He stared at her in silence for a few seconds. He seemed to be trying to figure out who she was and what she was doing in his house. Then he said, “Good evening, Gerda,” in a flat voice with no welcome in it.
“Good evening, Mr. Kellogg.”
“How was the vacation?”
“Oh, it was grand. But I don’t mind telling you it’s good to be back home.”
“I’m glad to have you back.”
But he didn’t sound glad or look glad, and Gerda wondered what she had done to displease him. How could I have done anything? I was in Yellowstone. Ach, it’s just one of his moods. Not many people know about his moods. “How’s Mrs. Kellogg?” she said carefully. “And Mack?”
“Mrs. Kellogg is away on another holiday. She took Mack with her.”
“But . . .” The kettle began to whistle as if in warning. Gerda compressed her lips and busied herself at the stove, trying not to look at the wooden peg beside the back door where Mack’s red and black plaid leash was hanging. She could feel Mr. Kellogg’s eyes pointing at her back like a double-barreled gun.
“But what, Gerda? Go on.”
“I wasn’t about to say anything. Would you care for an egg, Mr. Kellogg?”
“No thanks. I’ve had supper.”
“Eating in restaurants for so long like I did makes you hungry for something real homey like a soft-boiled egg.”
The egg cracked in the boiling water. Gerda added a pinch of salt to the water so the egg white wouldn’t all drool out of the shell. Her hand was shaking and some of the salt spilled on the stove, turning the blue flame of gas momentarily to orange. That’s Mack’s leash hanging by the door. He’s a well-behaved dog, the best, but no one would ever take him out without his leash because of the traffic. Especially not Mrs. Kellogg. She’s nervous about cars. She’s never even learned to drive. She said aloud, “Have you been eating in restaurants or at home while Mrs. Kellogg is away?”
“Half and half.”
“I must say you’ve kept the kitchen real nice and neat.”
“Miss Burton dropped by this morning on her way home from church and helped clean up.”
“Oh,” Gerda said. Miss Burton, that creature with the dyed hair. On her way home from church, was she, and what were the churches coming to these days, pray tell?
She took the egg out of the saucepan and put it in an egg cup. Then she buttered a piece of bread and sat down at the table to eat. Mr. Kellogg was still standing in the doorway watching her with that funny expression in his eyes. It made her so nervous she could hardly swallow.
“By the way,” Rupert said, “you’ll be interested to know that Mack left in high style. My wife brought him a new leash from Mexico, one of those fancy, hand-tooled leather jobs.”
“Well, isn’t that nice.”
“Mack thought so.”
“I bet he looked too cute for words.”
“Yes.” Rupert stepped back with a grimace as if he’d had a sudden twinge of pain. “When you’ve finished eating, I’d like to have a talk with you, Gerda. I’ll be in the den.”
The talk turned out to be quite simple. She was fired. No reflection cast on her abilities, of course. A matter of simple economics. Mrs. Kellogg would be away in the East indefinitely, and it just wasn’t feasible to keep Gerda on. He made a lot of nice remarks about her efficiency and cooperation and so on, but it all amounted to one thing: she was fired. A month’s wages in lieu of notice and the best of references, which Miss Burton would type up and have waiting for her at the office. Good-bye and good luck.
Gerda said, “You mean you want me to leave right away?”
“Yes.”
“Right now tonight?”
“It might be simpler that way,” Rupert said, “since you haven’t unpacked yet. I’ll drive you wherever you want to go.”
“I got no place to go.”
“There are hotels. And the Y.W.C.A.”
Gerda thought of the warm, cozy evenings in front of her television set, now suddenly to be replaced by cold, deadly ones in the lobby of the Y.W.C.A. with a lot of other women as dull as herself. Resentment stabbed her eyes until they bled tears.
“Now, Gerda,” Rupert said uneasily. “You mustn’t cry. This isn’t actually a personal matter.”
“It’s personal to me!”
“I’m sorry. I wish—well, we all wish things could be different.”
“This is a terrible home-coming.”
“There have been worse,” Rupert said, remembering his own.
“What about the TV set?”
“That belongs to you. I’ll have a man come to disconnect it and deliver it to you when you get settled.”
“If I get settled.”
“I’m sure you’ll have no difficulty finding another job, one you’ll enjoy more. Things would be pretty dull for you around here without Mrs. Kellogg and Mack. I suggest you try an employment agency.”
Gerda sniffed. She didn’t like employment agencies and the snippy way they asked questions and pretended that jobs were scarce just to make themselves look good when they got you one. “I think I’ll call the Brandons.”
“Who?”
“The Brandons, Mrs. Kellogg’s brother and his wife. They got that big place to keep up in Atherton and many’s the time I’ve heard her complain how she couldn’t get decent help.”
He didn’t say anything. He just kept staring at her as if he thought she’d lost her mind.
Flushing, Gerda said, “Maybe you think I wouldn’t fit into such a fancy place, me and my country ways, is that what you’re thinking? Well, let me tell you I heard Mrs. Brandon with my own ears call me a jewel. That was no more than three months ago, and if I was a jewel three months ago I guess I’m a jewel right here and now.”
“Of course. Of course you are,” Rupert said, and he kept his voice very quiet because he felt like screaming. “I happen to know, however, that Mrs. Brandon has a complete staff at the moment.”
“That’s not saying she will have tomorrow or next week, things being like they are in this world.”
“You might not like living on the Peninsula.”
“The climate’s nice. All this fog in the city is hard on my bronchial tubes. That’s my weakest spot.”
“The Brandons have three children. They’re very noisy.”
“A little noise won’t hurt me none.” She turned to leave. “Well, I better go find some cartons so I can pack the rest of my stuff.”
“Gerda. Wait.”
She looked back, surprised at the urgency in his voice. “Yes sir?”
“I’ll call Mrs. Brandon, if you like, and ask her if she has an opening and what salary she’s prepared to pay and so on.”
“I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”
“It’s no trouble at all.”
“Well, that’s real kind of you, Mr. Kellogg. I’m much obliged, I’m sure,”
“I might as well call now, while you’re still here, and get the matter settled.” He gave her a dry little smile. “You may even enjoy working at the Brandons. Everyone to his taste.”
While she was in her room packing the rest of her things she could hear him talking on the main phone in the kitchen. His voice was very loud and distinct, and she wondered if Helene Brandon was possibly getting a little deaf.
“Helene? This is Rupert. . . . Fine. And you? . . . Glad to hear it . . . Oh, she’s having a great time, seeing every play in New York. Helene, the reason I called is Gerda. She returned from her vacation tonight, and I had to tell her that I couldn’t afford to keep her on. She’s first-rate at her job, as you know.... A jewel. Yes, she remembered that you called her that when you were talking to Amy some time ago.... I can’t help it if Amy will be mad. It’s a matter of simpl
e economics. . . . I can eat most of my meals in restaurants and hire a cleaning woman once a week. To get back to the subject of Gerda . . .”
Gerda, the jewel, fought a brief brisk battle with Gerda, the woman. The woman emerged victorious and tiptoed down the hall to the extension telephone in the master bedroom. She had no need to lift the receiver to hear Rupert; his voice veritably boomed from the kitchen. Mrs. Brandon must certainly be getting deaf. Or perhaps she always had been and covered it up by lip reading.
Gerda’s hand, slowed by guilt, reached for the telephone. I really shouldn’t. I’m a jewel . . .
“I thought it would be nice if we kept Gerda in the family, as it were. ... I realize you don’t need anyone right now, Helene. . . . Frankly, I think you’d be missing an excellent opportunity if you didn’t snap her up. Her qualifications are most unusual, you know that for yourself. I think she’d be good with the children, too. . . . Of course, if you haven’t a place for her, you haven’t . . .”
Meticulous as a surgeon, Gerda lifted the receiver. The dial tone buzzed in her ear. For a second she thought that Mrs. Brandon had, in sudden pique or boredom, hung up. Then she heard Rupert’s voice again from the kitchen: “Naturally she’ll be disappointed. So am I. But we can’t ask you to do the impossible, Helene. . . . Yes, I’ll tell her to try you again in a few months. Goodbye, Helene.”
9.
“This Gerda Lundquist,” Dodd said, rubbing his chin, “she’s reliable?”
Until the past twenty-four hours Gill Brandon had barely been aware of Gerda’s existence; he was not competent to answer the question. But because he wanted to believe her, he nodded vigorously. “Absolutely reliable. I’d trust her with my life.”
Dodd smiled the dry little smile that indicated disbelief in practically everybody. “There are a lot of people I’d trust with my life that I wouldn’t trust to give an accurate account of something they saw or experienced.”
“Miss Lundquist is not an imaginative type. Nor would she have any reason for trying to put my brother-in-law in a bad light.”
“Revenge for being fired?”
“She already has a better job,” Gill said stiffly.
“With you?”
“With us.”
“Why?”
“Why? We needed an extra servant, that’s why.”
That’s not why, Dodd thought. Now that he’s got the first shred of evidence against his brother-in-law he intends to keep it in a safe place. I’m glad I’m not in Kellogg’s shoes. This Brandon means business.
Gill said, “You understand, Gerda knows nothing about Amy’s disappearance. She thinks that Amy is simply on a vacation in New York.”
“And you think she isn’t?”
“I know she isn’t. I told you previously we have relatives in Queens and Westchester. I called both places last night after Gerda had come to us with her story. No one has seen or heard from Amy.”
“That proves nothing.”
“It would if you knew Amy. She’s always been very conscientious about keeping in touch with members of the family. If she were anywhere near New York she would have called Cousin Harris or Aunt Kate. Whether she wanted to or not, she would have contacted them out of duty.”
“How long is it since you’ve seen your sister?”
“She left for Mexico City on the third of September, a Wednesday. I said good-bye to her the previous day.”
“Was she acting normally?”
“Of course.”
“In good spirits?”
“Excellent. Very excited at the prospect of the trip, like a kid who’s never been any place on her own before.”
“Was Mrs. Wyatt with her at the time?”
“Yes. They’d been doing some last-minute shopping and called me from the St. Francis to come and have lunch with them.”
“What kind of woman was Mrs. Wyatt?” Dodd asked.
“Eccentric. Oh, some people found her very amusing, and I think Amy was rather fascinated by her, in the sense that she never knew what Wilma would do next.” He added grimly, “She does now.”
“Yes, I guess she does. What day was it that Mrs. Wyatt killed herself?”
“A little over three weeks ago, on a Sunday night, the seventh of September. I was informed the following day when Miss Burton, Rupert’s secretary, called me at my office. Rupert went down to Mexico City that same day, the seventh.”
Dodd wrote the dates in a notebook, more because he wanted something to do than because he thought he’d ever be referring to them again. Still a firm believer in wingdings, he was convinced that Amy would pop up one of these days with an unlikely everything-suddenly-went-black story.
“I heard nothing from him,” Gill continued, “until a week later. I was out that night, but he left a message with my son that I was to come to the house to discuss something important. When I got there he told me Amy had left and gave me her farewell letter, the one I first brought to you. You may recall its contents.”
“Yes.”
“She wrote that she’d been drinking the night of Wilma’s death.”
“And?”
“Rupert added something to that. He told me she’d been in the company of an American barroom hanger-on named O’Donnell. I think he was lying. My sister is cultured, well-bred. No well-bred woman would walk into a bar and pick up . . .”
“Wait a minute, Mr. Brandon,” Dodd said. “Let’s get something clear. If I’m to find your sister it’s more important to me to know her faults than her virtues. She may be kind and gentle and sweet and so on. That doesn’t tell me a thing. But if I know she has a weakness for barflies named O’Donnell, then I start looking up all the barflies named O’Donnell in my files.”
“Your humor isn’t very funny.”
“It wasn’t intended to be. I was making a point.”
“You may consider it made,” Gill said coldly. “It doesn’t alter the facts, however. My sister has no weaknesses of the kind you mean. Besides, Rupert has been proved a liar.”
“You’re referring to Gerda Lundquist’s account of his pretended telephone conversation with your wife?”
“Among other things, yes.”
“Why do you think he falsified that call?”
“It’s obvious. He wanted to prevent Gerda from making any attempt to get a job at our house.”
“Why?”
“He was afraid she would give us damaging information about him.”
“By ‘us’ do you mean you and your wife?”
“I mean myself only. Mrs. Brandon is inclined to believe the best of everyone. She’s a very trusting soul.”
“So is Rupert,” Dodd said, “or he would never have attempted the phone trick, knowing there was an extension in the bedroom.”
“Trusting? Perhaps. Perhaps only stupid.”
“Amateur, anyway.”
“Amateur.” Gill nodded vigorous agreement. “That’s what he is. And that’s why he’ll be caught.”
Dodd folded his hands and closed his eyes, like a minister about to pray for some lost souls which he strongly suspected would remain lost. “Tell me, Mr. Brandon, has Gerda Lundquist given you any damaging information about your brother-in-law? For instance, did he have a bad temper? Did he quarrel frequently with his wife? Was he a lush or a chaser?”
“No, not to my knowledge.”
“What’s the worst Gerda had to say about him?”
“He was—moody.”
“And that’s all?”
“She also said that last spring he was frequently late coming home. He claimed he was working overtime.”
“At what period in the spring?”
“March, I believe she said.”
“March,” Dodd pointed out, “is
income-tax time, and your brother-in-law is an accountant. He was lucky to get home at all.”
Gill flushed. “Just whose side are you on, anyway?”
“I never take sides until both teams are out in the field and I know what game they’re going to play.”
“This is no game, Mr. Dodd. My sister is missing. Find her.”
“I’m trying,” Dodd said. “Did you bring the pictures?”
“Yes.”
The pictures were in a manila envelope: two formal photographs and about a dozen large colored snapshots. In most of the snapshots Amy was smiling, but both the photographs showed her grave and self-conscious, as if she hadn’t wanted to be in front of a camera at all, knowing in advance the results wouldn’t satisfy anyone. Repressed, Dodd thought. Anxious to please. Too anxious.
One of the snapshots showed her sitting on a lawn with a small black dog on a leash beside her. Against the green grass the red and black plaid of the dog’s leash and collar stood out distinctly.
“That’s Mack?” Dodd said.
“Yes. He’s a pedigreed Scottish terrier. I gave him to Amy for her birthday five years ago. She’s devoted to him, too much so, in fact. He’s only a dog, after all, not a child, but she takes him everywhere she goes, downtown shopping and so on. She even wanted to take him with her to Mexico City but she was afraid of a possible quarantine at the border.”
“She kept him on leash?”
“Always. And always on this particular leash. You may not notice anything special about it, unless you’re an expert on tartans, but this tartan is not very commonly seen. It represents the Maclachlan clan. Mack was registered with the American Kennel Club under his official name, Maclachlan’s Merryheart, and Amy got the fanciful idea of having a collar, leash and sweater made up for him in the proper tartan. The set cost a hundred dollars, almost as much as the dog itself.”
Gill paused to light a cigarette. The pictures of Amy, spread over Dodd’s desk, smiled up at him mockingly: All this fuss over me and my little dog. We’re in New York, Gilly. We’re doing all the shows. Mack’s wearing the new hand-tooled leather leash I bought him in Mexico City. . . .
The Listening Walls Page 7
