The Innocent Flower

by Charlotte Armstrong

  “I don’t know. Would you think so?”

  “I certainly wouldn’t. Brownie wouldn’t want to die. She never was alive, much. Didn’t know what she was missing. So why die?”

  “Oh?” said Duff. “And who was she?”

  “Who? Why, she went to school with Mary. Maiden lady, you see. Turns up every once in a while to visit. Courtesy auntie to the children and all that. Old acquaintance. Shouldn’t be forgot.”

  Walker stopped talking, and his brown eyes looked thoughtfully at the rain. Duff pulled up at the station. His passengers made no move to get out, and he didn’t urge them.

  “Tell me about the children,” he prompted, “if you have time.”

  “Oh, Yes. Well … Sit still, Bea, there’s plenty of time. Let’s see, Paul’s the oldest, must be fourteen or fifteen. Then there are the twins, Diana and Alfred, a couple of years younger. Then there’s a girl in the middle, that’s Margaret. She’d be eleven or so. And Rosamund, of course. And the baby’s David. David’s … gosh … five, I suppose.”

  “Thank you very much,” said Duff, “But Taffy?”

  “That’s Rosamund.”

  “And where,” said Duff, surprising himself with a question right out of his subconscious, “is Mr. Moriarity?”

  “I don’t know,” said Walker. “He hasn’t been around for quite a While.”

  “Five years?” Duff murmured.

  “Mary’s not a Catholic, either,” Walker said, and looked embarrassed.

  The woman said something. She said, “I feel sick.”

  “We’ll get out. Little air. Cheer up, darling … twenty minutes on the train, that’s all. We’ll take a cab from 125th Street.” But he stood in the open door a moment, supporting her. Something was on his mind, and he was hesitating.

  “My name is MacDougal Duff,” said the detecive.

  The man’s face cleared. “Oh, yes,” he said, “of course. I see. Well, I’m glad to know it. Look, I don’t want to tell tales out of school, you know, and all that. But if it was poison and it wasn’t suicide …”

  “Quite,” said Duff dryly.

  “Well, there’s always Eve. Eve Norden. I don’t know, but there’s been a feud there. Good old Brownie did her dirt, a long time ago. There’s something wrong back in her family. Eve’s family. Brownie knew. And Eve’s pretty near crazy, you know. If it was me, I’d … uh … wonder. That’s a tip, sir. And maybe it doesn’t mean a thing. You understand …”

  “For God’s sake!” said Bea, twisting angrily away. “What is this! I’m sick, I tell you. I don’t want to stand around and gossip! What is this small-town routine? I want to go home and pass out. I want to go home and die!” She had the voice of a sophisticated shrew.

  “All right. All right, honey. I’ll get you home, and you’re not going to die.”

  “Now, listen …”

  Exit, squabbling, thought Duff. He engaged his gear and drove slowly away.

  Eve Norden. Eve Meredith. Too many Little Eva’s in the woodpile. “I didn’t mean to kill her,” said Mary Moriarity. What a lie those bare words could tell, if, for instance, they were written down. When he’d heard them, in the car, in the mood, he’d understood perfectly. “I didn’t mean that she should be killed.” That was the real sense of them. Mary had said something, and she remembered it now. She had said something about this Brownie, but she hadn’t meant her audience to assume that the woman needed killing. It must have been something possible of this interpretation. Had somebody so interpreted it? Was that Mary’s trouble, that she must have given somebody an idea?

  Duff turned a page of his mind quickly. Unless it was an accident. Oh, possible, for all he knew. Poison, by accident. Not uncommon.

  Yet he had a strong intuition that none of the people he had met so far thought Brownie’s death an accident.

  CHAPTER 2

  A city cop with a gimlet eye let him into the house. Much was being done there, in an efficient kind of bustle. Dr. Christenson, who stood in the hall while the tides of police activity flowed around him, introduced Duff to the county medical examiner, Dr. Surf, a good-looking man with an air of belligerence which turned out to be his playful way of being informal.

  About to leave, he said. About to leave. Autopsy, of course. Oh, yes, samples of everything for the toxicologist. Not much doubt she died of poison. Well, get on with it. Dr. Surf would see everybody later. So glad to have met Mr. Duff, sir. He had a clipped kind of handshake. He said to Pring, evidently winding up a bit of gossip, “And if you catch up with our vanishing friend, they’ll give you the county on a platter.”

  Pring said, “I’ll bet. Ha ha.” The coroner went away.

  Detective Pring was a leather-faced fellow, dark-eyed and somewhat lean. Detective Robin was, on the contrary, portly and pink-fleshed. They were both happy to meet MacDougal Duff. They turned to him now. Nevertheless, Duff knew he was facing Rule Number 1 in the detective’s handbook: no unauthorized person shall be permitted to view the body or the scene of the crime.

  So Duff told a whopper. “I’d better explain,” he said quietly, “that Mrs. Moriarity has retained me to look into this business for her. She is upset, naturally. The woman was her friend, and a death of this kind, in her house …”

  He made an effect. Robin beamed. “Say, that’s fine. I’d like to see you work, myself.”

  Pring shot him a dark and challenging glance. “Sure,” he said, “go ahead, if that’s the way it is. Come on in and take a look at her.”

  So Duff met the corpse.

  Miss Emily Brown. Age, thirty-eight. Laid out on the shabby red couch in the big colorful worn and lived-in room at the left of the hall. He thought she seemed older. Her unattractive face, ungilded by cosmetics, was benign in death. A rugged nose. A long chin. Black hair shot with gray. Cut off, mannishly. A deep-bosomed, matronly body, tapering off with long legs and large orthopedic shoes. Courtesy auntie. Old acquaintance. Never knew what she missed.

  Duff said, “She didn’t do it herself, doctor?”

  “No, no,” said Dr. Christenson. “I was here, you see. Just leaving. No, she hadn’t expected it. That was obvious. Respiratory. Very quick. Must have been a tremendous dose.”

  “Of what?”

  The doctor shrugged. “I don’t want to guess,” he said.

  “It was in the wine,” said Pring dourly. Duff raised an eyebrow at him. “I think so,” he went on. “She was O.K. She drank some wine. Five minutes later she was a goner. So I say it was in the wine.”

  “And you are probably quite right,” Duff told him heartily. “No one else had any wine?”

  “The girl says her mother did. But there was two bottles. It’s a little bit balled up. I …”

  Pring settled back on his stocky legs for a long story, but Duff stopped him.

  “Don’t bother now,” he said. “I want to talk to the kids a minute. I’m going to stay here in the house. Mrs. Moriarity, of course, will be with her little girl in the hospital. Where are the children?”

  “Upstairs,” the doctor said. “And I’ve got to go! I—May I speak to you for a moment?”

  Duff and the doctor went out into the hall. Dr. Christenson was tall and thick. He wore a narrow hedge of mustache over his wide mouth and rimless glasses with gold bows through which he peered anxiously with magnified eyes. He would be, Duff judged, about forty, perhaps a little more. A worried man.

  “Mary wants you to … er …?” The doctor had a way of not finishing his question.

  Duff said, “Mary wants me to stay with the children.”

  “Did she really say … er … you’re to work on this … er …?”

  “Perhaps that was my own idea,” Duff admitted. “If it’s my fee you are thinking about, don’t. Sometimes I work for love.”

  “Well, I did … wonder.” But the doctor was still dubious, still tentative, unconvinced and worried.

  Duff drew his mouth down. “I’m in love,” he announced. “I fell like—what is it they say?
—a ton of bricks.” His voice was cheerful. “Wonderful sensation.”

  “You fell in love?” The doctor looked very nervous indeed.

  “Oh, yes. With Taffy, of course.”

  “With Taffy!” The doctor sighed. Then his mustache spread with a quick smile, and his eyes seemed relieved, at last. “I see. Yes, of course, I see. Well, I’m very glad … very glad. You will—er—watch everything here? I am glad.”

  “I’m glad you’re glad,” Duff murmured. The doctor’s glances were conspiratorial, and Duff didn’t know why.

  “I must get out of here.” Business with his watch again. “The kids are in the big room upstairs. Just knock. Introduce yourself. There’s nothing grim about them. I’ll try to get back. My—er—fiancée, a Miss Avery, may come along a little later. I’ve tried to reach her by phone, but I can’t. Can’t head her off. Don’t know where she can be. So I want very much to be back before she—er—walks into this.”

  Duff said, “Please, before you go, tell me, who is Eve Norden?”

  “Eve Meredith!” The doctor seemed astonished. “She’s Mrs. Meredith now, of course. Lives next door. Where did you ever …? How did you …?”

  “I have my methods,” said Duff. “One more question. About Mr. Moriarity?”

  “Mary divorced him,” said Dr. Christenson bluntly.

  “He is alive?”

  “Oh, very much so. As far as I know. But what …? But why …?”

  “You’re in a hurry, aren’t you?” Duff reminded him.

  The doctor remembered that he was.

  The stairs turned back on themselves at a square landing. Duff reached the upper hall and listened. Six white doors were closed and blank. The seventh was ajar, and there were voices behind it. He knocked gently.

  Somebody sang out, “Come in.”

  The five Moriarity children made quite a crowd. This room was over the living room and just as large. There were twin beds. The walls were lined with shelves of books and toys and two long window seats. It looked a very pleasant place for small fry to live and play.

  In one of the twin beds two small human animals sat side by side, hugging their knees under the covers, staring at him brightly. They were in their pajamas. The little boy had great big ears and great big dark-blue eyes. The little girl was as dark as a gypsy, with a black tangle of curly hair falling to the middle of her back, and pale, clear brown eyes. Tan eyes, Duff thought. On the edge of the other bed sat an older girl, sedately. She was plump and tow-headed. Her hair was nearly pure white. Her eyes were dark. The effect was a little startling. Her middle front teeth were very wide and white. She said, “Yes?”

  “My name is Duff. I’m the man who took your mother and your little sister to the hospital. I’m going to stay here tonight, in the house, if you don’t mind. Your mother said to tell you my mother was one of the Mulligans.”

  All five faces dimpled and broke into understanding smiles. “Oh, my goodness,” said the oldest girl.

  “That’s O.K., then,” said the fat tow-headed boy on the window seat.

  “How is Taffy?” said the other boy, the one who looked so much like Mary, with his long nose and very blue eyes.

  “Taffy’s going to be comfortable, I think. She’s got a room all alone. Nobody in the other bed. And your mother is going to stay with her.”

  “That’s good,” they said. There was a wind of sighs.

  “Let me see …” Duff looked around at them. “You’re Diana?”

  The oldest girl stood up, bent one round leg, and sat down again on her foot. “Well, I am, of course, but I don’t see how you knew that. Don’t tell me Mother gave you my right name! I didn’t think she remembered what she named me.”

  Sometimes she does when she’s mad, Dinny,” said the tow-headed boy calmly.

  “Are you Alfred or Paul? Alfred, I should guess.” The tow-headed ones would be the twins.

  “That’s right He’s Alfie. I’m Paul,” said the boy who looked like Mary. “Can we go and see Taffy tomorrow, do you know?”

  “I don’t know,” said Duff regretfully, “but we can find out. Let me get you all straight. That’s David, I suppose.”

  The little fellow was embarrassed. He put his head down and squirmed. “Don’t be like that, Davey,” said the gypsy girl plaintively. I’m Mitch.”

  “Well,” said Duff, “there’s only one person Mitch could be because there’s only one unidentified child left. Therefore, you’re Margaret.”

  They hooted. Alfred said, “Gee whiz, Mom musta been feeling formal. Say, there’s a famous detective named Duff. Hey, Paul, you know who I mean?”

  Paul nodded. Five pairs of eyes accused Duff hopefully.

  “I am a detective,” he admitted, feeling what little Davey must have felt. “MacDougal Duff.”

  “Mac Duff!” shouted Alfie. “Lay on, Mac Duff!” He put his hands on his thighs with a thump.

  “Aw, shaddup,” said Paul. “He doesn’t like that. Who would, moron?”

  “Oh, boy!” said Alfie. “Listen, are you going to figger out who bumped Aunt Brownie off?”

  “Don’t say that!” cried Dinny. “We don’t know anything about it.”

  “Yes, we do,” said Mitch. “She got poisoned.”

  “Well, all right, she’s dead, isn’t she?” Alfie, like his sister, had two front teeth that were broad and white, so that, with his plump pink face and white hair, he looked something like a jolly young albino walrus—except for those curious eyes, dark like Dinny’s, and as startling under the pale and inconspicuous brows. “She’s a corpus delicti now,” he said.

  Duff sat down on a toy chest. No, they weren’t, as far as he could see, grim. They weren’t scared, either. They didn’t seem to think he was there to keep away the bogey man. In fact, Duff got the impression that any bogey man who showed up in this company would soon retire, a confused and frustrated fellow.

  “As a matter of fact,” he said, grinning, “I do intend to figger out what happened to Brownie, and I want you to help me.”

  “Oh, boy!” said Alfie. “Only we’re starving.”

  “Oh, heavens, Alfie, we ate most of it,” Dinny said. “Don’t pay any attention to him, Mr. Duff. He’s always starving.”

  “He doesn’t look it,” Duff said. “What’s the matter? Oh … poison?”

  “Dr. Norris said not to eat a thing, not to touch it, till they found out whether it was all right.” Dinny’s round face was serious but not alarmed.

  “Dr. Norris?”

  “Norris Christenson. We’ve known him forever.”

  “Well, I expect he was quite right, after all,” said Duff. “Are you really hungry?”

  “I am,” Mitch said, bouncing in the most mysterious way, as if some force was lifting her up and down with no visible muscular effort on her part.

  “I’m hungry,” Davey said. “I on’y had some eggs.”

  “Right in the middle of supper,” Alfie said. “Bingo.”

  Duff looked at the daylight. “It’s not late. Your mother doesn’t mind if you go out?” The boys looked insulted. “I don’t know, you see,” Duff soothed. “You’ll have to tell me what the rules are. I was going to suggest that you two— Do you know a dogwagon? How about a mess of hamburgers?”

  “Swell!” said Paul.

  “Oh, wonderful!” said Dinny.

  “Pickles, pickles, pickles,” chanted Mitch.

  “Ketchup,” said Davey.

  Duff looked at him doubtfully. “Is it all right?” he asked them. “I wouldn’t want to feed you the wrong thing or do you out of your vitamins.”

  “We have hamburgers all the time,” Mitch said. “We lo-ove them.” She put on an ethereal look. Her thin dark face lighted and looked pure.

  “My favorite fruit,” said Davey, the five-year-old, with great finality.

  All the other Moriarity kids howled with laughter.

  “He’s sumpin,” Alfie said.

  “He’s a peanut,” said Paul.

  �
�One time at the beach I ate five hamburgers with ketchup on,” said Davey. Nobody paid any attention to this remark, although Duff waited.

  In the silence, then, he got out his wallet. “Well, suppose you—er—figger out your collected capacity and add on a couple for me.”

  “With pickles, I mean relish?” Alfie asked, his tongue stumbling over his ideas.

  “Oh, I think with ketchup for me,” Duff said. “Also, what do we want to drink?”

  They were suddenly polite and quiet. It seemed to be up to him to suggest something.

  “Milk? Ice cream soda? Pop? You don’t drink coffee, I suppose. Or do you?”

  Dinny said primly, “No, we don’t. But we like malted milks very much, if that isn’t too expensive.”

  “I don’t suppose it’s too expensive,” Duff said gravely. “After all, we need our strength. Five dollars?”

  Paul said, “Two eighty-five, if you want a malted, too. I guess coffee is only ten. That makes it two seventy-five?”

  “Make mine coffee. Are you a lightning calculator?”

  “He’s scientific,” Alfie said.

  Paul cuffed at him. “Fifteen cents times eleven,” he explained a little scornfully, “that’s two hamburgers for everybody but Davey …”

  “Waw!” said Davey.

  “Well, you can’t,” said Dinny. “And Alfie’s going to eat half of Mitch’s second one. He always does.”

  “My eyes are bigger than my stomach,” Mitch explained to the stranger complacently.

  Duff stood up. His insides were bubbling with the desire to keep laughing. “Does Davey expect five?” he asked a little anxiously.

  “Oh, my goodness,” said Dinny, “he never ate five hamburgers. Why, he hasn’t got room!”

  “He just thinks he did,” said Paul pleasantly. “He gets ideas.”

  “I ate five hamburgers an’ a hot dog,” said Davey, “an’ green ice cream an’ I had a egg stomach.”

  “A what?”

  “He means a stomach ache.”

  “Calm yourself, Davey,” said Paul, “hold eveything, bud.”

  “Well, suppose you boys come along,” said Duff helplessly. “I’ll get you past the policeman.”

  Pring and Robin and a man with a camera were in the hall near the front door as Duff and the boys came down.