Cherry Ames Boxed Set 17-20

by Helen Wells

By Saturday night they had their answer.

  First, Cherry had made sure before the weekend started that Mrs. Wick would not stay to work alone on Friday evening, nor come in on Saturday. “Oh, no,” Irene Wick had assured her. “I’m spending this weekend with a friend upstate.”

  So the auditor and his assistant had executed their plan.

  Saturday evening the auditor telephoned Cherry and Grey at the Spencer Club apartment. Grey was eating supper with her there, and of all people, Spud and Tottie. They had come into the city to shop.

  The lawyer, Mr. Goldsmith, was also staying home this hot Saturday evening, waiting for the auditor’s telephone call.

  The auditor reported, “Your medical secretary has been stealing systematically for the past two years. She never turned over to the doctors the whole amount of what the patients paid her in cash. I’d estimate that she kept as much as two hundred dollars a week—every week—for two years.

  “And we can prove our charges in two ways,” the auditor said. “First, the cash deposits in the doctors’ bank accounts were far too small. The doctors trusted the secretary to put the patients’ cash payments in the bank, but she put in only what she didn’t keep.

  “Second, we’ve found discrepancies in the records—”

  Cherry interrupted to ask, “Didn’t Mrs. Wick falsify the records?”

  “She started to, but didn’t keep it up,” the auditor said. “Apparently it was too much work for her. We did find a few rigged entries freshly written in, as if she tried again recently.” Cherry thought of the evening she and Grey had unexpectedly gone to the office, and found Mrs. Wick working on the books.

  The auditor went on, “As I say, we found glaring discrepancies between the charge cards and the ledgers. We found discrepancies between the figures in the appointment books, where the doctors wrote down each fee, and the ledgers. Her bookkeeping is in such a mess that it’s hard to—Well, just let me say we have absolute proof of Mrs. Wick’s thefts. We estimate she stole about twenty thousand dollars.”

  When Cherry recovered, she asked, “What about kickbacks she probably received from Bally, that salesman she favored?”

  The auditor suggested that this matter be left to the lawyer and the police.

  The auditor arranged with Grey and Cherry to return the records to the brownstone house Sunday at noon, keeping the records in their original order.

  Grey and Cherry had been listening on the phone together. Their guests, Spud and Tottie, had grown bored and left. Just as well, since these conversations were confidential.

  Grey, after thinking it over, notified Dr. Lamb by telephone of the auditor’s findings. The old man was not, as Grey had feared, upset. He even took the news with a joke, and told Grey:

  “Go ahead and catch her! Anything you do in that regard is all right with me. … Say, Grey, have you seen my whatchamacallit? Think Mrs. Wick stole it, too?”

  CHAPTER XIII

  The Red Purse

  THE SPENCER CLUB’S TELEPHONE RANG INSISTENTLY. IT was seven A.M. that hot Monday morning, July twelfth. Cherry woke up and staggered to the telephone. The call was for her, as she’d half expected—from the lawyer.

  “Sorry to disturb you, Miss Ames,” he said. “I’m going to call Dr. Fairall’s bank as soon as it opens, and warn them to be on the lookout for Irene Wick. In case she tries to withdraw any money from the doctor’s account, or tries—in any bank—to cash a check she’s written herself with Fairall’s power of attorney—well, she could be arrested on the spot.”

  It was a trap for Mrs. Wick, as well as a safeguard for Dr. Fairall. “But suppose,” Cherry asked, “that Mrs. Wick is too wary even to report for work this morning?”

  Mr. Goldsmith said, “In that case we’d have a harder time to catch her. But you’ve all moved with complete secrecy in making this audit. So I’d say Mrs. Wick doesn’t suspect it’s been made, or even suspect that it might be made in the future. If she did—If she’d been alerted—she’d have disappeared right after Dr. Fairall got sick.”

  “Then you don’t believe Irene Wick deliberately poisoned him?” Cherry asked.

  “No, I don’t,” the lawyer said. “I think the food spoilage was an accident. You’ve read too much into that, Miss Ames. A red herring,” the lawyer said dryly. “No, Irene Wick didn’t suspect about the audit, she didn’t poison Dr. Fairall on purpose, she still feels confident that she’s safe to pursue her racket. You’ll see, she’ll come to work today.”

  The lawyer added, “Wait—one more thing, Miss Ames. Last week I talked with the officer at Dr. Fairall’s bank. He let me know—reluctantly, I must say!—that Mrs. Wick has her own small checking account at their bank, and rents a safedeposit box.”

  “A handy place to keep the cash she steals?” Cherry suggested.

  “She probably keeps it there, temporarily. And keeps it elsewhere, too, I should think. Still,” Mr. Goldsmith said, “I’m not yet ready to call in the police. Publicity of this sort might hurt Dr. Fairall—his patients might doubt his judgment in other matters. Miss Ames, I’m going to stay in my office all morning, in case you or Dr. Russell need me.” The lawyer hung up.

  Irene Wick did come to work that morning, early and brisk as usual. She looked sunburned after her weekend away. With her white linen suit she carried a red lizard handbag of distinctive design.

  “What a handsome new handbag!” Cherry said. She was positive she recognized it as the one-of-a-kind purse Bunny had purchased at the Fifth Avenue shop. She tried not to stare at it.

  “Thank you,” Irene Wick said. She opened the bag to show Cherry its fine lining, and Cherry saw the label. Yes, the same shop. So there was a connection between Bunny and Irene Wick!

  “It is a handsome bag, isn’t it?” Mrs. Wick said. “It’s a present—my hostess this weekend insisted on giving it to me. She’s carried it a few times, but it really is new.”

  “What a nice hostess!” Cherry commented.

  Mrs. Wick smiled and said, “You’re here early.” She began pulling off her gloves when she frowned, then walked over to the desk and cautiously placed her hand on the appointment book. It was closed. Usually it lay open. Closed! Mrs. Wick’s color changed beneath her suntan.

  “Didn’t I leave the appointment book open to today’s date before I left here on Friday afternoon?” she muttered. “Didn’t I—I always do—” Her trembling voice broke off.

  Cherry said quickly, “Oh, I did that—I moved it to dust a little just now.” She began to tremble and gripped her hands together to stop it.

  For she had slipped up in not returning the appointment book to exactly its usual position. Mrs. Wick was so fussy and rigid in her methods that she noticed the most petty change. Cherry hoped that the auditor and his assistant had managed to keep ledgers, charge cards, bills, and canceled checks in their original order.

  As far as Cherry could see, they had. Cherry and Grey had been there yesterday when Mr. Curtis and Mr. Joseph had returned the big load of records. Then Cherry had made a particular effort, checking through all the records for two hours, to see that they were in the usual order. Only then had she locked the files and desk.

  Now Cherry held her breath. “I’m not as eagle-eyed with paperwork as a secretary is,” Cherry thought. “If I overlooked opening the appointment book, maybe I’ve made a mistake on some other detail, too.”

  Mrs. Wick said sharply, “Well, I wish you would leave things in proper order, Cherry. Anyway, Winnie is supposed to come in to clean, not you. Not the nurse.” This extra little stab of sarcasm seemed to relieve and calm Irene Wick. She asked, “How is Dr. Fairall? When did Grey last see him?”

  Cherry told her Grey had seen Dr. Fairall yesterday, and he was much better. The telephone rang, today’s first patient calling. Mrs. Wick answered. The intercom buzzed. Grey had a minor emergency case coming in, he said. He wanted Cherry to set up a treatment room, right away.

  “Emergency arriving,” Cherry said to Irene. “Dr. Russell says h
ome accident. I’ll be back in about ten minutes, Irene.”

  Ten minutes later Cherry came back into the waiting room and office area. Mrs. Wick was not around. A file drawer full of charge cards stood open. Cherry frowned. It was not like Irene Wick to leave the telephones unattended. Nor to leave a file drawer open. Cherry looked into the file drawer—and saw that half of the cards were upside down.

  Had they been upside down yesterday? Or was this a signal from Irene Wick saying, in effect, “I see my records have been tampered with. I have always feared an auditor was to have been called in, and now apparently he has been—and has examined these records.”

  Or was the upside-down placing simply a routine way of not losing one’s place when working with a mass of cards? Had Mrs. Wick merely gone to change into uniform? Or was she setting out supplies?

  Cherry took the telephone calls alone for a while. When Dottie Nash came in, Cherry put her in charge of the phones, and went to search the street floor. Irene Wick was not in any of these rooms. Cherry ran upstairs to the second floor, looking into each empty room. In the dressing room, her own and Irene’s white uniforms still hung on the rack. But Irene’s hat, gloves, and red purse were not there.

  Cherry knocked, then looked into Grey’s office. No Irene. Grey glanced up inquiringly.

  “Have you seen Mrs. Wick?” He shook his head. “Then she’s gone—run away.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Well, she left a file drawer standing open—she never does that—she must’ve seen—”

  Grey pressed an intercom button and asked Dottie Nash for Mrs. Wick.

  “She went home about ten minutes ago. Said she didn’t feel well,” Dottie replied. “Can I do something for you, Dr. Russell?”

  “No, thanks—yes. Give me Mrs. Wick’s home phone number, please.” Grey scribbled it down. “Thanks, Dottie. Now will you get this number for me?”

  It was the lawyer’s number. Because Dottie might listen in, and might still be in touch with Mrs. Wick to warn her, they could not now make arrangements by phone. At the other end a woman’s voice answered by stating the phone number. Then Grey said casually into the phone:

  “Arnold? … Good morning. … This is Dr. Russell. Feeling better? … Can you come in to let me look you over? … Yes, can do. … Why, yes. … Take the elevator to the second floor. And you remember my office is at the far end of the hall.”

  The instant Grey hung up, Cherry turned off the intercom, so Dottie could not hear.

  “Arnold Goldsmith will be right over,” Grey said to Cherry. “Listen—about this emergency patient—and our other patients today—the lawyer hinted that he wants us to go with him, I assume to locate Irene Wick. … Yes, both of us, Cherry. So I’m going to phone Dr. Lamb to come in. We’ll have to get a relief nurse. Do you know an R.N. who’s available?”

  Cherry shook her head. The shortage of nurses, and of doctors too, was a serious problem. Women were urgently needed in both skills.

  “Unless,” Cherry said, “Zelda Colt is back in New York from vacation but not yet back on her job. She knows Dr. Lamb and some of the patients, and the setup here.”

  “It’s worth a try,” Grey said.

  He sent Cherry out of the building to telephone Miss Colt, and also Irene Wick’s apartment. No one answered there, though Cherry rang several times, before and after calling Zelda Colt. By good luck, Miss Colt was available, and more than willing to help out “—even though I’ll have to work with Irene Wick.”

  “Mrs. Wick is—er—out sick today,” Cherry said. “There’ll be just you, Dottie, and Dr. Lamb. I’ll explain later, Miss Colt. This is an emergency. Thank you ever so much.”

  “Thank you,” the other nurse said. “This gives me back my good reputation at Dr. Fairall’s. I’ll come right over. ’Bye now.”

  Cherry sped back to the office, stopping briefly to check with Dottie. The young woman was rather upset at being left alone and in charge. Cherry reassured her, told her that Zelda Colt and Dr. Lamb were coming, and learned that not many patients had called in so far. Dottie said Dr. Russell was treating the accident case—removing a glass splinter from a woman’s hand. Cherry started upstairs to help bandage the hand, but met the woman already leaving, stepping out of the elevator. At the same time, the lawyer arrived. He and Cherry went up to Grey’s office together.

  Arnold Goldsmith took hold of the situation with an iron grip, to Cherry’s relief. First he listened to her hasty report about the red handbag, the file drawer left open, the unanswered telephone in Irene Wick’s apartment.

  “She isn’t there,” the lawyer said. “I sent a man from my office to her apartment building right after you phoned me, Grey. He persuaded the superintendent to let him in. Not there. By the way, her clothes are still there. She didn’t plan this disappearance. The audit took her by surprise. Now she knows the racket is over. Well! We’ll have to surprise her again, with an arrest.”

  The lawyer already had checked with the bank, to learn whether Irene Wick had gone there that morning. But Mrs. Wick was too foxy for that. After she’d seen the closed appointment book, and the possibly disarranged charge cards, she must have felt the trap closing in around her.

  The lawyer figured Mrs. Wick would flee to her accomplice, Bunny, in Greenhill. Last week he had sent an investigator there, who discovered that Mrs. Lydia Belfinger had a very large bank account in Greenhill. The account was jointly held with a Mrs. I. W. Sproull—“and you can be sure that’s Irene Wick. Wick is probably her maiden name.” Possibly even more significant, the two women also rented a safe-deposit box—the largest size—in the Greenhill bank. So Irene Wick would want to pull out the money in that account, and the money that very likely was in that safe-deposit box, before she fled Greenhill and hid from arrest.

  “Does she own a car?” the lawyer asked Grey and Cherry. “No?… Then wouldn’t she go to Greenhill by train? Just on an off chance I’ve sent another investigator to watch for her at the train gate at Grand Central, and try to detain her. But—” Arnold Goldsmith shrugged. “I haven’t heard from him. Anyway, she has a head start on us. Can you come now? My car’s outside. We’d better get to Bunny’s house quickly—or Irene Wick and the money will be gone.”

  “We’ll come, of course,” Grey said, “but why?”

  “I need you both,” Arnold Goldsmith said. “Explain on the way up there.”

  Just before they left the brownstone, Dottie Nash came running after Cherry, almost in tears. Cherry kept walking and listened.

  “Cherry, Zelda Colt is here, as you told me—and how glad I am to see her! She’s always nice to me. But what’s happening with Mrs. Wick? I do admire her—even if she was furious when I—when I—”

  “When you what?” Cherry encouraged Dottie.

  “When I borrowed, just for overnight, fifteen dollars from what old Mrs. Morris paid in cash, so I could buy that blue dress for a party I was going to. I swear I re turned the fifteen dollars right away, but Mrs. Wick said I’d stolen it, and if I ever took any money around here again, she’d have me fired just like she got rid of Miss Colt!”

  Cherry called to the beckoning lawyer, “I’m coming! … Dottie, listen to me. You were foolish, you did the wrong thing, but you weren’t as dishonest as Mrs. Wick. Have to go now!”

  They drove to Greenhill. It was a hard, fast drive—Cherry did not enjoy it. The lawyer, driving, briefed them:

  He hoped Cherry could persuade Irene Wick to submit peaceably to arrest, to cooperate by surrendering the stolen money, and telling her full story. “She might not listen to me,” Arnold Goldsmith said. “She’s never seen me before. She’ll think of me only as a prosecutor.” The lawyer also needed Grey and Cherry to identify Irene and Bunny, since he had only descriptions and had never seen the two women. He had particular need of Grey.

  “There are two legal methods to arrest Irene and Bunny,” the lawyer explained. “Either we must go before the local magistrate—he’s probably in the Greenhill cou
rthouse. Or rather, Grey will go before the magistrate, because Irene has stolen from Grey. Grey, as witness, will give his story to the magistrate in the form of a sworn statement. On the basis of Grey’s affidavit, the magistrate will issue an arrest warrant to the local police officer. Then the police officer will go to Bunny’s house, we with him, and he will arrest Irene and Bunny—using force if necessary—”

  Grey interrupted to ask, “What about getting a search warrant to enter Bunny’s house?”

  “If we, or rather the police officer, has an arrest warrant,” Arnold Goldsmith said, “we don’t need a search warrant. The policeman has a right to search the house incident to the arrest. But! This method—getting an arrest warrant—takes time.”

  Cherry sighed. “Irene and Bunny could be on a plane by that time.”

  “Exactly,” the lawyer said. “So I propose that Grey use the other, less usual method. You know, it’s possible to make a private citizen’s arrest.”

  “I’ve heard of that,” Grey said, “but precisely what is it?”

  “Well a private citizen may arrest the wrongdoer—but only for a felony that has actually been committed. Irene Wick’s stealing in large amounts is certainly a felony. And we are sure she stole, and sure that Bunny aided her, either as accomplice or accessory after the fact. So I would advise you, Grey, to make a private arrest of Irene Wick and Bunny. I’ll help you, of course. And I’ll help when you bring them before the local magistrate, where they may be jailed or arrange bail.”

  Grey grumbled about this distasteful assignment, but he agreed to act on behalf of Dr. Fairall, Dr. Lamb, and himself.

  They reached the quiet town late in the morning. They drove through the square past Brown’s Pharmacy, into the residential area, past the ice-cream shop, and then almost to Mrs. Belfinger’s handsome white brick house. They parked around the corner, half concealed by a high hedge. The lawyer whistled when he saw the house and its grounds. Bunny’s expensive car stood in the driveway.

  “So that’s how the two women have been spending Dr. Fairall’s patients’ fees,” Arnold Goldsmith said. “And your earnings, Grey, and Dr. Lamb’s. Now! How are we going to gain entry into that house?”