinner early though, so that you can rest.” Barnard looked as interested in a dance that night as he might have been in a marble game. “Just so, Norah,” he said.

  “We were about to go anyway,” Waterman said. “Doc, I’d appreciate it if you would put in an appearance at that council meeting tomorrow morning. I’m going to need all the friends I got.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  It was Mrs. Barnard who wisped them to the door.

  Chapter 33

  MRS. WHITING WAS ON the porch with her shoes off and a glass of lemonade on the railing when Alex and Waterman came up to the house.

  “Draw two more,” Alex said.

  “Draw them yourself,” she said. “I couldn’t budge from here if somebody turned a hose on me. Sit down, Fred. I want to talk to you.”

  Alex went into the house for more lemonade.

  Waterman took off his coat and hung it over the back of a chair.

  “Ida doesn’t look well, Fred,” Mrs. Whiting said. “She seems to be burning herself out. All that high tension isn’t good for a person.”

  Waterman was examining his fingernails. “Sometimes I think that’s what she wants to do, Laura. It’s her way of getting over Freddie.”

  “I know that. I know if anything had happened to Alex, well … I don’t know what I’d have done. But I’m just afraid she’s working toward a breakdown.”

  “I know. I worry about it. I talked to Doc Jacobs. He says she’ll go on that way till she has a good heartbreaking cry, and then she’ll settle down to living her own life again. I don’t hold much with that. It’s old fashioned. But I’m danged if I know what to do about it.”

  “I was thinking I might talk to her about Freddie, about a lot of things—religion, faith and prayer heals many things, Fred.”

  “Yes, Laura. But they don’t work alone. They’re like yeast in a cake. You got to have flour, too.”

  “I think I’ll talk to her just the same …”

  Alex returned then. He gave Waterman a tall glass. “This is good for what ails you, Chief,” he said. “How was the ladies’ bazaar, Mom?”

  “All right for them that likes it. I just can’t see the point to playing cards all afternoon on a day like this. Dice either. I kept feeling like I should be down on the floor doing it. And wouldn’t you know, I won a prize?”

  “What did you get?”

  “Two decks of cards.”

  Alex winked at Waterman. “Give ’em to Dad for his birthday.”

  “He’s already got them,” she said. “Alex, what’s this I hear about you and Joan in Andy’s house? Every time I came near a group of women this afternoon, there’d be a silence I could cut with a knife. Finally, Mrs. Waterman told me what it was all about.”

  “Then I don’t have to tell you,” Alex said.

  “Suit yourself. But it isn’t very nice. Joan’s father called a few minutes ago, too.”

  “Did he ask my intentions?”

  “Don’t be so flip, Alex. Joan’s a nice girl.”

  “What in the devil do you think you raised, a monster?”

  “I don’t like you speaking like that to me, Alex. Your father says you’ve shown very poor sense in a couple of things here.”

  “We all showed poor sense here and there, Laura,” Waterman said. “We just played into the hands of people that want to make trouble.”

  Alex took a long drink. “I’m sorry I spoke that way, Mom. There’s no sense in my chewing your head off for my mistakes. Was Mabel there?”

  “She was there, poor soul. I felt sorry for her. Fred, she’s aged ten years.”

  “She looked bad at the funeral this morning,” Alex said. “I even felt sorry for her.”

  “Mark my words,” Mrs. Whiting said. “She’s afraid of something.”

  “I wonder if she got a note like Barnard did, Chief,” Alex said. “I think I got a look at the fellow who left his.”

  “Would you say it was the same person you saw at Mabel’s last night?” Waterman asked.

  “To be honest about it, I just couldn’t say. I didn’t get that close a look either time. I’ve seen fellows on sentry duty in the war that swore stumps in a field at night were people they knew.”

  “I guess you’re right. Did Mabel do much talking this afternoon, Laura?”

  “She tried. It was kind of pitiful. She’d start off on something and then forget what she was talking about. And you know what a one she is for winning? You’d think her last judgment depended on it. Today she tied for third place in Five Hundred, and they had to cut the cards for the prize. When Nellie Holtz won, Mabel just smiled. She’s always asking for two out of three cuts when she doesn’t win the first time.”

  Alex wondered that anyone as transparent as that could be involved in the old man’s death. “Was there any talk?”

  “Questions and more questions. Like ‘Take It or Leave It.’ I tell you I got more attention than Elizabeth Arden. She was demonstrating a new cosmetic line. Made Mrs. Pasteriki up to look like Garbo.”

  “You really got the works,” Alex said, grinning.

  Mrs. Whiting got up and picked up her glass. “Your father wants to go to the dance tonight,” she said. “If I’m going I’ve got to lie down for a while.”

  “Strange, the Barnards coming in for that,” Alex said when his mother had gone. “It looks like the Addisons, doesn’t it, Chief, with the old man’s will and everything?”

  “We’re just going to have to wait, Alex. We need more than that.”

  Joan drove up and parked the car in the driveway. Alex went out to meet her. They had a few words together, and when they came up to the porch, Alex said to Waterman, “Will it help if Joan tells you she found a man who knew Andy Mattson sixty years ago?”

  Waterman shrugged. “It won’t hurt none.”

  “Addison was an opportunist from the word go,” Joan said.

  “How else do you get sixty million?” Alex said. “Can you believe this Bruckner?”

  “I think so. The time seems right. Turnsby, Andy and Addison had a shop together in Webber. It was around 1880 or a little later. They perfected some sort of hydraulic machine and Addison filed a request for a patent on it. Someone had just patented a machine along the same lines and they lost out. Addison dropped out of their partnership and pretty soon they found out he’d tied up with a man named Winston, the same man who had filed the patent ahead of them. Addison took with him the complete information on the work Andy, Turnsby and he had done together. Turnsby took it to court. Mr. Bruckner says we could probably find a court record on it if we were to search for it. Andy was married to Addison’s sister, and he had been against the patenting in the first place. He washed his hands of the entire business.”

  Alex interrupted. “Did Bruckner know about Turnsby marrying Anne?”

  “I don’t think he did,” Joan said. “He’d have mentioned it. He came out here with Addison and Turnsby.”

  “I guess Addison put the silencer on that,” Alex said.

  “Anyway,” Joan continued, “Turnsby withdrew the suit. Addison was going leaps and bounds with this Winston, and Turnsby went in with them. That’s all there is about Andy in the story.”

  “And you felt Bruckner
knew what he was talking about,” Waterman said.

  “I believed him,” Joan said. “I didn’t coach him or try to put the words in his mouth. And I saw the name Winston before. It’s on one of their products.”

  “I wonder what happened to him,” Alex said. “Addison seems to have had quite a turnover in partners.”

  “That’s what I meant about his being an opportunist.”

  “Round and round and round we go,” Alex said. “What does the county farm look like these days?”

  “Like the poorhouse,” Joan said.

  Chapter 34

  ALEX WAS ABOUT TO leave the house to drive Joan home when the telephone rang. It was the librarian. She had received an answer to her wire on the painting. When he got to the library, Miss Woods looked more cheerful than anyone he had seen in Hillside that day.

  “Alex, did you say Mr. Mattson had one of these paintings?”

  “I don’t know whether I said he did, but I think so.”

  She handed him the paper listing the dates of known works of the artist, their present disposition, and the history of their ownership from the time they were purchased from him. Andy Mattson had bought four of them over a period of seven years. Three of these were listed as in the Addison collection, the record showing that each of them had passed from Mattson to Addison within a year of their purchase. Andrew Mattson had been in Europe from 1905 to 1912 at least, and during that time he had again been associated with Henry Addison.

  “Thank you, Miss Woods. How much did it cost to get this?”

  “The telegram out of petty cash,” she said.

  He stuck a dollar bill in the barrel bank.

  Miss Woods was looking at him peculiarly, as though she were measuring him. “Yes?” he said.

  “Alex, is there any truth in what I heard about you, ah … carrying on with the Elliot girl?” She looked immediately as though she wished she had not asked it.

  “Enough truth to make gossip, Miss Woods. I took Joan to Mattson’s house to see the painting. On an impulse, I kissed her. Miss Turnsby was impulsive about it too.”

  Miss Woods flushed at his frankness. “Oh,” she said.

  Chapter 35

  WATERMAN RETURNED TO THE station after supper. He went over a whole notebook full of notes and questions, theories and counter-theories. He could think of nothing that he had not checked. Mabel’s dishes from the Emporium … she had bought them, all right. It seemed strange for someone of her age to buy dishes. Over the years Ida had collected enough pieces to serve a banquet on … Mattson’s shoes, his glasses, wood and coal man, neighbors … he had checked them all. He was at his desk for a couple of hours. He heard the music start for the dance up by the high school, and the clang of horseshoes outside the fire station. Finally he locked up the station, left the key with the fire chief, and drove over to Mattson’s.

  The house was as it had been since he first went into it, except for the two windows, boarded up now. The golden-rod had been mowed, but it lay wilting in the closeness of the night. Mabel’s house, too, was in complete darkness. Her bedroom window was open. The old lady had had a hard day, he thought.

  In the workshop, all that had changed was the creeping dust that in time would probably cover everything and weigh it down, and bury it. When, he wondered, had the old man last worked here. There was a half empty bucket of coal at the side of the stove. He went to the stove itself and opened the door. A few crumpled papers had been thrown on top of the uncleaned grate. Waterman took them to the light. They were sketches and scale drawings of toys in the bold lines of Andy’s hand. The paper was sheer, and he held it at varying angles with the light. The reflection caught markings on the paper left from previous sheets used on the tablet. There was only a name, but it had been written several times … Mabel Turnsby.

  Chapter 36

  NEITHER JOAN NOR ALEX felt like going to the dance, but in view of the events and the tension in the town, they went together, neither of them mentioning their reluctance.

  “If we were only as young as the folks,” Alex said, motioning toward his father and mother. Mr. Whiting danced elaborately. Only the outdoor pavilion was big enough for him.

  “Or as the Barnards,” Joan said. “She’s like a blue cloud, isn’t she?”

  “Even we’re having more fun than they are,” Alex said. “That set smile of hers doesn’t fool me. Look at Doc’s eyebrows.”

  “I wonder why they came.”

  “Lonely maybe,” Alex said. “I feel a little that way myself, the things that have been happening. Maybe they just want to feel they belong somewhere.”

  “Mrs. Pasteriki still has her Garbo look,” Joan whispered. “You know she’s quite lovely, Alex?”

  “Tonight I hadn’t noticed,” he said. “I haven’t looked far from home.”

  At the end of that dance, they joined Mr. and Mrs. Whiting at the punch table, set up under beach umbrellas a few feet away from the dance platform. Mr. Whiting was patting the perspiration from his forehead and the back of his neck.

  “If you didn’t work so hard, Charles, you wouldn’t perspire so,” Mrs. Whiting said. “You’ve got me tuckered out too.”

  “It’s healthy to sweat like this,” her husband said. “And that band makes you do it.”

  “How about changing partners for the next one?” Alex said.

  “Think you can keep up with me, Joanie?” Mr. Whiting asked.

  “There’s Nat and Phyllis Watkins,” Mrs. Whiting said. “I’m so glad.”

  “Back together again,” Alex said. The Barnards joined them then. “Good evening, Mrs. Barnard.”

  “Good evening, Alex. Mrs. Whiting, how are you, my dear? These summer dances are charming things. I don’t know how we’ve managed to miss them so long …”

  Alex and Joan drifted toward the Watkins. “It’s good to see you, Nat,” Alex said. “Mrs. Watkins.”

  “Hello,” Watkins said. Mrs. Watkins did not even speak. They walked away, and suddenly Joan realized that several people had been watching them. Mrs. Baldwin’s laugh spiraled up. It had never seemed so unpleasant. Joan could feel the color rising in her throat. Her father had been angry. Her two brothers had heard tales of the incident in their shop that day, but they had not said anything beyond mentioning that they had heard it. And still she could not believe that a little incident, a wonderful little incident, could be whipped into such distortions by the tongue of one woman, and she a notorious gossip at that. It had taken more. Everyone who wanted to hurt Alex and Waterman had made the most of it. Without realizing it she threw her head back.

  “That’s the spirit,” Alex whispered, leading her back toward where his parents were still talking with the Barnards.

  “… Jeff’s had such recriminations,” his wife was saying. “Prejudices rise on such little provocation …”

  “Let’s enjoy this evening, at least, Norah,” the veterinary said.

  “Of course, Jeffrey. Get me a little more punch, will you, my dear?”

  “I’ll get it, Doc,” Alex said. As he went to the table, he noticed someone turning away from him as he came near, someone who turned his head without moving his body. He had his first good look at the man he had seen at Barnard’s that afternoon.

  Chapter 37

  HE AND JOAN LEFT the dance before it was over. Even their friends had not been cordial. They drove a little way into the country. There was no moonlight, and the heaviness of the afternoon rain was still in the air. It was no heavier than the feeling of defeat about them. “Tomorrow’s meeting will end this,” Alex said, “or if it doesn’t, God help us.”

  “Yes, God help us. Alex, I think I’d like to go home now.”

  He turned the car around at the next driveway. “Joan, a lot of bad things have come out of this. But for me something wonderful has happened right in the middle of it. You know that, don’t you?”

  She did not answer. By an old habit, she watched the beak of the bird on the radiator cap ride into the road marker,
seeming to spread the roadway like water before the prow of a ship.

  “I’m in love with you, Joan. I think, or at least I hope you are with me. I wanted to ask you tonight if you’ll marry me.”

  The bird had magic wings and a silver beak, but it was a prisoner. “No, Alex. If you were to ask me now, I should say no.”

  “I guess it is rather stupid timing,” he said. In the rear view mirror, he saw a car that had passed them when they were turning, back into a driveway, and itself turn around and come back toward Hillside behind them. He took Joan home, and went directly home himself. He was in bed when his parents returned and they did not disturb him. But it was a long time before he fell into a restless sleep.

  Chapter 38

  IN THE MORNING ALEX went to the office early. He went in the side door. Only Maude would be there, it being Saturday. His father was going directly to the town hall. A disheveled looking man was sitting on the bench outside the railing. Alex nodded at him. When he reached the railing the man spoke. “Remember me, buddy?”

  Alex whirled around. He would not forget that voice if he lived as long as Andy Mattson. It was the county prisoner who had seen him at the morgue in Riverdale. “I think I do,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

  The man was unshaven and his cheeks were hollow, but Alex thought he did not look vicious. There was something amused about his eyes, as though he must have found everything a grim sort of joke.

  “I think maybe it’s what I can do for you,” the tramp drawled. “You’re in kind of a jam, ain’t you?”

  Alex took a cigarette and offered one to the little man. He took it with grimy fingers and lighted it before continuing. “I figured you for a pretty good Joe after that twenty bucks. I says ‘here’s a guy I could do a good turn. Of course, he’s got to see to it I get taken care of …’”

  “What do you mean, taken care of?” Alex said.

  “Protection, and maybe a little cash on the side.”