She was about to knock when she heard Mrs. Willow’s deep breathing and a “sort of soft snore.” She changed her mind and went to her room to get what she could out of the serial. “Such a nice sleep, I hadn’t the heart to disturb the lady.” She held to this attitude until nearly nine o’clock when she ran back to the house to awaken Mrs. Willow who (vexingly) was already up. Vina Norman could contribute nothing else.
Mrs. Larson gave a brief statement. She had finished her work at nine and was leaving when I drove up. She retired to her place and chatted with Big Swede. Little Swede came in soon, though she didn’t know the exact time, and turned on the radio. On being re-questioned, she denied that he was wet, muddy, bloody, or upset.
Big Swede stated that he had spent the evening reading his paper, playing the radio, and thinking about the next day’s work. Mr. Delhart had called him out about cleaning the pond. He knew nothing else. He denied that his son had the appearance of a murderer when he came in the house. He was vehement about it, and the detective who took the original notes had put in the blanks to indicate the necessary words. At least, Tiffin released the statement with blanks.
Tiffin’s report on his interview with Glory Martin followed. Then came my statement. This left only Little Swede, and there was quite a batch on him, including a carbon copy of his confession.
I relaxed and lit a cigaret before trying to tackle Tim Larson.
Jeff poked his head into the room. “Got it solved, O’Hara?”
“Absolutely,” I said, forgetting I was mad at him. “Mrs. Willow did it. She smuggled a dog into the house and put it in her bed so it could snore and make the maid think she was asleep. Then she sneaked out and rowed a boat to the dam, portaging by the bridge. Here she hid, sinking the boat first, and hung by her fingertips from the face of the dam. Mr. Delhart came out to admire his fishpond and she cut him with a cleaver. It was in her teeth, pirate fashion.” I yawned. “How’s that?”
“I’d rather have you sore at me than listen to more of that,” Jeff said fervently. He removed his head and I was about to return to the notes when a car screeched to a stop outside.
I had no more than stood up and deposited Bosco in my chair when the door banged open and Tiffin stalked in. He blocked the doorway but I could see Jocko behind him.
“Where is she?” Tiffin demanded.
“Don’t be so melodramatic,” I said. “Where is who?”
“Glory Martin,” he announced. He jabbed a finger in my direction. “Adeline, I won’t stand for you …”
“Don’t blame me if you misplace witnesses,” I interrupted him. “How do I know where she is?”
“You were acting like her sister,” he said accusingly. “See how far you’ll get protecting an accessory to a murder. I’m going to search your place. And if she’s there you’ll …”
“I’ll be damned,” I said. “You’ll search nothing without a warrant, Godfrey.” I had been amused but now I was getting mad. I started to quote the Constitution, working forward from the Preamble.
“See,” Tiffin bellowed triumphantly. “I told you, sheriff. And by the time we get a warrant she’ll have the Martin girl hidden somewhere else. We’ll search anyway!”
“Jud!” I screamed. But there was no need so I lowered by voice. Jud and Jeff were already in the room, looking interested. “Jud,” I said more softly, “tear down the front page. This is a swell story. It will make history. Assistant County Prosecutor ‘God’ Godfrey Tiffin is personally ripping up the Bill of Rights. Maybe he’ll even write us a new Constitution. Make a tear-jerker out of it. Mention all the privacy the poor citizens had before Tiffin came along. You know, the nostalgic touch. And don’t forget the widow’s angle. How the poor women can’t even sob in private any more. Tiffin sees all.”
“Bah!” Tiffin said. He actually did.
Jeff reached for the phone. “Dictate it, O’Hara. I’ll pass it along to The Press.”
Tiffin went out, slamming the door so hard the glass quivered. Jud collapsed in his chair, burying his head in his arms. “His face,” he gasped. “Did you see his face? He actually believed you.”
A moment later the door opened again. Jocko thrust his head in. “Addy,” he said reprovingly. Then he grinned. “Have you seen her, Addy?”
“No,” I said. “I’ve been with Jeff all evening.”
“Fact,” Jeff said.
Jocko nodded and withdrew. When the car had driven off, Jud reached for his smelling liquor. “Addy,” he said, when he had taken a big sniff and replaced the bottle cap, “you’d better get home anyway. Tiffin is liable to tear your place apart just to prove what a big boy he is.”
XV
“I’LL GO,” Jeff said. “I feel like a crack at those rabbit teeth of Tiffin’s.”
“Bravo,” I said. I picked Bosco out of my chair and sat down. Jeff grinned at me and went out. Jud was still shaking with laughter.
“That Jeff is a nice guy,” he told me finally.
“He’s a heel,” I said.
“You had it coming, Addy,” Jud reminded me.
I had to grin a little. “Anyway,” I said, “he doesn’t even notice what I wear until I ask him about it.”
“That’s the kind of man to marry,” Jud said. “Then he’ll never know you have a new dress and he can’t raise hell about it.”
I thought I had left my last blush in the army, but I felt as if I were getting pink now. “Listen, Cupid,” I began, and then the ringing of the phone stopped me. Jud picked up the receiver. He listened a moment, grunted, and handed the phone to me.
I leaned out and took it, dropping Bosco in the process. It was Jeff.
“O’Hara,” he said in an odd voice, “is this Glory Martin a tallish, ‘oh my’ sort of blonde?”
I could feel my stomach sliding down hill rapidly. “Yes.”
“And does she wear green satin pajamas in public?”
“She wears green satin pajamas,” I agreed. “Jeff …”
“Then,” he went on blithely, “Glory Martin is the girl on your bed. Tiffin didn’t show up, by the way.”
When I heard that last sentence I started to breathe again. “What is she doing?” I demanded.
“Out cold,” Jeff said briefly. “She exudes the odor of a distillery. A big distillery.”
“I’ll be right over,” I said. I was about to ring off when I thought of something. “Jeff …”
“Yeh?”
“Keep away from those satin pajamas. I’ll do the reviving.”
Jud was grinning at me as I handed him the phone. “I just want to get first crack at questioning her, that’s all,” I told him.
He kept on grinning so I stalked out.
Glory was there all right, sleeping on my bed as if she owned it. She had a thin coat on over her pajamas and there were beach sandals on her feet. She wore no hat but she seemed to have spent some time on her hair and face. In sleep, even soggy with liquor as she was, she had her soft, childish look. Jeff was right, she did smell like a distillery.
“Shall we call Tiffin over after we get a story out of her?” Jeff asked.
“I told Jud you were a heel,” I said savagely, “now I think I mean it. This girl is in trouble.”
“Good for you,” Jeff said softly. And he had the nerve to stop and kiss me—thoroughly this time. Then he walked out. When he came back a moment later I was still standing there, trying to think of a suitable way to give him his come-uppence.
“You ready to work?” he demanded with cheerful indifference. He had a coffee pot in one hand and a cup in the other. “Get some cold towels,” he ordered. “I thought you knew how to handle a drunk.”
“Why should I?” But I went into the bathroom and dipped two towels in cold water.
I gave them a thorough wringing and took them to Jeff. “We’ll play hell with her make-up,” he said.
“She’s probably got a full emergency kit in her purse,” I said. Then I watched Jeff. He slapped her very gently with the tow
els. He kept it up for quite a while, occasionally sending me back to give them another wetting.
He slapped and talked. “You’re the same O’Hara that was a WAC sergeant?”
“Yes,” I said. I was still being stiff with him.
“Medical discharge, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” I said. I went into the bathroom and dipped a towel.
“What was your wound?” he asked.
“Part of a buzz bomb,” I said coldly.
He grinned annoyingly at me. “Where?”
“In England.”
He stopped slapping Glory and began rubbing her face vigorously with the freshly wet towel. “I asked, ‘where’, O’Hara. But never mind. Jud told me you had to sit on a special pillow for a while.”
I ignored him as long as I could. The memory was still painful. And I was peeved at Jud for telling Jeff. But Jeff’s grin was too much for me to ignore very long. “If you …” I started to say. Then Glory stirred and I forgot about beginning a nice quarrel. But it didn’t mean a thing. She drifted off again after a half turn of her head.
Jeff sighed. “Let’s walk her,” he said. He got her on her feet and we walked her back and forth in the small room. She was all limp and loose and whenever we relaxed our support her knees gave away.
We propped her on the edge of the bed and Jeff tried to get some coffee into her. Fortunately he had sense enough to tie a towel around her neck or her lovely pajamas would have been ruined.
He stood up disgustedly when over a half cup of coffee had gone from her chin onto the towel. “Throw her in the shower,” he said. He helped me get her into the tiny bath and seated on the stool, then he went out. I had a time with her pajamas and coat. She was as limp as soft rubber. But I managed finally to get her stretched in the tub, her head on the sloping end.
I pulled my bath cap over her hair, tugged the shower curtains together, reached in and turned on the cold water. I had one of those stinging sprays and a movable socket. By wriggling the fitting I soaked her from head to foot. I left the water full on her face for a moment, then turned it off and peered in. She was shaking her head and pawing the air.
I turned on the shower again, full force. She howled. Her language was astounding. I wondered what Mrs. Larson would think if she could hear her now.
I shut the water off. “For gosh sakes,” I said. “Shut up. They’ll hear you all the way to Portland.”
She looked blearily at me and subsided to a sputter. She didn’t try to get up; she lay and shivered. I held out my hand and helped her to her knees, and she stayed that way.
I turned around and got a terry cloth robe for her. But before I could get to her with it she decided to be sick. I got a grip on her head and swivelled her so she faced the shower again. Then I turned it on.
Finally, she got out, half under her own power, and maneuvered into the robe. She was shivering and crying at the same time. When she was dry enough I helped her into her pajamas and coat and off with my bath cap. She put her feet into her sandals and headed for the door. She made it to the bed and started sagging again.
“Jeff!” I yelled. He bounced in. We propped her against the headboard of the bed and began feeding her coffee. I don’t know whether it was the coffee or the sight of a personable male but she was more alert now.
“Thanks,” she said, not looking at me.
“How did you get here?” I demanded. “Why?”
“I ran away,” Glory said. She gave Jeff a dewy smile, and I wasn’t sure I liked her as much as I had thought. “My guard went to dinner so I left.”
“Before they had a chance to question you?” Jeff asked.
Glory looked at me. “This yours?” she asked, indicating Jeff.
“He’s safe,” I said stiffly. I knew Jeff was grinning at me, even though I didn’t look at him. “He works for me,” I added. “My reportorial assistant.”
“He’s cute,” Glory stated, and reached for more coffee. Jeff popped up and got it. Glory moved a hand vaguely in her pocket for a cigaret. Jeff immediately offered her one from my pack, which was on the night stand! He held a match solicitously.
I gave him a frigid look and concentrated on Glory. “How did you get out of the house?”
“I played sick and they didn’t bother me,” she said. She blew a leisurely puff of smoke. “When the deputy went to dinner I went onto my balcony and climbed down the trellis to the ground. I ran back to the Larsons. He told me what had happened.” She looked thoughtfully at me. “I heard them talking about Tim in the hall—but I didn’t think you gave me away.”
“No,” I said. “He confessed. I didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“The dope,” Glory said. Her voice was casual. She stubbed out her cigaret and smiled sweetly at Jeff.
He said, “Didn’t any of Tiffin’s men see you after you climbed to the ground?”
Glory’s laugh was scornful. “Those apes? They thought I was too sick to move, I guess. They were all eating at the same time. After Big Swede told me the story he got the station wagon out for me and I was away before the police woke up. “It’s my car,” she added, “so it isn’t theft.”
“Where is it now?” I demanded. I had a vision of it parked behind my house, a lovely clue for Tiffin.
“I piled it up,” she said casually. “There was a pint in the car and I lost control someway while I was taking a drink. The car is on the edge of town, on a side road.”
“And you weren’t hurt?” Jeff asked inanely.
“Not that I know of,” Glory said. She dazzled him with a smile. “I hiked here. A back window was open so I pried off the screen and climbed in.” She glanced at me. “I found a bottle in your kitchen.” There was no apology in her voice. I didn’t have to look to know how much liquor I would have left.
“Where were you going when you crashed?” I asked.
“Here,” she said. “I couldn’t think of anyplace else.”
“The same with Tiffin,” I said. “Well, Jeff?”
“You can’t hide her forever,” he said.
“No,” Glory said. “Just long enough to get a story out of me. Then off to the cops I go.”
“Like hell,” Jeff said quickly. He added, “Have you a story?”
“I’m keeping it,” Glory said. “I’ll trade it for Tim’s release. But I’ll give you first crack at it when time comes.”
“You could do better by telling us now,” I suggested persuasively. “We’re working for Tim even if the police aren’t. We need a few leads.”
Glory set her chin stubbornly. “You’d just mess it up,” she said. She began to look as if she would start crying.
I had thought she was sober. She talked rationally enough. But now another of those bewildering changes took place in her. She did begin to cry, and she acted as if she were on a jag. “I want Tim,” she sobbed. “They’ll hurt him. He’s not very strong since he hurt his back.”
I looked at Jeff. I said, “He sprained it playing football—that was two years ago.” Jeff shrugged. We were thinking the same thing: that Tim was strong enough to swing a cleaver.
“Look,” Jeff said to Glory, “if we have a lead we might be able to help straighten things around and get the guy out.” He offered her another cigaret from my pack. When he held the match for her he leaned forward intimately. She used the tips of her fingers to guide his hand to her cigaret. She batted her eyes a little. It might have been caused by the smoke in them. I doubted it. I was disgusted with them both.
But it worked beautifully. Glory stopped crying as suddenly as if she had a switch controlling her emotions. She smiled at Jeff. “I can’t tell you all of it,” she said. Her voice dripped at him. She was perfectly composed again.
“Why not?” Jeff asked. He had dropped the intimate act and moved a little away from her.
“I can’t,” Glory said in a stage whisper. She was turning on the dramatics now. “Don’t you see I can’t?”
I knew what she meant. She felt that sa
me fear I had not long ago in the office. If she really believed, as I did, that Tim Larson was innocent, then a murderer was still loose. A murderer vicious enough to slash a man nearly in two was standing by, waiting, wondering if there was someone who knew too much. Or someone who had seen too much that he hadn’t told yet.
I said softly, “Afraid?”
Glory shook her head, but her eyes told me she lied.
“Personal?”
“Damn it,” she said roughly. “Stop pumping me. I’ll tell you what I can.”
Jeff leaned forward again. “All right,” he said soothingly.
She sat up straighter and grabbed Jeff’s arm. He winced, so evidently it was no loving touch. “Find out why Willow and Hilton were so thick,” she said. “And why Willow kept kissing Carson’s boots. And why his tub of a wife did too. Find out those things.”
“Why?” I asked.
“If I knew I’d tell you,” she said. Her voice was flat again. She had forgotten her dramatics. I wondered what would come next. She let loose of Jeff’s arm. “I meant what I said that day in your office.” She was speaking to me now. “Carson was out to get Daisy and her parents were out to make her marry him.”
Jeff forgot his gallantry. He snorted, actually. “That went out in 1905.”
“She’s scared sick of them,” Glory argued. “And she was of Carson too. It’s the truth. They bully that kid.”
“Can you tell us anything else?” I asked.
Glory performed another change of pace. She giggled. “I can tell you that Hilton thinks he’s in love with me. Will that help?”
“Not unless you assisted him in thinking it,” I said.
“I’ve got him over a barrel,” she said boastfully. “He knows it too. He knows that I’m smart enough to realize he and Willow are up to something. But he doesn’t know I’m smart enough to let him think I’m in the dark about it.’
This was all gibberish to me. “Look,” I said a little wearily. “We need help—for Tim. Where did you go after dinner. What did you see? All of the things you’re saying won’t help us. The story of what you really saw might.”
Give Up the Body Page 12
