“How do you do?” Jenny replied automatically. “I’m Jenny—Plummer, and I’m trying to be a writer.”
“Would I have read any of your work?”
“I don’t see how. I’ve never had anything published, except in my school newspaper. I’m just getting started, that’s why I moved here. It seemed like a nice quiet place to write.”
“I see.” Was there a hint of a twinkle in Miss, or Mrs. Compton’s shrewd blue eyes? “You’re fortunate to have the knack of putting words together. I don’t, obviously, or I’d have thought of a sensible way to explain what I’m doing here.”
She took the cup of coffee Jenny poured out for her and helped herself to a doughnut. “Thank you. These look delicious. Well, now that I’ve worked myself up to it, I don’t know whether to tell you or not. You’ll no doubt think I’m stark raving.”
Anybody saner looking than this elderly businesswoman from Baltimore would have been hard to picture. She’d slipped off her beautifully tailored, silk-lined jacket to reveal a hand-embroidered beige blouse and a double strand of what were surely real pearls. The gray hair that showed under her rust-colored felt hat was cut in a crisp swirl that suited her longish, strong-featured face. She was the sort of woman who hadn’t gotten asked to the senior prom, but had aged into distinction while the class beauty was settling down as a middle-aged frump.
“I’m not going to think anything of the sort,” Jenny replied. “Anyway, you’ve got to tell me now. Do you mean to say you’ve come all this way just on account of that piece of paper?”
“That’s what I did. I flew up to Providence and squandered a fortune on a taxi to bring me to Meldrum. As to what prompted my trip …” She fumbled with the catch of her attaché case, opened the lid, and pulled out a bulky tan something or other. “Here it is. This was in the bundle.”
“A suede jacket?” Jenny stared at the article Miss Compton had spread out for her to see. “It must be a man’s, from the size and cut. But what’s so—it’s not very clean, is it? What’s that stain on the front?”
“What does it look like?”
“Chocolate ice cream? No,” Jenny frowned at the stiffened, dark brown discoloration. “It wouldn’t be blood, by any chance?”
“I should have waited till you’d finished your breakfast.”
“No, that’s all right. I’m not squeamish.” Jenny took a quick swallow of coffee to prove it. “But where did it come from?”
“Here, I assume. Somebody mailed it to me.”
“Whatever for?”
“That’s what I came here hoping to find out. I told you it was going to sound crazy, didn’t I? Last Tuesday morning, the mailman rang my bell. I went down, and he handed me a parcel done up in rather scroungy-looking brown paper. I wasn’t expecting anything, but it had my name and address on it, so of course I took it.”
“There doesn’t happen to be any other Compton living in your neighborhood?” Jenny suggested. “They might have looked up the name in the phone book and picked the wrong person.”
“I thought of that, naturally, but there isn’t. Anyway, there was no return address on the outside. I remember standing there in the hallway wondering if maybe this was a present from one of my former clients. I do get them once in a while, though people don’t usually look on their accountants as warm personal friends. We’re too closely associated with debits and taxes. But to make a long story short, I took the package back upstairs to my apartment and opened it. The jacket was inside, not even properly folded and packed. So I knew the score even before I saw the bloodstains.”
“Then you’re smarter than I am,” said Jenny. “I still don’t see any sense to this.”
“That’s because you haven’t been around as long as I have. Okay, Miss Plummer, suppose you suddenly found yourself stuck with a piece of clothing you didn’t dare have found in your possession. It’s too big to hide, too conspicuous to throw away, and too tough to burn. How do you get rid of it in a hurry? Wrap it up and mail it to an out-of-state address.”
“But couldn’t you just have it dry-cleaned?”
“Maybe you wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh. Then you—” She thought of the things Uncle Fred had said about her father and took another gulp of coffee. “You think this jacket was worn by somebody who committed a—a crime?”
“Can you think of any other explanation?”
“I can’t think at all. Would you like some more coffee, Miss Compton?”
“Yes, please. Let me just get this thing out of sight. It’s not very pretty.”
The older woman folded the jacket again, so the stains wouldn’t show, and laid it behind her on top of the attaché case. “As you may imagine, I’ve been giving the matter a good deal of thought. I did think of taking the jacket down to the police station, but to tell you the truth, I didn’t want to. They’d probably have thought I was just another scatty old dame trying to get some attention. Besides, it was my problem, not theirs.”
She laughed a little at herself. “I’ve pretty much retired lately, you see, and it’s a boring, depressing business if you want to know. An old workhorse like me doesn’t take kindly to the leisure life. That suede jacket was a blessing, in a way. It’s given me something to think about besides my troubles. I worked up all sorts of theories. I fished in the pockets, fiddled around like a kid with a new toy. I don’t know why I didn’t think right away to unfold the wrapping paper, but I didn’t, until day before yesterday. It had been doubled over, you see. And that’s when I found your address. I suppose the wrapping was originally used on something that was delivered here. You know how a shipper will often write the address but not the name on a bundle that’s being delivered by truck, for the driver’s convenience.”
“Yes, and then the person who gets the package folds up the wrapping paper and sticks it away in a closet because you never know when it might come in handy.” Aunt Martha Plummer had acres of used wrapping paper.
“Exactly. The person who mailed off this jacket may have used this particular sheet simply because it happened to be kicking around ready to hand. If he was in a hurry, he mightn’t have thought to unfold it and make sure there was nothing written on the inside. He might even have been working in the dark when he wrapped it up and added the address on the outside later.”
“But why yours, Miss Compton?”
“Don’t ask me, Miss Plummer. Maybe it was just happenstance, or he might have picked my name out of a Baltimore phone book. You don’t have one in the house here, by chance?”
“The place is so cluttered, I don’t know what I’ve got,” Jenny replied. “I don’t recall having seen one, but I’ll hunt around.”
“Thanks. If you could find one, it would indicate that the jacket could have been sent from here.”
“But I told you nobody’s lived here for months.”
“I know, but someone could have broken in. And there must be a real estate agent or a lawyer or someone who had access to the place while it was vacant.
“I—yes, certainly. I hadn’t thought of that,” said Jenny. “Sometimes people leave keys under the doormat or somewhere. For all I know, the whole neighborhood might have been running in and out.” The thought wasn’t a pleasant one. “I think I’ll have the locks changed.”
“Haven’t you done that already?” Miss Compton sounded horrified.
“No, I hadn’t even thought about it.”
“Well, you’d darn well better. You never know who’s been handing keys around to whom. I hadn’t had my first apartment a month when I came home one night to find somebody’d been in, taken a shower, eaten the food I was planning to have for dinner, and walked out wearing the only decent coat I owned. I never did find out who she was, but you can bet your boots I didn’t lose any time investing in a new lock; and not the kind that can be opened with a credit card, either. You get hold of a locksmith today, young woman, if you know what’s good for you.”
Jenny giggled nervously. “Maybe the person w
ho stole your coat sent back the jacket.”
“After all these years? Anyway, that was a different place. I suppose it could have been someone who’d seen my address one way or another. He might have happened to visit the apartment building where I’m living now, for instance, and noticed my name on the mailbox, maybe without even being aware of what he was reading. You know how some little thing will stick in your mind for years, for no particular reason. Sending a parcel you wanted to get lost to a place like mine wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Our mailman isn’t supposed to leave things in the lobby, but he often does. Anyone could have picked it up and said nothing, or the package could have kicked around unclaimed until the janitor either returned it to the post office or threw it out. Then again, as you suggested, the jacket might have been deliberately sent to me.”
“But why?”
“Who knows? I’ve made a surprising number of enemies in my day, Miss Plummer. Lots of embezzlers think it’s all the accountant’s fault when they get caught and sent to jail. I’ve had high-powered executives cuss me out in grand style for being a fool woman who didn’t know how the game was played, simply because I wouldn’t take a fat bribe and cover up for them. I’ve had anonymous letters and threatening phone calls. Once or twice I’ve even been in danger of getting beaten up or worse. It wouldn’t surprise me if some old acquaintance thought it would be fun to dump incriminating evidence on me and set me up for a murder rap.”
Elderly ladies in the Plummer family didn’t allude to being set up for murder raps, but Jenny had no doubt Miss Compton was only stating the facts as she saw them.
“Now,” the woman went on, “getting back to that return address. There’s the chance, you know, that I was meant to find it. Whoever sent the jacket might have wanted me to know where it came from, knowing I’d be nosy enough to come charging up here to Meldrum.”
“So they could—get at you?” Jenny gasped.
“It’s possible, if I’m in the process of being framed. On the other hand, I’m wondering whether it mightn’t have been something in the nature of a cry for help. Most people never think of accountants as detectives, but in a sense that’s what we are. White-collar crime doesn’t get into the papers as often as the shoot ’em up on the streets kind, but it’s there and don’t kid yourself it isn’t. And on the books is where it’s bound to show up, sooner or later. Our job is spotting it as quickly as possible.
“Exposing fraud has a positive as well as a negative side, you know. When a guilty person is caught, all the innocent ones are off the hook. Saving a firm from being run out of business by being robbed of its assets means saving the jobs of its employees. I’ve never been afraid to ask questions, and most of my clients have been grateful for my services in tracing defalcations. Some of them have rather exaggerated notions about my knack for nosing out a crook, and they’ve passed the word around. Say there’s someone who knows about me and also knows there’s something around here that ought to be exposed. He or she doesn’t dare or doesn’t choose to get personally involved, so they think up a nice, subtle way of putting the old bloodhound on the trail. That’s what I prefer to think, and I suppose it’s really why I was willing to stick my neck out by coming to Meldrum. Though I hadn’t intended to do more than sniff out the source.”
“I can understand your coming,” said Jenny. In essence, it was what she herself had done. The difference was that Miss Compton had experience and training, whereas she herself had just taken a flying leap without stopping to think where it might land her.
Could the jacket be her father’s? She didn’t have the faintest idea how he’d died, she hadn’t even known he was dead until the fantastic news came about all that money. And then she’d been so bowled over by getting it, and so deafened by the Plummers’ yammering about where Jason Cirak had accumulated his wealth, that she hadn’t pushed as hard as she might have for details of his sudden demise. Was Miss Compton’s involvement somehow connected with the devious financial dealings of the man who’d called himself James Cox? Had her father been one of the accountant’s grateful clients? Or one of her catches?
“Could you make out the postmark?” she asked cautiously. “Was the package mailed from Meldrum?”
“Oh, no, I can’t imagine anyone’s being that careless. It was sent from Providence on the fourth of October, five days before I received it. I assume the sender took it to a big post office during a rush hour, so that the clerk who handled it would be too busy to remember who brought it in. That’s what I’d have done, anyway.”
“So there’s no hope of tracing the package through the mails?”
“None whatever, in my opinion. I’d say our only chance is right here in Meldrum. My chance, I mean. Obviously, this couldn’t possibly have anything to do with you.”
Jenny stared down into the cold dregs of her coffee and shook her head. “To tell you the truth,” she said at last, “I don’t know whether it does or not.”
4
She was not yet ready to give her complete confidence to a stranger, but surely there could be no harm in talking about last night. Jenny told it all, not sparing her embarrassment over the palm-reading episode or the subsequent meeting with Lawrence MacRae in the back yard. Miss Harriet Compton didn’t take her eyes off Jenny’s face once during the telling. Then she nodded briskly, as though she’d balanced a profit-and-loss statement.
“If you told this Firbelle woman there’s danger around her, you were probably right. Intuitive people like yourself often pick up signals without being aware of it. You may have caught a glance, a word, a gesture from somebody in the group that registered on your subconscious mind as being somehow out of key. You may have sensed fear in the person herself, even though she was trying to keep it hidden. I’ve done the same sort of thing often enough myself. A friend of mine used to say I could smell the books cooking.”
She smiled, a bit sadly, Jenny thought. “Do you believe the prowler you saw was MacRae?”
“Of course. I mean, it must have been, mustn’t it? Only I did think—” Jenny hesitated.
“Go on. You thought what?”
“Well, I wasn’t really sure at first whether it was a man or a woman. And MacRae’s rather broad in the shoulders for a—but shapes in the dark are always deceiving, aren’t they?”
“Not always. Sometimes the dark blots out details that might otherwise throw you off the track. What occurs to me, Miss Plummer, is that MacRae’s behavior toward you was unnecessarily rude. After all, you were in your own yard and he was trespassing. It was none of his business what you were up to. The best reason I can think of for his jumping down your throat the way he did would be to keep you from asking the same question of him. It also served to distract your attention, didn’t it? If there was another person around, he or she would have had a chance to slip away while you and MacRae were arguing. I think that chap would bear checking out.”
“So do I,” said Jenny. “I’m just wondering how to go about it.”
“My dear Miss Plummer, you don’t think I’m going to let you get involved in my little mystery?”
“But I’m already involved,” Jenny protested. “I’ve stuck my neck out just by moving into this house. And besides, anyone in my backyard is my problem.”
Harriet Compton gave her another of those long looks. “If you’re waiting for me to say nonsense, my dear, I’m afraid you’re in for a long wait. From what you tell me, that MacRae man interpreted your warning to Mrs. Firbelle as something quite different from a psychic hunch; and you can bet there were others at the party who thought the same. Somebody may very well have gotten the idea you know more than you’re telling and that you pose a threat to him, or her. I wish I knew whether we have two different tigers by the tails, or if we’ve both grabbed hold of the same one.”
“Since I’m playing my hunches, I’ll say it’s the same one,” said Jenny.
“Then we’ll have to pull together, or we’ll both get mauled. I think what I’d better do now is
find a room here in Meldrum and simply hang around till I get a line on what this mess is all about. If somebody did deliberately send for me, I’ll be approached sooner or later.” Miss Compton shrugged. “Sooner rather than later, no doubt.”
“But you could be making yourself a sitting target!”
“So what? I’m a tough old bird.” Miss Compton pushed back from the table and picked up her elegant jacket. “You wouldn’t happen to know if there’s a decent hotel or tourist home or whatever in the neighborhood?”
“I believe I remember seeing a motel a few miles down on the Providence road,” Jenny answered, “but I doubt if you’d accomplish much hanging around out there. What you need is a base of operations right here in the village, and some way of getting to know people without making them suspicious. I think you’d better stay with me.”
The invitation was out before she’d had time to think it over. Miss Compton smiled and shook her head.
“That’s sweet of you, Miss Plummer, but I couldn’t barge in on you like that.” She started to put on her coat, then stopped with one arm halfway through a sleeve. “What am I talking about? This is hardly the time to stand on ceremony, is it? You’re absolutely right, it’s the only thing that makes sense. You can introduce me to the locals, and if anybody does start trouble, you’ll be a darn sight safer with me in the house than you would be alone. How old are you, anyway?”
“Twenty-four,” Jenny lied.
“Oh?” A slight lift of the eyebrow showed Miss Compton hadn’t been deceived by a day. “At any rate, once people find out you’ve taken in a boarder—”
“Oh, I couldn’t do that. You’ll have to be something else. You see, I’m—well, I have rather a lot of money and I’ve let my neighbors know it. Jack Firbelle started needling me last night about being a starving author. He got under my skin, so I let him know I wasn’t about to starve. I must say he changed his attitude in a hurry. They all did.”
“I’ll bet. There’s nothing more respectable than a fat bank account. All the more reason why you ought to have an old dragon guarding the portcullis. Okay then, I’ll be your even richer Aunt Harriet, which means we’ll have to go on a shopping spree this afternoon. I didn’t even pack a toothbrush because I wasn’t planning to do anything more than give somebody an earful and go back to Baltimore. Is there a really good dress shop in the village, do you know?”
Cirak's Daughter Page 3
