“Mr. Winchel, I want to rename the letter and package center. It should be the Edwin McBride Letter and Package Center."
“Why? You did all the work to get this set up. It should be named for you," Mr. Winchel said.
“But I started it first to keep the snoops from pawing through the mail, and then it became important to give poor Edwin a decent paying job so he'd be able to rent or buy a house or apartment. He deserves it more than I do."
“Do you really feel that strongly about this?" Winchel asked.
“I do."
“In that case it will be renamed. And I admire you for the idea.”
The next thing Robert did was to dip into the money that was his share of what he had discovered in the first book in the library to buy tickets for himself, Lily, Mr. Prinney, Mrs. Prinney, Mimi the maid, Phoebe Twinkle, Mrs. Tarkington, both Harbinger boys, Chief Walker, Ron Parker, Jack Summer, Miss Exley, Mr. Kurtz, Mrs. Smithson, Mrs. Gasset, and Mrs. Towerton. He'd donate tickets to the town council members—except Arnold Wood, a man he hoped he'd never have to deal with again. He'd also go around to all the people who signed the petition to offer to sell them a ticket so they wouldn't have to wait in line to buy one. It would take him all day, but he owed it to them to get the first numbers.
The sorting center wasn't quite done yet, but it would be ready on the next Saturday, Harry had promised. Robert would also have to find a container for the duplicate tickets, which Mrs. Gasset could draw from. He himself would be on hand to write down the winning numbers for her and help label the boxes inside and outside. He assumed that not all two hundred of the boxes would sell immediately. He'd already turned over the names of the people who'd bought or been given tickets, along with the money and the ticket numbers.
Mrs. Prinney had helped him make and put up a banner on the front of the train station giving the cost, the sale date of tickets, and the drawing date.
Robert was really excited that this enormous project would soon be done and the work he'd put into it. He was also pleased that it had been renamed.
It had taken him all day to give out or sell the tickets and make records of them, and he went home exhausted, but feeling smug. He slept like a rock and woke a little after nine in the morning on Thursday. A quick shave and shower, two slices of toast, and he was off to the train station.
He was glad to see a fairly long line of people waiting to buy their tickets. Maybe thirty-five of them. He had trouble finding a parking place for the Duesie. When he found a spot near Mr. Prinney's office, he went inside the train station and asked Mrs. Gasset if she needed help. She claimed she was on top of it so far in keeping records. But she'd hoped he'd be around when the drawing of the tickets took place at ten o'clock Saturday. That, she suspected, was going to be a two-person job to keep track of who had won, and which box they'd chosen to use.
Harry and his brother Jim were almost done. All that was left was putting the last of the numbers on the boxes and fitting the lock on the back room.
Robert said, "I've turned over a significant amount of money and tickets to Mrs. Gasset. Maybe you could do the lock before finishing the numbers. You still have two more full days to finish the box numbers."
“There's already money in there?"
“Yes, I paid for tickets for everybody at Grace and Favor and you two, and the town council," Robert admitted.
“You're crazy to do that," Jim said.
“No, I'm not. I wanted to. And money is money no matter who pays it.”
Chief Howard Walker also woke up with a brilliant idea. But it was in the middle of the night. He thought it meant something important. He knew he should write it down, but he told himself firmly to remember it until morning.
By the next morning the idea had faded. He really should have at least made a note, a word or two on some scrap of paper. He thought it had to do with something that happened quite a long time ago. Something perhaps involving the swastika. Or not.
This had happened to him before. A good idea in a dream, then lost. But it always came back from wherever it was hidden in his brain. Sometimes quite suddenly when he was brooding over something else entirely. Usually it was trivial. The name of someone he once knew that suddenly came out his mouth when he'd given up on ever knowing.
But this vivid dream, now missing, was important. That he knew for sure.
On Saturday the twentieth of May the train station had a line of people outside waiting for mailboxes. Howard realized that he should be on hand. A lot of money was going to be taken in and The Law should be there to watch over it.
Somebody had lent Mrs. Gasset a long table to place in front of the boxes. She had two baskets ready. One for the cash. The other for information. She had a big pile of index cards. Each person whose number was drawn had to fill out his or her name, the number of the box chosen, and if they had a lock, put down the combination in case they forgot it.
As Howard arrived, at ten in the morning, the drawing had just commenced. The first number drawn went to a man Howard didn't recognize. He said, "Miss, there's no reason for you to know my combination. I won't forget it."
“Sir, it's Mrs. Gasset, and if you do forget and I don't know it, you will have to hire someone at your own expense to cut the lock off.”
This convinced him to put down the combination.
Robert kept worrying over things he'd forgotten. The table in front, for example. It was Mrs. Gasset's duty to endorse every check with the whole name of the sorting center and drive somewhere to open a bank account.
Only about half the people had acquired a lock. The other half had to drive to a town that had a hardware store to buy one. Walker placed himself next to the basket with the cash, and Robert kept an eagle eye on the one with the names and the numbers of the boxes they'd selected. He was going to label them from inside the sorting area.
“What if I get a big package that won't fIt in the box?" one of the buyers asked.
“You'd get a pink notice in the box notifying you to knock on the door, and I'd bring the package out. I won't be here in the evenings though."
“Whoever thought this out was smart," the woman said with a smile. "I'm so glad this was done.”
It took four hours with one twenty-minute break for people who needed to use the station's bathroom or buy a candy bar or crackers from the vending machine. At intervals throughout, Robert announced loudly that the townspeople had Harry and Jim Harbinger to thank for building this fIne sorting area. The drawing wasn't completed until nearly four o'clock. Howard, Robert, and Susan Gasset were all exhausted from simply standing around. One hundred and thirty-two boxes had been purchased.
When all the buyers were gone, the three of them allowed themselves a short break. Howard and Susan sat down while Robert ran over to Mabel's to buy sandwiches and drinks. He ate quickly, then went behind the boxes to start writing the people's names and box numbers and glueing them down under each box. He also took the basket with the money back where nobody else would know where it was.
Mrs. White appeared shortly and folded up the table she'd lent them. Howard carried it out to her big car to tie it on top with her rope. She'd brought along a bedspread to put under the table so it wouldn't hurt the paint on top of her car.
“I bought a box right in the middle. This was a wonderful idea. Who thought it up?"
“Robert Brewster. It was going to be named for him for all his efforts," Howard told her, "but at the last minute he decided it should be named after the man who needed the job of sorter."
“How generous of Mr. Brewster. I've always thought well of him and now I think even more what a fine young man he is.”
A few minutes later, Robert poked his head out the door and said, "Mrs. Gasset, I forgot to get you a stamp to endorse the checks.”
She smiled. "I already bought a stamp and two ink pads. Oh, and my sister Bernadette has volunteered to do the bookkeeping and fill out the tax forms. She's so grateful that I can be home in the evening to feed
the children and put them to bed. She hates having to read them all stories before they go to sleep. I've already put a dollar into the bank in Cold Spring. Bernadette will also deposit the money.”
Robert sighed with relief, and felt a bit guilty about secretly thinking badly of Bernadette.
Most of the last bags of mail on the floor had already been picked through by the people who had bought boxes. But Mrs. Gasset wanted to take the rest back and file the unclaimed mail in the right box if someone had purchased a box and forgotten to look through the mailbags that arrived earlier on Saturday.
“You've already had a very long day," Chief Walker said. "Just leave the bag in the back, lock up, and do it sometime tomorrow. There aren't deliveries on Sunday and you can get some rest."
“That's an excellent idea. I'll take you up on it. But first I need to shop for something to make for dinner. Something really good. Pork chops, stuffing, gravy, and mashed potatoes. And the carrots the kids won't eat, but Bernadette can give them to her rabbits later.”
Chief Walker said, "I'll wait for you while you go to the greengrocer and the butcher. You shouldn't be walking home with all that money and the checks. And I'll drive your sister to the bank."
“You don't intend to do this all the time, do you?”
“Only when it's a lot of money.”
He waited for her outside the butcher's shop with the small locked steel box under the passenger seat until she'd done her shopping and drove her home.
CHAPTER TWENTY
AFTER HOWARD DROPPED OFF MRS. GASSET and headed back to Grace and Favor, a random thought came to his mind. It had to do with the color red, but wasn't what he'd dreamed about. The person, whom he now knew was a man, took the paint can back to Harry's work area behind their house. He didn't return the paintbrush. He'd probably just pitched the brush into someone else's trash.
The point was, why did he return the paint can?
He was obviously a sour, unpleasant person to keep harassing Mr. Kurtz. So why bring the paint can back to Harry and Jim's house? Did he have a weird streak of honor? It was okay to paint a swastika on the window of a man who had narrowly missed being arrested by the Nazis? Setting the fires wasn't just arson. It was two cases of attempted murder. But stealing a can of paint wasn't right. Or moral. What kind of bizarre personality was Howard dealing with and trying to find?
He'd never come across someone with such skewed motives. Except maybe Arnold Wood. But he was an exception. All his motives were simply selfish and mostly vulgar as well. And he only came to town for meetings of the town council. Otherwise, nobody ever saw him.
After dinner, Howard found Lily reading by the open window in the library.
“Answer a question for me, would you?”
She put her book aside and said, "Gladly."
“If you wanted to paint a red swastika on a person's window, wouldn't you go buy the paint and the brush in some town where nobody knew you? And why would you throw away the brush, much less bring the paint can back to where you found it?”
Lily smiled. "First, I'd never have reason to paint a swastika anywhere, but if I needed to, you're right. I'd buy the supplies with cash where nobody knew me. As for the brush, it was probably dried up and just buried in someone's trash. And I certainly would have sealed up the can and disposed of it as well."
“That's exactly what I'd have done in theory, too," Walker said. "So how did the swastika painter even find the paint in Harry's backyard, and why on earth return it?" "Let me think on that for a while," Lily said, frowning. "There doesn't seem to be a logical reason for that. But the painter must have had some strange ideas.”
Lily never knew the answer, nor did Howard until later.
On Monday, Walker drove Bernadette to the bank in Cold Spring. Monday was the heaviest mail day, and Mrs. Gasset couldn't get away. Thank goodness the children were still in school and he didn't have to fill the back of the police car with little kids. One was only in kindergarten, so they had to be back by noon and made it in plenty of time.
Bernadette was very pleasant. "It was so nice of Mr. Brewster to get my sister this job. She can be home in the evening with the children. And she'll make a lot more money than she did at the theater, selling tickets. The owner had the nerve to ask me to fIll in for her. Can you imagine?"
“You'd probably be good at it, wouldn't you?" Howard asked. "You have good math skills, I understand from Mrs. Gasset."
“Yes, I do. But I wouldn't want the job. Having to be busy every night, like my sister was. I'm taking a course by mail for becoming an accountant."
“Good for you," Howard said. "Here we are at the bank. I'll wait in front."
“Oh, do come inside. I want the clerk to know I had a police escort.”
As he opened the door of the bank for her, she turned and whispered, "Just don't draw your gun.”
Howard laughed. He had had no warning that Bernadette had a sense of humor.
On the way back to Voorburg, Walker asked Bernadette, "Have you ever come across a man somewhere between forty-five and sixty, small stature, thinning reddish or brown hair?"
“Not that I remember. I seldom come to Voorburg except to ship off the rabbit furs when they're clean and dry. Why do you want to know?"
“That's how a bunch of librarians described the man who checked out the German books that were set on fire in front of Mr. Kurtz's shop."
“It's a shame that he's being singled out for all these awful things. I've never met him. I do my own sewing when I need to. But I've heard that he's a nice man.”
When Walker had dropped Bernadette off at her home, he went to his office at the jail and took up his thinking position, leaning back in his chair, feet on the desk. The description the librarians had come up with could describe half a dozen different men. But not Arnold Wood, unfortunately.
And he was still puzzled over why the man took the paint can, neatly capped, back to Harry's work area in his backyard. Why didn't he just throw it away when he disposed of the paintbrush?
Arnold Wood was right this time. Howard had taken far too long to unravel these crimes against Mr. Kurtz, and hadn't even made any progress in the investigation regarding the murder of Edwin McBride.
He'd asked questions of everyone who might know anything about either of the crimes and come up empty-handed. The fingerprint expert even had a whole set of the man's prints in the case of Mr. Kurtz. The method with which Edwin was strangled had been identified, but Walker still didn't know where the wire had been purchased. Maybe he should travel up and down the Hudson visiting hardware stores to see if he could get a description of who could have bought the wire.
But what good would it do? Whoever bought it certainly hadn't given a name. And if he had bought it at a hardware store—and he could have bought it elsewhere—like a company that sold cheese or bread, nobody would remember after all this time what the person looked like. Or care.
He simply couldn't leave Edwin's death to be forever unsolved. There must have been some sort of clue in the elusive dream, which he was still unable to remember.
Deputy Parker came into the jail building and asked,
“Anything I can do? I'm feeling useless. I don't feel that I'm earning my salary."
“Not right now. I'm still trying to figure out McBride's murder. Where would you get a wire with small teeth like that? I've given it some thought. I don't think hardware stores would carry such a specialized kind of wire."
“Who would?"
“Jewelry stores, I assume, would know. And it could also be used for slicing bread or cheese.”
Parker was impressed. "I'd never have thought of that."
“You would if you put your mind to it. Have you worked out something with Jack Summer about cars and motorcycles?"
“Almost. Jack's found a car he likes. And as soon as he buys it, he'll sell me the motorcycle. I get to pay on time payments. He's so anxious to get rid of it that he's given me a bargain price."
“I
'm glad this is working out for both of you. You could earn your keep by finding a jewelry store somewhere near when you get the motorcycle. They'll know where a wire like that could be purchased."
“I should have the motorcycle by tomorrow. I'll go to the library and look in phone books today.”
Howard grinned. "That's something I hadn't thought about. You are earning your keep.”
Mrs. White had come back to Mr. Kurtz's shop to pick up her daughter's dresses and was enormously impressed with what a good job he did. She also brought along the dress that the other surly tailor had messed up.
Mr. Kurtz told her to go in the back room and change into the flawed dress and come back out. She did so. He almost lost his temper. "That's terrible. Completely wrong.”
He took out his chalk and marked the shoulder lines, and said, "Even if the other man had done it right, the sleeves would have been too long. But I can fix everything. First, I have to carefully rip out what he did, then start over. Put your other clothing back on and I'll have it ready in three days."
“I'm so glad you can do this right. I know I can trust you. I'm tempted to go back and tell him how awful he is and how you undid his mistakes."
“It's up to you. But it would probably upset you more than him."
“You're probably right. My husband and I are going on a trip soon. Could you have the dress ready by Friday? We're driving to see my husband's new granddaughter in Albany."
“I could have it ready by Wednesday.”
Ron Parker came back to the jail the next day. "I charged a phone call to your office. It was long distance. I'll pay you back if you want."
“You don't have to pay when you're doing your job.”
“I'm not sure you're going to like what I found out.”
“Tell me," Howard said, as the front legs of his chair went back down to the floor.
“I called a jewelry place and asked if they sold the kind of wire that could cut through a ring. They told me no. They order it in six-inch sections from time to time from a company in New York City."
Who's Sorry Now? Page 12
