“If he loves you, I’d hate to think what he might do to you if he disliked you.” Very well, by then even the softhearted Mercy Allcutt was beginning to tire of Peggy’s blind faith in a man who could treat her so badly.
“You don’t understand,” Peggy said, sniffling some more.
“No,” I said. “I certainly don’t.”
At Buttercup’s snarl, I looked up from the pathetic heap that was Peggy Wickstrom and was surprised to see Lulu backing into the living room from the office where the telephone was kept. Her arms were bent at the elbows, and she held her hands in the air. Behind her, holding what looked like the biggest gun on the face of the earth, strode a man I’d never seen before, but whose name I could guess with precise accuracy.
Then Peggy said, “No! No! Please, don’t let him take me!” and huddled more deeply into her chair.
Johnny Autumn said, “Shut up.”
The rest of us could only gasp in horror.
Chapter Twenty
Because I was so shocked—knocked all of a heap, as a maid of ours in Boston used to say—I cried, “How did you get in here?”
“Oh, please,” said the outrageous Mr. Autumn. “If you want to keep people out, lock your damned windows. Get up, Peggy. You’re coming with me.”
Peggy shrank back some more, clutching at me. Hard, darn it. She had fingers like a vise. “No!” she whimpered. She was good at whimpering.
In this case, I didn’t blame her. Johnny Autumn looked like a mighty rough customer to me. “It’s all right, Peggy. We won’t let that terrible man take you back.”
“Move over, Miss Allcutt,” said Autumn. “Get away from Peggy. Peggy, move your chassis and come along with me.”
Peggy stopped whimpering long enough to sigh deeply. She made as if to rise. Appalled, I tried to hold her down. “No! You can’t go with him, Peggy! He’s the one who did this to you!”
“Cripes,” said Autumn. “Is that what she said?”
“Yes!” Turning to Peggy, I said, “You can’t go back to a man who beat you black and blue, Peggy. You’d be nuts to do that!
“Gotta keep her in line somehow,” he said. “She can be a handful. Anyhow, I didn’t do that. Another john done that because she tried to steal his cash.”
I was getting confused. Were there two people named John in Peggy’s life? For goodness’ sake, the girl was only eighteen years old.
Peggy’s head was bowed. To my absolute shock, she said, “I’m sorry, Johnny. I didn’t ought to do that.”
“Damned right,” said he.
All confusion on my part vanished. However many Johns pervaded Peggy’s life, she simply couldn’t return to Johnny Autumn’s care. Or . . . what had Ernie called it? His stable? I more or less bellowed, “What? You can’t possibly mean to say you’re going back to that man, Peggy!”
With another heart-wrenching sigh, Peggy said, “But Mercy, I love him.”
Lulu muttered something under her breath. I suppose she didn’t dare speak aloud, since Autumn still held the gun on her. When I glanced to see what Mrs. Buck and Caroline were doing, I noticed they seemed to have frozen solid in attitudes of shock and dismay. I figured they’d be safe if they stayed that way.
Unfortunately for yours truly, I was too angry to remain still. I jumped to my feet and shrieked, “That man killed Mr. Milton Halsey Gossett! And probably Mr. Gregory Preston too! How can you go back to a murderer? Especially one who beats you up?” I wasn’t sure about that last part, but I didn’t allow the confusion stop me. “Especially one who shot a man in the back of the head like a dirty coward!” Don’t ask me why Mrs. Wallace’s description of the murder came out of my mouth at that moment, because I don’t have a clue.
Autumn’s lips thinned before he pried them apart far enough to say, “I didn’t kill anybody.”
By that time Peggy had her hands clasped to her chest and was gazing up at me with what looked almost like religious fervor. “He didn’t, Mercy. I already told you that. He didn’t kill Mr. Gossett. Or that other guy.”
“Well, if he didn’t, he still either beat the tar out of you or let someone else do it. You’d be an idiot to go back to him.”
Lulu finally managed to pry her mouth open. “Mercy,” she said in a grating whisper. “It’s probably better not to argue with either one of them. The man’s holding a gun, remember.”
She’d mentioned a salient point, although I was loath to give up the fight for Peggy’s welfare. Therefore, I said, “Please stop pointing that weapon at Miss LaBelle, Mr. Autumn. You’re an armed man against a room full of helpless women.” I sneered at him. “I’m sure those odds are almost as much to your liking as shooting a full-grown man in the back of the head.”
“Oh, no!” said Peggy. “He didn’t do it!”
“Dammit,” said Autumn. I think he’d have elaborated on his theme, but at that moment, an apricot-colored streak raced across the floor from the direction of the kitchen, and Buttercup bit him in the back of the leg. He hollered “Damn!” once more, only this time in a pained-sounding voice, and tried to shake her loose. He was off-balance and fell against the doorjamb. This had the happy result that his gun, after discharging once with a hideous boom, fell to the polished wooden floor next to the Persian carpet. I saw later that it had nicked the wood, but at that time I was only intent on getting that gun into my own hands.
Buttercup eventually went flying, although she shook herself off and raced back into the fray, aiming for the back of Autumn’s other leg that time. He shouted, “Keep that damned dog away from me!”
“Buttercup!” I shouted as I dove for the gun, not, of course, out of consideration of Johnny Autumn, who deserved no consideration, but because I feared he might harm my faithful, heroic dog.
To my utter shock and astonishment, someone beat me to the gun. The someone was Peggy Wickstrom and, while her hand shook, she aimed the deadly weapon at me. Me! The person who’d tried to save her from the mad killer, Johnny Autumn.
“Get back, Mercy,” she said.
Looking at her black eyes and vicious bruises, I had a hard time believing what was going on in front of my eyes. “But Peggy, he did that to you!” I waved a hand at her. I was sorry I’d done so instantly, when I heard a click that meant she’d pulled the something-or-other back on the gun. I leaped aside.
“Johnny loves me,” Peggy said. “And I love him.”
“Damn it. That dog bit me!” said the patently unlovable Johnny Autumn.
“Good Buttercup,” I said because I couldn’t help myself.
“Shoot the damned dog,” snarled Autumn.
“No!” I shrieked.
“I don’t want to shoot Buttercup,” she told me. “But you have to stand aside and let us get out of here.”
It was Lulu who spoke next, which was probably just as well as Peggy’s words had rendered me speechless. “Why’d you come here if you’re just going to go back to him? Do you like getting beat up?”
“He didn’t mean to do it. I deserved it.”
“Damn it all, I didn’t do it,” muttered Autumn.
Peggy whimpered some more.
I was really sick of her whimpering by that time. “Oh, for goodness sake, go away then,” I snapped. “Get out. And don’t ever come back. I don’t care if he blackens both of your eyes and breaks both your arms and legs. I never want to see you again.”
Peggy lifted her chin. “He won’t do that. He loves me.”
The idiocy of the human animal never ceases to amaze me.
The heroic nature of my toy poodle doesn’t, either. No sooner had the latest declaration of her brutal lover’s adoration left her lips than Peggy screamed, and I looked downward to see Buttercup firmly attached to her calf. Boy, the dog might be small, but she had a grip on her.
Again the gun went flying. Again I dove to get it. I saw it flipping in the air like a sleek, black seal doing tricks and prayed hard that Buttercup had rendered both of her targets too badly wounded to react quickly.
She had, but it wasn’t I who snabbled the gun. By golly, Caroline Terry rose from the floor, the gun clasped in both of her hands and pointing it at the crippled duet of criminals clutching each other in the hallway leading to the office. Buttercup, barking madly, was doing her best to keep them at bay.
“Tie them up!” I hollered to the room at large.
Fortunately for all of us, neither Lulu nor Mrs. Buck lacked sense. Lulu instantly withdrew the sash to her dress, yanked Peggy out of Johnny Autumn’s arms, and tied her arms behind her back. Peggy kicked and bellowed. “Ow! Stop that! You’re hurting me!”
Lulu said, “Shut your yap, you idiot!”
Johnny Autumn turned to hightail it out of there, but Mrs. Buck, a quick-thinker if ever there was one, had managed to get hold of the heavy tray upon which she’d carried her medicaments and bashed him on the head with it. He went down with a thud, and she sat on his back. It was a brilliant move, because as much as he tried, he could only thrash about. Mrs. Buck wasn’t fat, but she was a large woman.
I scooped Buttercup up, told her she was a good, brave girl, but that she could stop barking now.
Mrs. Buck said, “Go get me a cast-iron skillet. Use it on that one before you give it to me.” She jerked her head toward Peggy Wickstrom, who was giving Lulu a hard time with the tying-up-of-hands maneuver.
I decided to heck with the skillet for the nonce, plucked an ugly statue from the mantel, and conked Peggy on the head with it. That stopped her long enough for me to fetch the skillet and some heavy twine Mr. Buck kept in the utility room. I also bethought me of the dirty sheets that were waiting to be washed in a basket beside the laundry tub and brought those into the living room, too. Whoever said one couldn’t improvise when suppressing criminals? Nobody I know of.
By the time we had Peggy and her boyfriend snuggly tied up and unable to move, I went to the telephone and dialed Phil Bigelow’s number at the police department. Phil wasn’t there, but I told the answering policeman that a disturbance had taken place at my home, the nature of the disturbance, and asked him please to send officers with brains to handle the situation. “And I don’t mean Sergeant Vincent Croft or Officer Lawrence T. Williamson. I want officers who behave like sensible human beings.”
The man on the end of the wire said, “Yes, ma’am,” and hung up.
I hoped he’d take my words to heart. Then I dialed Ernie’s office number, praying he’d be there. There was no reason for him to be, since it was after hours. If he didn’t answer, I’d telephone him at his home.
The office telephone rang twice, and then my heart lifted when I heard Ernie growl into it, “Templeton.”
“Oh, Ernie, thank God you’re there!”
There was a pause on the end of the wire. Then Ernie said, “Aw, damn it all to hell and back, Mercy, what did you do now?”
* * * * *
While furious with my employer, I was pleased that he’d been in his office with Phil. What’s more, if I could believe him, they’d been discussing the Gossett and Preston cases when my call came in. They arrived at my home about fifteen minutes after I’d telephoned, and a good deal before the police contingent arrived. I frowned at Ernie when I led him and Phil into the living room.
Mrs. Buck had kindly cleaned, salved and bound the bitten calves of both Johnny Autumn and Peggy Wickstrom. Peggy had whined a good deal about her stockings having been ruined by Buttercup’s bite, but I told her to be quiet. “My noble dog saved us from you and your so-called boyfriend, and if you keep blathering about your torn stockings, I’ll jolly well hit you again and slap some tape over your mouth.”
She would have rubbed her head, but she couldn’t move her arms, so she subsided into surly silence instead.
Johnny Autumn didn’t say a word. He only sat, bound and bleeding, on a sheet Mrs. Buck had laid out for him and Peggy to sit on. “So they don’t get this pretty carpet all messy,” she’d said. Made sense to me. Autumn’s pant legs were rolled up, and he looked mighty ridiculous sitting there with his hairy legs hanging out of his torn trousers, a pretty white bandage tied around each of his calves and knotted with a bow. He scowled a good deal, but I didn’t mind that.
Lulu and Caroline sat on the sofa. Caroline had carefully set the gun on the mantelpiece, swallowing hard as she did so. I considered her almost as brave as Buttercup.
“There’s your killer,” I said to Ernie and Phil, pointing at Johnny Autumn. “And there’s the weapon. Probably,” I added because I wasn’t sure he’d used the same gun both to kill both Mr. Gossett and Mr. Preston and to fetch Peggy.
“I didn’t kill nobody,” Autumn muttered, finally breaking his silence.
“We can check with ballistics to see if the Gossett bullet came from this gun.”
I hoped it had.
Ernie glanced around the room, his gaze lingering on each occupant as it lit thereon. “All right. It’ll probably kill me to hear it, but will someone please tell me how you all happened to end up here like this?”
Lulu, Caroline and I glanced at each other. Mrs. Buck said, “Miss Mercy ought to tell you.”
Ernie allowed his gaze to land on me and remain there. “I should have guessed.”
Straightening my shoulders, I said, “Yes, you should. This is my home, after all.”
“Right. Okay, Mercy. Go on.”
“We’d better wait for an officer with a notebook, Ernie,” said Phil.
Both men had shed their hats and coats in the front hallway. At the moment, Phil scratched his head as he surveyed my living room, which had never been put to such a purpose as this before. Both Johnny Autumn and Peggy Wickstrom looked kind of silly, actually, bundled as they were with bed sheets, strong twine, etc. But I couldn’t find any real rope. I’m sure if Mr. Buck had been there, he’d have known just where to locate it.
“How come their legs are bandaged?” asked Phil, not as if he cared much, but because he was curious.
My bosom swelled with pride. “Buttercup bit them both! She knew they were evil, and she took matters into her own hands. Er, teeth, I mean.”
“She bit ’em both?” Ernie looked from my face to that of the dog in my arms. Her tail wagged joyously. She loved Ernie.
“Yes. She bit Mr. Autumn when he was holding us at gunpoint, and then she bit him again, and then she bit Peggy when she was holding us at gunpoint.”
“Good dog,” said Ernie absently. “You mean they were in this together?”
“Wait for the policeman with a notebook and pencil, Ernie.”
“Right, right,” said Ernie. “But you have to admit it’s kind of confusing.”
“Consider the source,” muttered Phil under his breath. I heard him, though, and I resented his remark.
“Is it all right if I make us up some tea?” asked the practical Mrs. Buck. “I think we can all use some.”
“Yes, please,” I said, realizing as I did so that my knees were becoming somewhat watery. Therefore, I plunked myself onto a chair, still clutching my noble dog.
Eventually the police arrived. Phil answered the door and ushered two uniforms into the living room. To my disgust they were Sergeant Croft and Officer Williamson.
“Why’d they send you?” I asked, snarling slightly and reminding myself of Buttercup.
I presume neither man dared act up, what with Phil there and all. Officer Williamson merely said, “We were on duty.”
“Well, you’d better do your duty this time, and do it right.”
“Mercy,” Ernie muttered.
“Nuts,” said Lulu. “The last time these two came here, they were about as useful as tits on a boar-hog.” Then she blushed when we all turned to gape at her. She muttered, “Sorry. We used to say that back in Oklahoma.”
“No need to apologize,” I said stoutly. “That was not only a colorful expression, but it tells the story with truth and precision.” I glared at the two new arrivals. “This time, you’d better do your jobs right.”
I could tell Serg
eant Croft really wanted to say something nasty to me, but he didn’t dare with Phil there. Good.
Phil made both policemen get down to the business at hand. I told the story in a well-organized, precise manner. Well, as precisely as I could, with only a few detours here and there. I ended with, “He’s the person who killed Milton Halsey Gossett and Gregory Preston. Check the . . .” Drat. I couldn’t remember the word. Oh, yes. “Check the ballistics, if you don’t believe me.”
“He didn’t do it!” cried Peggy, still standing by her man, the idiot.
“I didn’t do it,” said Autumn sullenly.
“Check the ballistics,” I repeated.
“We will,” said Croft.
I squinted at him. “Be sure you do.”
“We will,” Croft repeated, sounding aggravated. I didn’t care.
“Damn it, the ballistics will show that’s the gun that shot Gossett and Preston!” Johnny Autumn said at last, as if a dam had burst and he couldn’t keep his words contained any longer. “But I didn’t kill them!”
“Shut up, Johnny,” said Peggy.
“I won’t shut up! I told you not to go to either of those places, but would you listen to me? Will you ever listen?”
“Shut up, Johnny,” Peggy repeated, this time with some menace in her voice.
“You were both there the day of the Gossett murder,” I said to the two of them. “We have a witness.”
Johnny muttered, “Shit.”
“Stop swearing in my house!” I told him, fed up to the back teeth with him and Peggy both.
“So what if we were there? That doesn’t prove anything.” Peggy glared at me.
Suddenly I thought I understood, although I could scarcely believe my own idea. What Johnny Autumn has said about a john having beaten Peggy because she tried to steal from him at last made sense. Still, it was difficult to take in the truth.
Staring at Peggy in utter flabbergastation (if that’s a word), I said, “It was you, wasn’t it? You’re the one who shot those poor men!”
“Damn it, No! Johnny did it.”
“I didn’t kill either of them!” bellowed Johnny Autumn.
Angels of Mercy Page 23
