Going Out in Style

by Gloria Dank

  Janovy jotted down the times and the address. “Thank you. So you weren’t at your mother’s house anytime yesterday evening?”

  “Oh, no.”

  “Did your mother have any enemies that you know of?”

  She looked at him wearily, and for the first time he could see the fatigue and sadness in her eyes. “No … not that I know of. My mother was very popular in this town, you know, Officer. A leading citizen and all that.”

  “Yes. One more question. Why didn’t your mother approve of your fiancé?”

  Susan shrugged impatiently.

  “For the simple reason, Officer, that George is poor. My first husband was poor, and I had to ask my mother for some money to help tide me and Harold over the rough spots after the divorce. She had so much, of course, it shouldn’t have mattered, but somehow it did. And then when she found out that George and I were thinking of getting married, she had a fit. She said she wouldn’t support another poverty-stricken husband of mine. She said some pretty ugly things.” She flushed. “It doesn’t make any difference to me, of course. I’ve always done pretty much what I wanted. And Mother would have come around eventually.”

  Janovy sat looking at her thoughtfully. Susan Whitaker, he decided, was really a very attractive woman, all the more so because she seemed completely unconscious of her good looks. Now she gave a muttered exclamation, undid the rubber band binding her hair, and let it loose over her shoulders in abundant red-gold waves. Then she gathered it deftly up, twisted it into a bun and fastened it with a large tortoiseshell clip she scooped up from the floor.

  “Harold plays with these things,” she said by way of explanation. “I suppose I should worry about it, but then there are so many things about Harold I have to worry about. Which reminds me, he’s so upset today that I really should be around in case he needs me. Is there anything more?”

  No, said Janovy, and thanked her politely. She showed him to the door, made sure that he had both addresses down correctly, and waved him a friendly good-bye.

  Dora Kelly turned out to be a buxom blonde with baby-doll features. She insisted on breastfeeding her infant daughter during the interview. Janovy found it difficult to focus his eyes anywhere in particular. Dora, however, was not perturbed by this. She laughed and said in her booming voice, “Don’t know where to look, do you? Hah! Men! They’re all the same!”

  She detached the infant, whose name appeared to be Pumpkin or Pooh, Janovy was not sure which, and said heartily, “Now, what’s all this fuss? What are you running all around town for, stirring up people and asking them stupid questions? How do you know that Bella Whitaker didn’t commit suicide, huh? Huh?”

  Janovy replied cautiously that no one in his experience had ever succeeded in strangling themselves to death.

  “Maybe there was a hook, and she hanged herself,” Dora volunteered. The prospect did not seem to faze her. She attached Pumpkin to her other breast and boomed, “All right, then! Ask away! I did it! I’m the guilty one!”

  Janovy’s normally cheerful expression vanished and he proceeded with alacrity to take control of the interview. “How long have you known Susan Whitaker?”

  “Susan? Why, we’ve been friends since we were in grade school together. Ever since I was a little girl. I lost touch with her when she got married and moved away, but we’ve been best friends ever since she came back here to live. That was about four years ago … that’s right, four years ago. Harold was six months old. What a boy that is, eh, Detective? Did you get to meet him when you were there?”

  “Did you go over to Miss Whitaker’s house last night?”

  “Yes, I did,” Dora Kelly responded cheerfully. “We sat and had coffee and a nice long chat, let me think what it was about. Probably about Princess Di, you know, I’m so interested in anything to do with the Royal Family. Aren’t you?”

  Janovy glanced down at the stack of glossy magazines on the floor. Most of them featured photographs of the Princess of Wales on the cover, “No,” he said frankly.

  Dora laughed uproariously. “Ah, well, perhaps it’s a woman’s thing,” she said. “A woman’s thing. I suppose the psychologists would say it’s a contrast with my own life, although to tell you the truth I’m perfectly happy here with Phil and the baby. I just like to read about the Royal Family. Makes sense, doesn’t it?”

  Janovy felt the interview slipping away from him again.

  “Can you tell me the times you arrived and left Susan Whitaker’s house?”

  “Oh, my goodness, let me think—here, Pumpkin, I think that’s enough for now, we might as well let the nice detective focus his eyes … that’s right, there you go, little Pooh. What time I went over there? I guess it was around seven o’clock when I arrived. Yes, that’s right, seven o’clock. I know because I had to leave in the middle of Gilligan’s Island, right in the middle of the episode where the professor and Mary Ann—oh, well, you’re not interested in that, are you? Anyway, I went over there around seven and left around ten o’clock. I know because Phil—that’s my husband, Phil—was angry that I got home so late. He didn’t like spending the evening alone. Oh, Pumpkin, what’s that?”

  That was a viscous gloppy white liquid which Pumpkin had suddenly thrown up all over her mother’s lap. There was a short break in the interview while this was cleaned up. Three minutes later Dora sat back down with a hearty laugh and said, “Now, where was I?”

  Janovy was feeling a little sick. He said, “Miss Whitaker told me that she’s engaged.”

  “That’s right.” Dora Kelly glanced at him, and for an instant he got a view of a pair of disconcertingly shrewd blue eyes. Then the look was gone, to be replaced by her usual expression of near-idiotic vacancy. “To George. She told you about her mother’s objections?”

  “Yes. What more do you know about it, Mrs. Kelly?”

  “Not much more. I know Susan’s mother wasn’t happy about the engagement, and I know Susan didn’t care. But George did. He cared a lot. He was all upset when Susan’s mother threatened to cut her out of the will.”

  Janovy was interested in this. “Cut her out of the will?”

  “That’s right. She didn’t tell you? Her mother pulled every string in the book. Susan said she didn’t mean it, that she’d come around, but I don’t know. She thought George was a loser and she didn’t want him marrying her daughter.”

  “I see.”

  Dora said abruptly, “Well, Pooh, time for nappy-bye. Time for nappy-bye. How’s that, little Pumpkin?”

  Little Pumpkin seemed to think that was fine. She was cooing and making eyes at a nearby table lamp.

  Dora Kelly looked at Janovy, and again he got a flash of intelligent blue eyes. “That’ll be all, then?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Kelly. Thank you for your time.”

  “You’re welcome!” she boomed at him.

  After the detective departed, Dora Kelly put her daughter down for a nap in her crib. She sang to her softly for a while, until Pooh (whose real name was Penelope) was sound asleep, splayed out in the effortless posture of babyhood. Dora went downstairs, made herself a cup of coffee, took out a big slice of crumb cake, and settled down by the phone.

  She dialed rapidly. “Hello, Susie? It’s me. He was just here—that detective, you know.” She let out a booming laugh. “What a doll! I think—you know, I’m not sure, but I think you made quite an impression on him. That’s right, Susan. Oh, don’t laugh at me, your Auntie Dora knows about these things. That’s right.” She listened for a moment, then said, “Well, of course I did. Of course I did. You know you can count on me, don’t you?” Another booming laugh. “You can count on me!”

  George Drexler met Detective Janovy at the door with an apron on and a large kitchen mitt shaped like a whale on his right hand.

  “Excuse me a minute, just a minute, please come right in here,” he said, ushering Janovy into the living room of his small apartment with a vague wave of the whale. He rushed back into the kitchen while Janovy glanced around. It was a
pleasant little room with skylights and two big square windows. Over in the corner was a music stand, stacked precariously high with folios. There was an old broken-down stereo on the bookshelves, with two speakers standing on the floor. The furniture was old and comfortable-looking. Janovy sat down on the sofa, which groaned in protest. George Drexler shouted from the kitchen, as if in response, “I’m coming, don’t worry, I’m coming!”

  “Take your time, Mr. Drexler.”

  George finally appeared, his face flushed, and sank down in a chair. He had neglected to take off his whale mitt, and now gestured vaguely with it. “Cinnamon loaf,” he said. “Damned tricky. What can I do for you, Detective?”

  “You’re Susan Whitaker’s financé?”

  George smiled triumphantly. “That’s right. Have you met her yet? Am I a lucky man, or what? Isn’t she gorgeous? Terrible news about her mother,” he said hastily. “Just terrible.”

  “I take it you’re not very unhappy over Mrs. Whitaker’s death?”

  “Well, Officer, I can’t say I am. Bella never liked me … no, she never liked me. She thought I wasn’t good enough for Susan. Of course, I’m not, but then, who would be?”

  Janovy regarded him silently. George Drexler was a tall, thin, gentle-looking man with large dark eyes. He had droopy brown hair, a faintly puzzled expression and an ascetic-looking face. His clothes were wrinkled and his shirt looked as if it could use a washing. Now he smiled and said:

  “Bella never really knew me. No, she never really knew me. She hated me simply because I wasn’t rich, and wasn’t ever likely to be rich. She thought I would just sponge off of Susan, which is ridiculous. She never really gave me a chance to prove myself.”

  “What is it you do for a living, Mr. Drexler?”

  He gestured toward the music stand. “I’m a violist. I’m trying for a concert career, of course, or perhaps steady work with a quartet, but until then I play where I can, here and there, whenever I get a call. Of course it doesn’t pay the bills, so I also work for the Ridgewood Star. I write a weekly music column and do a little bit of reporting. Perhaps you’ve seen my column?”

  “No, I’m afraid not.”

  “Oh, well. Not many people have. I review concerts in the city, that kind of thing. I don’t mind the work, and it was through the Star that I met Susan, so I’m grateful for that.”

  “Please tell me where you were last night.”

  George, like Susan, looked faintly amused. “My alibi, you mean? Well, fortunately I have one. I got a call earlier this week from a group I play with now and again, and we gave a performance last night at a community center near Springfield, Massachusetts—nice little place. Good acoustics. I would have enjoyed myself, except the first violinist—it’s an octet, a double string quartet, you know—anyway, the first violinist insists on playing everything much too fast, so we whipped through the Mendelssohn Octet at a breakneck pace. It’s supposed to be half an hour, and we were done with it in twenty minutes. My head was spinning, I’ll tell you. Would you like to hear a little bit of it?”

  Janovy opened his mouth hastily to say no, but it was too late. George Drexler had leaped out of his chair, whipped off his whale mitt, and opened a viola case. He took out his instrument lovingly and tightened the bow. Then, with a flourish, he went into what he described as the middle of the first movement of the octet. “And it was here,” he said, talking as he played, “that that asshole Fred decided it wouldn’t be allegro moderato anymore—no, no, it would be presto all the way. Can you believe that?”

  He whipped through a few more bars and then, with a sheepish glance at Janovy, put his viola away.

  “I’m sorry. I love an audience. Susan always yells at me for that. There’s nothing I like better than to play.”

  “I see. Very nice, Mr. Drexler. Now, can you tell me exactly when you arrived for the concert, and when you left?”

  “Oh, yes. The concert started at eight o’clock. It ended around ten-fifteen, maybe ten-thirty. It was a long drive, so I wasn’t back here until about midnight.”

  Janovy noted the times down carefully. “Thank you, Mr. Drexler. What’s the name of the group you played with?”

  George said the group was called Philo Harmonia, and gave him the names and addresses of the other members. Then he went into the kitchen and came out holding a plate of fresh-baked bread. “Some cinnamon loaf?” he asked brightly.

  Janovy refused and departed hastily, leaving George munching cheerfully on a thick piece of bread spread liberally with jam and butter.

  Gretchen and Jessie had returned from their lunch at the Golden Eagle, replete with gossip they had gleaned from the waitress and several other diners, and were sitting in the living room poring over the newspaper when the doorbell rang.

  Gretchen said mildly, “I expect that’s the police.”

  She went to the door and came back with Detective Janovy firmly in tow. “Jessie, dear,” she said, “will you excuse us for a few minutes? I think we’d be more comfortable in here instead of the dining room.”

  “Oh, of course—of course, Gretch—pardon me, I’ll just be a second—now, where did the weekend section go?… and where’s that book I was going to—aah!” She pounced. “I’m off now. What a pleasure meeting you—you know,” she added hastily, “you know, Albert is truly a very nice man, I’m sure he couldn’t be involved with—oh!” She had caught Gretchen’s eye. “Well, I’ll just be on my way now … good-bye!” She bustled away, her arms filled with books and papers.

  Gretchen laughed quietly. “She’s a dear person. All she lives for is to see me married. She has great hopes for me and Albert.”

  Janovy settled down in a big overstuffed chair by the fireplace and cast an approving glance around. The house was cramped, but neat and tidy; it was cosily furnished and some very beautiful watercolors hung on the walls. Gretchen followed his gaze.

  “Jessie did those. She’s very good, isn’t she? I particularly like this one.” She indicated a harbor scene with boats and sailing sloops. “That’s from a few years ago, when we went down to Mystic for a few days. We stayed right on the water. I swam and Jessie painted.” She moved across the room with her characteristic abrupt, graceless walk and folded herself stiffly into a chair. “But I don’t think you came here to talk about our summer vacations, did you?”

  “No, Dr. Schneider. I’m afraid not. Can you tell me where you were last night?”

  Gretchen’s account matched exactly with Albert Whitaker’s. They had left the campus around five forty-five, arrived at the Golden Eagle a little after six, left there for the art gallery at eight and gone to The Painted Man when the gallery closed at ten o’clock. She had gotten home a little after midnight.

  “It’s our Friday night routine,” she said dryly.

  “You and Dr. Whitaker have been seeing each other for a while?”

  A faint spark of some kind of emotion leaped in her eyes. “Nine years.”

  “And are you engaged?”

  “No, we’re not.”

  Janovy waited, but she did not seem disposed to go on. Finally she said with a little shrug, “Well, I don’t really think Albert’s the marrying kind. He’s a confirmed bachelor. You know the type.”

  She seemed to be surveying him critically, as if he too were the type. He said, “What was your relationship with his mother?”

  “Bella? It was civil, but that’s all. She never took to any of his friends, and she certainly didn’t take to me.”

  “And Dr. Whitaker’s feelings toward his mother?”

  “Oh, he was always devoted to her. Devoted. I think she pushed him around entirely too much, but Albert never even seemed to notice it.”

  “So you were with Dr. Whitaker all evening, then?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me, did you tend to stay near him at the art gallery, or were the two of you walking around separately?”

  “Oh, we were together.” A faint smile crossed her face. “Albert lives at least ten
or fifteen minutes away from the gallery, Detective. I’m quite sure I’d have noticed if he had left for nearly half an hour. No, I was at his side the entire time. A fascinating show—did he tell you? Aboriginal drawings. We’re thinking of scraping together some money to buy some of them.”

  It wouldn’t need much scraping, out of sixty million dollars, to find the necessary funds, thought Janovy. “I see. And that’s your story, Dr. Schneider?”

  She looked at him in an irritable way. “That’s the truth, Detective.”

  “Thank you very much.”

  He rose to go, but Gretchen waved him back into his seat. “There’s something else you should know, Detective. Jessie drove by the Whitaker place last night. She says she didn’t see anything, but I thought perhaps she should talk to you anyway.”

  “Yes. Thank you. Would you please ask her to come in?”

  Gretchen went out into the hallway and came back in a few moments with Jessie, who had a pencil stuck behind her ear, the weekend section in her hand, and a frightened look on her face.

  Janovy said, “I understand that you were at the Whitaker house last night, Miss Lowell? What time was that?”

  “Oh, no, no, no,” she hastened to correct him. “I wasn’t there, actually there—I mean, I just drove by in my car. I often take the long way around on my way home from work, and last night I had a lot of things on my mind, especially one little girl who’s turning out to be a real problem. I don’t think she likes her mother very much. I haven’t decided what, if anything, to do about it—”

  “Jessie,” said Gretchen.

  “Oh, yes. Yes, I’m sorry, Gretch. I drove by there last night. But it was dark, you know. Pitch black. I didn’t see anything.”

  “What time was that?”

  “Oh, let’s see, it must have been a little after six or so. I usually leave work at five-thirty, but last night I was late because everything takes longer to tidy up at the end of the week, doesn’t it? So I left around six, I guess. Not that I look at the clock very much. The one at the center runs fast and so I don’t trust it. I have to remember to use my watch instead. I just got a new watch for my birthday and it keeps time beautifully. You see, it’s gold and silver with a blue dial, I think it’s quite striking—”