We’d learned the brand name of the automobile used by the couple who had visited Mr. Gossett, we’d learned that Mr. Gossett had been shot in the back of his head, perhaps by someone standing on the stairs, and we’d learned that Mrs. Wallace didn’t have a notion in her head about why she’d fingered Calvin Buck as the killer except that he was colored. And that, as I knew full well, was no kind of reason at all.
And yes, I took Buttercup for a walk around the block when I awoke from my nap.
Chapter Nineteen
“You did what?” Ernie, who’d arrived at the office earlier than usual that bright Wednesday morning, stared at me as if I’d just told him I’d jumped out a fourth-story window.
“We went to visit Mr. Gossett’s house on Carroll Street. And we learned quite a number of pertinent things.”
“God damn it, Mercy! I told you to stay out of the investigation! You already got yourselves arrested! I don’t suppose you and Lulu will be happy until you’re laid out on slabs in the damned morgue!”
“Don’t exaggerate,” I told him, feeling peeved. “We learned some relevant things, and I think you ought to know about them. So stop scolding me and listen!”
Ernie’s gaze paid a visit to the ceiling of his office, and he heaved one of his more enormous sighs. “I’ll bet you ten dollars that you didn’t discover anything the police and I don’t already know,” he grumbled.
“We’ll see,” I said primly. Without being invited to do so, I sat on a chair before his desk. “For instance, did you know that the person who shot Mr. Gossett did so from behind?”
“Yeah, I knew that.”
Crumb. “Well, did you know that whoever did it probably was standing on the staircase when the deed was done?”
I could tell he hadn’t anticipated that, because he squinted at me. “How’d you figure that?”
“Mrs. Wallace showed us exactly where she found the body. In fact, she acted Mr. Gossett’s part.”
His eyebrows arched. “She what?”
“She laid herself down on the floor in exactly the position in which she discovered Mr. Gossett’s body.”
“How’d you get her to do that?”
“I didn’t get her to do anything. She offered of her own free will, because she was trying to assist two young investigative females with a darling toy poodle who’d come asking questions. I’ll be she didn’t do that for your stupid police.”
“I won’t take that bet. Criminy.” Ernie passed a hand across his brow. “I can’t believe what you can get away with.”
“I didn’t get away with anything!” I cried. “I only asked politely! From what I’ve seen of your precious police department, that’s more than they ever do!”
“You’re probably right about that.” In a resigned voice, he said, “So what else did you discover?”
“We learned that she didn’t even see the face of the colored person she noticed the Sunday of Mr. Gossett’s death. She only glimpsed a man in passing from across the street as she was walking to church.”
“Figures.”
“And, what’s more, she didn’t see the man and the woman who visited Mr. Gossett that day, but she did recollect that the hood ornament on the big black car they drove in was in the form of an Indian chief, and Lulu says that means the automobile is a nineteen twenty-five Pontiac.” I spoke with perhaps a tiny trace of triumph in my voice, but I’m sure you can’t fault me for it.
Ernie’s reaction was all that I could have hoped for. He stared at me for probably thirty whole seconds, and then he said, “How’d you find that out?”
I gave credit where it was due. “Lulu asked Mrs. Wallace if she recalled the car having any kind of a hood ornament.”
“I’ll be damned.”
“I’m sure that’s true,” I said drily.
“I wonder if Phil knows that.”
“I have no idea.” I sniffed.
“I’m going to call and tell him.”
“Tell him who discovered the information,” I said caustically. “We wouldn’t want him to think we women are totally worthless, now, would we?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll let him know how I found out.” He eyed me for a moment, but I wasn’t about to remove myself from his office until I’d listened to his conversation with Detective Phil Bigelow. I still had questions of my own that I wanted Ernie to answer. Ernie scowled at me. I crossed my arms over my chest and remained seated. He finally gave up, heaved another sigh, and dialed the telephone.
After he’d hung up, I said, “Do you know what kind of automobile Johnny Autumn drives?”
Ernie gave me one of his patented eye-rolls. “Yes, damn it. He owns a nineteen twenty-five Pontiac.”
“Aha!”
“Aha, my foot. There are lots of ’twenty-five Pontiacs on the streets of L.A.”
“Huh. I’m sure that machine belonged to Johnny Autumn, and I’d bet you anything that he was involved in Mr. Gossett’s death.”
“You might well be right, but the police don’t have any proof.”
“They don’t have any proof that Calvin Buck shot the man, either, but it doesn’t seem to bother them overmuch.”
Ernie shook his head. “You’re right.”
“I wish I’d thought to get a description of Johnny Autumn from Peggy Wickstrom when I had a chance.”
“I know what the mug looks like.”
“You do?” For some reason that surprised me.
“Of course, I do. For God’s sake, Mercy, I am doing my best for the Bucks, you know.”
“How would I know that when you never tell me anything?”
“Sheesh.”
“May I please have a description? Just in case he comes back and decides to denude the rest of my residence of its property?” My voice was quite impertinent, but I believed I deserved to be impertinent by that time.
Ernie frowned at me, but he condescended to answer my question. “Five-ten. Brown hair and eyes. Wears his hair slicked back. Wears flashy clothes and jewelry.”
“Jewelry?” I asked, confused, thinking about necklaces and earrings and brooches and that sort of thing.
“Cuff links, snappy wristwatches. Pinkie rings. That sort of thing.”
“Ah. I see.”
“He’s a flashy customer.”
“It’s a shame he seems to have led Peggy astray.”
“Huh. For all you knew, she was already astray when they met.”
I hesitated for a moment before conceding the point. “Perhaps.”
“But I guess I owe you ten bucks, huh?”
I held out my hand and smiled. “You do indeed. I’ll take you to lunch with my ill-gotten gains.”
Handing me a ten, Ernie said, “Cheap at twice the price.”
“Thank you.” Then, because I really wanted to know, I asked, “Say, Ernie, what’s a hood ornament?”
I felt really stupid when he told me.
* * * * *
Mrs. Buck fixed fried chicken, lovely English peas, biscuits, mashed potatoes and gravy for dinner that night. For all the unpleasantness we’d gone through recently, I felt fortunate to have my home and my friends and tenants and the Bucks in my life. I was a little worried about Caroline Terry.
“Are you feeling all right, Caroline?” I asked her at the dinner table as we partook of our succulent meal. “I still feel awful for allowing that Wickstrom girl into my house. You and Lulu suffered for my mistake.”
“Please don’t feel that way, Mercy. You aren’t responsible for that girl’s actions.” Caroline shook her head mournfully. “It’s a shame when people allow the devil to direct their actions. I was fortunate that I had parents who taught me right from wrong.”
“That’s a good point,” said Lulu, pouring gravy over a biscuit. I have to admit, I’d never seen anyone eat a biscuit smothered in gravy before. If I weren’t so full by that time, I might have tried the same thing myself. “Our parents did that, too, but what parents say doesn’t always take. If you know what I mean.
I knew a couple of kids I grew up with who were rotten, but their parents tried to keep them on the straight and narrow.”
“I remember you telling us about that bully,” I murmured, wondering if I might try half a biscuit with some gravy on it. Maybe instead of dessert.
“Oh, Gerald. Yeah, but his folks were rotten, too, so you can’t tell anything by him. I’m thinking of Pauline Welch. Her ma and pa seemed to be the salt of the earth, but when she hit seventeen, she ran off with a rambling man who drove through town. Last I heard, she’d had herself a kid and was barely scraping by as a waitress somewhere in Texas.”
“Good Lord.” The fate of poor Pauline Welch did seem dire. I suppose the rambling man managed to get away with no consequences whatsoever. “Won’t her parents help her?”
“They would, but she won’t let ’em. I guess she’s too ashamed to come back to Enid.”
Enid was the town in Oklahoma where Lulu and her brother came from. I shook my head in sorrow. “That’s such a shame.”
“How terribly sad,” murmured Caroline, who appeared to mean it. I think I even saw tears in her eyes.
“I think so, too. Mind you, Pauline was stupid for running off with a guy who anybody could see was a no-good bum, but still, she isn’t the first one and won’t be the last. What I want to know,” continued Lulu, a furrow decorating her brow, “is how come it’s always the girl who suffers? The guys always seem to go on about their business as if nothing ever happened.”
“Sad,” whispered Caroline.
“Exactly what I was wondering,” said I, more angry than sad over the injustices rampant in the world. Then I remembered Mrs. Buck was serving apple brown betty for dessert, and I decided to forego half a biscuit with gravy. Another time, perhaps.
“Things like that happened at home, too,” said Caroline. “I feel so sorry for girls who get into trouble like that. I know they ought to have stronger moral fiber, but just one slip can spell the end to all of one’s hopes and dreams, can’t it? You’d think people would give other people second chances, wouldn’t you?”
“Indeed, you would,” I said, struck by Caroline’s down-to-earth goodness. None of this tossing the baby out with the bath water stuff for her, by gum.
Mrs. Buck had just come into the dining room bearing a tray with individual bowls of apple brown betty, over which she’d poured cream. Although I was full, my mouth started watering again.
And then, darned if somebody didn’t bang at the front door. Most unusual.
Mrs. Buck frowned and turned her head, as though she wondered if she should answer the door or serve dessert. I knew the answer to that one.
Rising from my chair, I said, “I’ll get the door, Mrs. Buck. Caroline and Lulu, finish your dinners. I’ll get rid of whoever’s at the door and be right with you.”
Famous last words.
If I’d had a single shred of intuition in my nature, I might have predicted evil to come from that rapping on the door. Naturally, being the possessor of a prosaic character, I hadn’t a clue to what catastrophe I was headed when I walked to the door. I peered through the window, but didn’t see anything even though I’d turned on the electrical outdoor light. Odd, thought I to myself. And I opened the door.
“Peggy!” I all but shrieked when Peggy Wickstrom, looking as though she’d been run over by a fleet of trucks or a railroad car, crawled into the house. “What on earth happened to you?”
The girl was a mess. She’d clearly been beaten. Rage rose within me until I very nearly saw red.
“I’m . . . I’m sorry,” whimpered Peggy, hugging herself as if to keep broken ribs together.
“Good Lord. Here. Let me help you into the living room.”
“No! I mean . . . Oh, Mercy, I’m so sorry.”
Through clenched teeth, I said, “Did Johnny Autumn do this to you?”
Tears streaked her face when she nodded.
“I knew it!” I cried, feeling oddly vindicated that my belief in Peggy should have been proved correct so horribly. The ghastly man had led her astray, like a little lost lamb. And then he’d beaten the tar out of her, by golly. “Come into the living room.”
I took her carefully around the shoulders and guided her through the archway and into the living room. Buttercup, who had gone to the door with me, sniffed curiously at Peggy’s heels. She didn’t seem awfully excited to see an old friend. Buttercup, not Peggy, who was in no condition to be excited by anything.
Lulu had decided to investigate the strange scrapings and cries from the front door by this time. As I carefully arranged Peggy in a chair, she walked in from the dining room. “What’s— Good glory! Is that Peggy Wickstrom?”
“Yes. That beast, Johnny Autumn, beat her up.”
“Wow,” said Lulu. “That looks pretty awful, Peggy.” Then she said, “Serves you right.”
“Lulu!”
Caroline, following closely upon Lulu’s heels, gasped at the sight of Peggy, all battered and sore.
Mrs. Buck, who trotted along behind Caroline, muttered, “Lord save us, who done that to you, girl?”
“Johnny Autumn,” I said, my teeth still clenched. My jaw would ache tomorrow. I didn’t know it then, but you have to be careful whilst clenching teeth because you can strain facial muscles if you clench too hard. It’s probably not good for your teeth, either.
“Saints alive,” said Mrs. Buck. “I’d best go get my medicines.” She shook her head. “Mr. Buck done gone to the prayer meeting at church, or he might could go after the brute.”
“No!” I said, unclenching my teeth at last. “No, please, Mrs. Buck. Mr. Buck is to do no such thing. Johnny Autumn is a vicious criminal. I suspect he’s the one who killed Mr. Gossett and maybe even Mr. Preston. If Mr. Buck did anything to him, I’m sure the police would only arrest Mr. Buck on some stupid charge or another.”
“Johnny’s not bad!” wailed Peggy.
We all stared at her, dumbfounded, and I wondered if the girl was born stupid or if being in love addled some people’s brains. “Well, he’s not awfully nice to have done this to you,” I said drily.
She whimpered some more.
“I’ll go get my stuff,” said Mrs. Buck. She turned on her heel and headed back to the kitchen.
“Is she really hurt?” Lulu asked.
My gaze flew to her. “Look at her, Lulu!”
“Yeah. I see. She looks real bad. But is she faking it, or is she really hurt?”
“Oh, Lulu,” said Caroline, putting a gentle hand on her arm. “Show some Christian mercy.” Pausing to fling a glance my way, she said, “I mean . . .”
“I know what you mean,” said Lulu. “But don’t forget what she did to us.”
Peggy began crying again. “I know. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to do it, but . . .” She stopped speaking, her words sort of trailing off.
“Did that awful man make you do it?” asked Caroline, her soft voice vibrating sympathy.
I could have warned her not to put words in a witness’s mouth, but it was too late by that time. Anyhow, I was interested in Peggy’s answer.
“He . . . he didn’t exactly make me,” she said, fudging.
“Was drugging the lemonade your idea, then, and not his?”
“Lulu!” I said, more softly but no less intensely.
“Nuts, Mercy. This girl stole money and property from us and drugged Caroline and me. What’s more, she put booze into that stupid lemonade. I didn’t notice anybody named Johnny Autumn hanging around the house at the time, did you?”
For the life of me, I couldn’t think of anything to say that might rebut Lulu’s statement. Peggy might have done her evil deeds under the influence of her precious Mr. Autumn, but she’d done them of her own free will. No one had held a gun to her head. What’s worse was that she’d been cheerful as she did it.
Peggy hung her head. “I’m so sorry. He . . . he threatened me.”
I jumped at her excuse. I know. Silly me. “What did he threaten you with?”
Lulu said, “Hmm.”
“Oh, dear,” whispered Caroline. “I think I’ll go see if Mrs. Buck needs some help.”
“Thanks, Caroline.”
“And I,” said Lulu, “think I’ll call the coppers. Maybe Ernie.”
“No!” Peggy all but screeched in my ear, which was perilously close to her mouth. “Please don’t do that! Don’t you see? He’ll kill me for sure if you call the cops!”
“Too bad. He needs to be locked up for lots of reasons, not the least of which is what he did to you. Stand up and act like a woman, for Pete’s sake!”
“Oh, Lulu,” Peggy whined. “You don’t understand.”
“No,” said Lulu. “I don’t.” And she headed to the telephone.
“Blast,” whispered Peggy.
“It’ll work out all right,” I assured her, trying to get her to sit up so I could remove her outer wrappings and see exactly what her so-called lover had done to her. She groaned a good deal when I got her coat off. Her face looked horrid, although that might have had a lot to do with her hair, which was wildly disarranged. She did have a black eye, though, and lots of red slap marks on her cheeks. Her eye was nearly swollen shut.
“He . . .” Peggy stopped to sniffle. “He kicked me in the ribs. They hurt a lot.”
“We’ll have to bind them ribs up,” said the efficient Mrs. Buck, bustling back into the room with a tray piled with things of a medicinal nature.
“Do we have anything to help her with the pain?” I asked, thinking of laudanum, which was still relatively easily available, although not sold as openly as it once had been.
“Let’s see how she be before we let her drink anything like that,” said Mrs. Buck.
“I don’t want to drink anything,” said Peggy a trifle more forcefully. “If Johnny hadn’t been drinking, he’d never have done this to me.”
Caroline and I exchanged a glance. Caroline said, “So this is all the fault of demon rum?” I’d never heard her sound so skeptical.
“It’s the truth! Johnny loves me!”
Angels of Mercy Page 22
