by Alice Duncan
“No!” cried Belinda.
“Shut that woman up,” said Kincaid to Grover.
“Be quiet, Miss Young,” said Mr. Grover, his rather high-pitched voice quavery in the sunshine of the park.
“I can’t believe you’re involved with these criminals, Mr. Grover,” said Belinda. “You’re too nice a man.”
“Don’t forget how bland I am,” he said, as if her comment had hurt his feelings.
“Wait a minute. We’re in a public park, and there are people everywhere. You can’t force us to do anything we don’t want to do,” I said, suddenly feeling feisty. “What are you going to do? Shoot us if we run away?” Not that I wanted to give them ideas. “People would hear the shots, see you, and you’d be caught before you could ever get away.”
“Daisy, be careful,” Belinda said in a shaky voice.
“Good advice, Miss Young,” said Mr. Kincaid.
And that’s the last thing I remember. Mr. Kincaid—I think it was he—passed a smelly rag under my nose, and I was out like a light.
I presume he did the same thing to Belinda, because when I woke up, we were both tied with thin rope and huddled somewhere. Wherever we were was dark as night, and my head ached as if someone had bashed me with a bat. A faint sickly odor permeated the air around me, and I recognized it as chloroform. Good Lord, that stuff can kill a person! Instantly I thought about Belinda.
“Belinda!” I whispered urgently. “Are you in here with me?”
No answer came from Belinda. My fear spiked to panic, and I tried to feel around for her. This task was almost impossible, since my hands were tied together. Fortunately, whoever had bound my wrists had not done so behind my back, so I did manage to reach out. All I felt was a wall. That being the case, I fumbled my way to my feet, which were also bound, and sort of scooched sideways, where I almost immediately bumped into a softish object and fell over.
“Oooff!” came from the object.
Belinda! Thank God.
“Oh, Belinda, I’m so glad you’re here with me. But you’d better whisper. I don’t know where we are or if there are other people around.”
“Wh-what happened?” she asked, sounding like a line from a bad melodrama.
“Kincaid and Grover chloroformed us and locked us somewhere.”
“Oh, my head hurts,” she said.
“Mine does, too. Are your hands tied up?”
A second or two passed. I guess she was trying to sort herself out. Then she said, “Yes. Who did that?”
“I suspect Kincaid and Grover again.”
“What are they going to do to us, Daisy? I’m afraid!”
“So am I. But let me think. I have a couple of hatpins in my hat.” I reached for my head with my bound hands. “If I can just find—Darn it, they took my hat and the pins, the villains!”
“What were you going to do with a couple of hatpins?”
“I don’t know, but at least they were sharp and could maybe poke someone and hurt him.”
“We need more than hatpins,” said Belinda, being depressingly honest.
“Well, let’s think about this. We’re locked in a closet . . . or are we? Let’s be quiet and try to figure out where we are before we do anything.”
“What can we do when we find out where we are?” she asked. No imagination, Belinda Young.
“I’m not sure yet, but I’ll think of something. Just be quiet and we’ll try to figure out where we are.”
I’d managed to maneuver myself off Belinda, so I felt around for a wall again. Walls were in imminent supply, so again I pushed myself to my feet and moved, very awkwardly, around the space. File cabinets. Bankers’ boxes—at least, they felt like bankers’ boxes. If we were in the law firm, they were probably deed boxes. The wall met another wall going the other direction, so I did, too. Somebody’s coat hanging, I presumed, from a hook. More file cabinets. The place felt like a closet to me.
“I think we’re in a closet somewhere. There are file cabinets and boxes, like deed boxes.”
“Oh, we use those in the firm,” said Belinda, confirming my suspicion. “This place smells familiar, too, if you discount that disgusting sweet smell.”
“That’s chloroform. They chloroformed us. If we’re in Mr. Grover’s or Mr. Millette’s office, do you know anything about the closets there?”
“I know there should be a light chain somewhere near the door.”
From the sounds she made, I presumed she was trying to get to her own feet.
“Let me try to find it,” I said.
Easier said than done. I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to walk in a pitch-black closet with your hands and feet bound with rope, but it’s not a simple thing to do. However, with the aid of the wall, I managed to ease myself along until a doorknob bumped against my hip bone. Hard. It hurt.
“I found the doorknob.”
“The light chain should be close by. The light is directly above the door, and the chain hangs down to about a foot below the top of the door. In the center.”
“I’ll try to find it.”
“Do you think you should? What if someone sees the light from beneath the door?”
Bother. Belinda was undoubtedly a very good secretary. She was clearly detail oriented and thought about the little things.
“Well, I think we’re going to have to chance it. If we can get ourselves untied, maybe we can escape. Somehow.”
“Why don’t we untie each other before we turn on the light—are your hands tied in front of you?”
“Yes, they are. That’s a good idea.”
So we untied each other’s hands; not an easy thing to do, since all twenty of our collective fingers were nearly numb by that time. I don’t know how long it took us to get untied and then to unbind our feet, but it seemed like hours. We both shook out our hands and wiggled our feet to get the feeling back in them.
“All right,” I said at last. “Are you ready for me to try for the light?”
“I guess so,” said Belinda. “Although if they see the light, they’ll only tie us back up again.”
And this time they’d probably tie our hands behind our backs. But I figured we might as well chance it. Better half a chance at escape than a needle filled with heroin. But wait. I considered something else.
“Is my handbag near you?”
“I don’t know. Let me feel around. I think I found it.”
It was becoming slightly easier to maneuver in that confined space, now that I was no longer fettered. I took the handbag from Belinda, reached inside, and found the set of chopsticks Keiji Saito had given me. Not much of a weapon, but you never knew what would come in handy when.
Then I managed to find my way to the closet door again, reached for the chain, and pulled.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
* * *
The light went on, making me blink and making my head pound harder. Dang it! I hated Mr. Kincaid with so hot a passion, I’d like to have strangled him with my bare hands. Not that I’d have been able to do that, since he was a good deal larger than I.
I sucked in a breath and held it. When I glanced back—not far back, since the closet was . . . well, a closet and, therefore, a smallish room—I saw Belinda had done the same thing and was now standing stiff as a statue, looking scared and slightly disheveled, squinting and pressing her hands to her undoubtedly aching head. I passed a hand over my own hair, and it was messy, too. Horrid men must have disarranged it when they stole my hat and hatpins.
“So,” Belinda whispered, “what do we do now?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe if we look around we can find some kind of weapon.”
“In a law office’s closet?”
“Well, it can’t hurt to look.” I was beginning to deplore Belinda’s negativity.
And then the door opened outward. Since I still had hold of the doorknob, I went outward too, and nearly crashed right into Mrs. Larkin, who looked as though she’d never seen anything so astounding in her life as Belinda
in the closet and me hanging onto the doorknob.
Oh, Lord, what now?
“What in the name of glory are you two doing in my office closet?” she screeched at us.
“Shhh,” I said. “Don’t make so much noise, for heaven’s sake.”
“Who are you to be giving me orders, young woman? And Miss Young, what on earth were the two of you doing in there?” She glared at Belinda and then at me, as if we’d been stealing all the office paperclips and typewriter ribbons. She hadn’t lowered her voice.
“Darn it, be quiet!” I told her in a savage whisper. “Mr. Grover and Mr. Kincaid kidnapped us in the park and dragged us here. Mr. Millette knows all about it.”
She stared at me as if I’d told her little pop-eyed men from Mars had swept us up and deposited us on the moon.
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Why, when I tell Mr. Millette about this, you’ll be looking for a new job, Miss Young. And you, Mrs. Majesty, were told never to darken our doors again.”
“Blast it, keep your voice down!”
I heard a heavy tread in the hallway, and my heart started racing like Spike when he ran after his ball. What to do? What to do?
Not a sensible thought entered my head, but I dashed to the door and plastered myself against the wall so that I’d be hidden when the door opened. Belinda still stood in the closet, looking not unlike a frightened deer. You can imagine my surprise when she suddenly lunged at Mrs. Larkin, slung an arm around her, and stuffed her hankie into the old bat’s mouth, dragging her into the closet and closing the door behind the both of them.
Which left me to get the heck out of there and fetch help if I could. Oh, joy. Oh, rapture.
Oh, nuts. The doorknob turned, and someone pushed the door open. Fortunately for me, I was right about the door hiding me.
“Mrs. Larkin? Please come to my room for a moment. I have a letter to dictate.”
It had to be Mr. Millette, because it was a voice I hadn’t heard before. I discerned a scuttling sound coming from the closet. Probably Mrs. Larkin, being her usual difficult self.
“Mrs. Larkin?” Mr. Millette said again, sounding puzzled. “Are you in the closet? Whatever for?”
He took a step toward the closet, and, thinking fast, I did the only thing I could think to do.
“Don’t move or make a sound,” I growled, sticking him in the back with both chopsticks, hoping like anything they’d feel like the barrel of a gun. I guess they did, because Mr. Millette slowly lifted his hands.
“What’s going on here?” he asked.
“The game’s up, Millette. The police will be here any minute to take you, Mr. Grover, and Mr. Kincaid to the clink.”
“What the—?”
I guess the chopsticks didn’t scare him anywhere near enough, because he lowered one of his arms in a chopping gesture and bashed my wrist. I whirled around and dashed like a bunny out of the room, slamming the door behind me. Then I zoomed across the hall, raced down the stairs, and galloped across the lobby, aiming for the front door.
Pounding after me, Mr. Millette hollered, “Stop that woman! Stop her! Stop, thief!”
Smart man, for a vicious criminal. But not smart enough. Before the poor girl at the reception desk had gathered her startled wits together, I’d made it to the front door. Fortunately for me, I was young and Mr. Millette wasn’t. So he couldn’t catch me. I raced west down the sidewalk on Colorado Boulevard, heading for Fair Oaks Avenue, which was only half a block away. Scared to death, I kept glancing around as I ran, hoping like mad that neither Mr. Kincaid nor Mr. Grover were lurking about anywhere. All I saw were a whole lot of shocked people looking at me as if I’d lost my mind. They weren’t far wrong.
At Fair Oaks, I whipped around the corner and sped north toward City Hall, which was a mere block away, and at the rear of which sat the Pasadena Police Department. I prayed hard the whole way, so I guess that answers the question of whether or not I still believed in God.
By the time I pushed through the double doors to the police station, I was scared out of my wits, exhausted, and ready to drop. But I didn’t. I rushed up to the uniformed officer at the desk, who jerked backwards in his chair, and panted, “I need Sam Rotondo. Now!”
He squinted at me, and I wanted to bellow at him to get a move on, but I was too out of breath. “What’s the matter, young lady?”
“Darn it, get Sam, will you? Mr. Eustace Kincaid, Mr. Millette, and Mr. Grover have Belinda Young stuffed into a closet at the law firm on Colorado!”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Damn it!” I cried, shocking me more than the officer, I’m sure. I don’t believe I’d ever used a swear word before. “Just get Sam, will you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said at last, picking up the telephone receiver, and I wilted some.
When Sam thundered down the staircase, I was still panting. He hurried up to me and grabbed me by the arms. “What’s this about? Roger here said Kincaid, Millette, and Grover kidnapped someone.”
“Mr. Kincaid and Mr. Grover kidnapped Belinda and me both. They tied us up and stuck us in a closet at the law firm, but I managed to get away. But stop standing there and do something, Sam! Mr. Kincaid admitted they killed Eddie Hastings. They threatened to kill us the same way.”
A bunch of other policemen, some in uniforms and some in suits, like Sam, entered the lobby as Sam and I stood there. Help. Help was on the way. Thank God, thank God. I sagged against him, and he put his arms around me. “Please hurry. I’m afraid for Belinda.” If they’d already done Belinda in, they’d probably also killed Mrs. Larkin, but I didn’t care about her, the old cow.
Very well, so I’m not always a good Christian girl.
“Stay here. We’re going to the law firm,” said Sam, letting me go after a few seconds. When I gazed up at him, he appeared rather red-faced and embarrassed. I guess he didn’t ordinarily hug young women who came to him for help.
You’ve heard about the shootout at the OK Corral? Well, that day there was a shootout at the law offices of Hastings, Millette, and Hastings. It was Mr. Kincaid who wielded the weapon, and who was himself shot for his efforts—not, more’s the pity, fatally. Both Mr. Millette and Mr. Grover gave themselves up, Millette grudgingly, and Grover sobbing uncontrollably after the police had scoured the building and found him huddled in yet another closet, this one in the attics of the great building.
After the good guys got him to the police station, he babbled that he’d been forced to aid and abet the two other men, but I doubt that will help him much when it comes to a trial, since he also admitted he’d been the one to use the needle on Eddie Hastings. Evidently Eddie told his father that he suspected Millette and Grover were doing something illegal. Thus, the bad relations between the two men, I reckon.
Belinda was fine after she stopped crying. Mrs. Larkin had an hysterical fit, which laid her low for weeks, which I think served her right.
Did I stay behind in the police station as Sam had advised while the police went to arrest the criminals?
Oddly enough, I did. I considered walking back to the law firm, but I feared Mr. Kincaid and/or Mr. Grover might yet be lurking outside on the streets somewhere. I felt more secure with a bunch of policemen around me.
Sam came to dinner at our house that night.
By the way, I got my hat back, and my hatpins—eventually. Mr. Millette had stuffed both hat and pins into one of his desk drawers. Sam said that was a stupid thing to have done, and that both hat and pins could be considered evidence, so I didn’t get them back until after the trial.
“Thanks to Daisy and Miss Young—not to mention the chopsticks Daisy carried in her handbag—we not only arrested the three men for murder, but the drug ring that’s been in operation for years and years has also been broken up,” Sam said that night at the dinner table. He frowned at me as he spoke, which figured. Never a kind word when I helped him solve a case, drat the man.
“What did the chopsticks have to do w
ith thwarting the criminals?” asked Pa.
“She held them at Millette’s back and told him to stick ’em up,” Sam said.
“I did not! Well . . . maybe I did, but I couldn’t think of any other way to stop him long enough for me to escape that dratted office.”
“Mercy sakes,” said my mother faintly. “Oh, Daisy, you were in danger. I wish you wouldn’t put yourself in such perilous situations.”
Not my mother, too? This wasn’t fair! “I was at the park with Belinda, Ma. There’s nothing perilous about going to a park at lunchtime.”
“It’s all right, sweetheart. No one’s blaming you for what happened,” said Pa, bless him.
“I don’t know, Joe,” said Aunt Vi. “Things do tend to happen around Daisy, don’t they?”
“They sure do,” growled Sam, cutting into his slab of meat-loaf.
“That’s not fair, Sam. I only went to the park to be of some comfort to Belinda. She was scared after what she’d heard on Saturday.”
I wished like the devil I hadn’t said that when my entire family turned in their chairs and stared at me. Bother.
“What, precisely, happened on Saturday, young woman?” Ma asked, sounding as severe as I’d ever heard her sound.
I heaved a deep and hearty sigh. “You remember that telephone call we received last Saturday night after supper?”
“No, but I suppose it was related to this business.” Ma waved her hand over her dinner plate, looking rather like a conjuror, but meaning the business of the criminals captured earlier that day.
“Sort of. Belinda ’phoned me to say she’d heard Mr. Millette and Mr. Kincaid yelling at each other in Mr. Millette’s office on Saturday morning.”
“Mr. Kincaid?” said Pa, clearly surprised.
“Yes. You know he escaped from prison, right?”
This time my family exchanged glances with each other. “He escaped?” Ma said faintly.
“I guess I didn’t tell you, Peggy,” said Pa. “Daisy got a call from Mrs. Pinkerton, who told her she was sure her ex-husband had killed Mr. Hastings.”
“I thought Mr. Hastings was the head of the law firm.” Now Vi sounded as confused as Ma had.
