Murders for Sale

by Andre Norton

  “I can’t believe it of Philippine, Peter. I just can’t.” Fredericka was silent and thoughtful for a moment, then she asked, “Was there any reason why she couldn’t give the child a quick sure death like Catherine’s?”

  “Oh, yes. She couldn’t without being caught and she didn’t intend to be caught. When her plan to make Catherine’s death look like too much dope failed, she knew that the yellow jessamine poison would lead us straight to her laboratory. And she knew that the possible suspects, from our point of view, were very few. But she had sense enough to know that we were helpless without evidence and that we hadn’t a shred of it. If she had taken an obvious quick method of killing Margie, we’d have been on to her at once. Oh, yes, we had our eye on that damn bottle of yellow jessamine all right, but this face-cream business was a brand new wrinkle. She was, in fact, too clever for us. My God—how we guarded that kid’s food and drink. I expect Philippine had some good laughs over that.”

  “But Peter, you haven’t explained why she wanted to kill me. I can’t see it. Until two hours ago I hadn’t a clue—”

  “Yes you did—a beautiful clue. But you didn’t realize it. The jar of poisoned face cream. That was the one piece of incriminating evidence and she knew it. But she couldn’t find that any more than she could find the box with the capsules after Catherine’s death.”

  “So when I said Margie had used the shed or greenhouse or what-have-you for a secret hiding place and there were some cosmetics and junk there, she knew where the face cream must be.”

  “She did indeed, and she had to think fast. I believe she came that night to the bookshop determined to find the stuff but without any formulated plan.”

  “Yes. I remember now that, before that, when she came for Margie’s insurance card and pyjamas in the storeroom, she did seem to be looking for something. In fact, she admitted as much. And now I can see the real reason, of course.”

  “If we’d only known that—”

  “But it didn’t amount to anything really—I never thought of it at the time.”

  Peter sighed heavily and then went on slowly: “By last Sunday night when Margie died, Philippine was beside herself with anxiety. She had ransacked the Farm and, as you say, she had had a good look at the Hart-well’s storeroom at the bookshop. But she thought she must have another look at once. So, without any idea beyond finding the stuff and getting rid of it, she abandoned James and came to call on you.”

  “I see. And, in a way, circumstances played into her hands. Jim Brown wanted to go home to his wife and baby. But when that happened I’d have thought she would simply have waited until I got to sleep and then had a look-around.”

  “Perhaps she intended to do that but when you practically told her where the face cream was, she didn’t dare risk having you wake up and find her out getting rid of it. She was almost insane by then, I imagine, and on the spur of the moment, she thought up this lunatic scheme of killing you and faking an attack on herself.”

  “She almost got away with it.”

  “Yes—almost.”

  “And if she had, you’d have gone on suspecting her, I suppose, but would have had no evidence to pin it on to her.”

  “Theoretically, yes. But, in fact, if she had killed you, we’d have got her somehow.”

  Fredericka felt suddenly cold. “I think on the whole I’d rather be here,” she said with a poor effort at laughter.

  “And I’d rather you were, too—on the whole. But I might have spared you everything if I’d had even one grain of sense. I underestimated her—an unforgivable sin in my profession.” He stopped and then said abruptly: “And now I’m dead beat and so are you. Tonight we can sleep, both of us. Tomorrow is another day. I’m going to try to get you out of this hole. Connie wants to be your nurse and assistant in the bookshop until you learn to manage it in some wonderful crab-like way.”

  “But Peter! Oh—please don’t go. You haven’t told me anything—I know from what you say that you’ve caught Philippine, but how?—and where?”

  “That’s just what I didn’t want to tell you tonight but I suppose I’ll have to even if it does give you nightmares. You’ve been a good Watson and you’ve earned it.” He ran a hand through his hair and for a moment he sat quietly as though searching for words.

  Feeling the weight of his tiredness and depression, Fredericka forced herself to say: “Look, Peter, I can wait until morning if you really want me to. I know you’re worn out. Perhaps I’m being unfair.”

  “No. Let’s get it over with. It’s so damn grisly, though. Thank God you weren’t in at the kill.”

  Fredericka wished she had been, but didn’t dare to say so. She lay back on the pillows and waited patiently for him to light them each a cigarette before he went on.

  Then, quite simply, Peter recounted the story of his day’s adventures from the time he left Fredericka. When he told her of his search among Margie’s treasures in the old shed, Fredericka broke in to say suddenly: “Of course. That night she scared me stiff I suppose she was just paying a regular visit to her hideout.”

  “No, I don’t think so now. I believe it was Philippine. That was the very night after the murder, you remember, and Margie would have been too scared. We were fools to think it could have been her.”

  “And Philippine was having another look around for the silver box?”

  “Yes—I think so but, again, you threw a monkey wrench in her plans. She couldn’t hang around after you discovered her so, cleverly, she pretended to be Margie.”

  “I see.”

  “And Margie’s junk in the old shed meant nothing to any of us—a kid’s secret hiding place—and we left it alone. So it was natural that Margie should take her jar of magic cure to her hidey-hole. And I’m sure she went there and used it until she was too sick to use it any more. By then, of course, it had done its work.”

  “So you sat and talked to Chris and did some heavy thinking?” Fredericka prompted.

  “Yes. Then I saw daylight. After Philippine thought she had got rid of you, she still had to find whatever it was she was looking for before she could do the faked attack on herself. So she shoved you down the well, put that mass of boards on top and went on to the shed where she found the treasure she was seeking. Then—what did she do with it?”

  “Threw it in the well on top of me?”

  “Oh, Watson, you’re slipping. When we found you, which we were bound to do because she intended to tell us about the double attack, we’d find the face cream sure as fate. No, the quickest way to get rid of it was to bury it. Later she could come one night to recover it and do away with it for good and all.”

  “I see,” Fredericka said slowly. Then when Peter fell silent, she added: “But please go on, I’ll try not to interrupt again.”

  After a moment, Peter lit another cigarette and went on slowly. When, at last, he came to the end, Fredericka said quickly, “Margaret?”

  “She’ll live. Dr. Scott says it’s a shoulder graze. But Philippine did a better job on herself. The jeep and my flivver were a mess. Jim pulled her out of the pyre. She’s still alive but she hasn’t been moved from the Farm. I don’t think she’ll ever recover consciousness. Perhaps it’s just as well.”

  “Oh Peter!” was all Fredericka could find to say.

  “And now,” he said tiredly, “please may I go home?” He got slowly to his feet and looked down at Fredericka’s anxious face. “Don’t fret any more. There’s nothing more to fret about. Peace has returned to South Sutton. Of course you were a fool to get sandbagged and dumped down that well. But you’ve been the best Watson I’ve ever had. And right now I’m a little sore but I’m still grateful to you for making me tell you what happened. It’s off me—thank God—and I’ll sleep. All thanks to you, Fredericka, and I can only hope you will, too.” He took her good hand in his two large ones and stooped to kiss it lightly. Then he was gone.

  Chapter 17

  On the morning after Peter’s late visit to the hospital, Fre
dericka was wakened at a very early hour by Miss Sanders, who put down her breakfast tray on the bed table and instantly began to talk.

  “Philippine Sutton’s smashed herself up. Did Colonel Mohun tell you?” she began.

  Fredericka, who was never her best in the early morning, felt that she could have done with a more cheerful greeting. She made an appropriate noise sounding like an affirmative answer, and poured out her coffee.

  “Yes. And they say it was that woman who caused all the trouble in the family. You never would have thought it now, would you? Well, I always did say, never trust these good women—they’re just whited sepulchres, that’s what they are—” She paused for breath and then a sudden thought occurred to her, “You don’t think it was Philippine who tried to do you in, do you?”

  Fredericka began to revive as she drank the strong black coffee. “I don’t think, Nurse, I know. I just wish I’d remembered about whited sepulchres a little sooner.” She lifted her injured arm in its heavy case of plaster. “I’m not going to be good for much for a while.”

  This had the desired effect of diverting Miss Sanders. She bustled about tidying the room, all the while offering a stream of nurse-like reassurances. “You’ll hardly notice those casts in a day or two. A crutch for the foot; and you soon get used to being one-handed. Now my sister-in-law—”

  Fredericka cut in quickly with the question she had not intended to ask, “I don’t suppose Colonel Mohun has telephoned, has he?”

  “No, but Mrs. Carey has. It slipped my mind with all this excitement. Here, I’ve got the message somewhere. They sent it up from the office with an O.K.” She searched in all her pockets. “Dear me, I must have left it outside. Anyway I know what it said. Dr. Scott’s letting you check out this afternoon, and about four o’clock Colonel Mohun is coming to collect you and take you back home. Then, if you feel up to it, you’re all to go out to the Careys for supper. Sounds like a nice evening, don’t it?”

  Fredericka laughed. “Yes,” she agreed, “a very nice evening.”

  Miss Sanders was now preparing to make her departure. “It’ll be a comfort not to have to worry about being sandbagged from behind, won’t it?” she asked over her shoulder as she rustled toward the door.

  “A great comfort,” Fredericka agreed. It would be, too, she thought, when the woman had gone. How different South Sutton would be without the strain and anxiety of these past weeks. She poured out another cup of coffee and sipped it happily. The best of the summer lay ahead and she wouldn’t be an invalid for long. The ill wind—this hideous Murder-In-The-Country she’d been wishing on them with all her senseless chatter on the night of the bazaar—had blown her good things, she thought guiltily. There was no doubt about it. She had gained not only customers but friends like Connie and Thane—and Peter. But she mustn’t think too much about Peter—

  At this moment, Miss Sanders reappeared. “Parcel for you,” she announced, “and if you’ve finished, I’ll just take your tray.”

  “Yes, please.” Fredericka opened the package eagerly and then laughed. A pile of paperbacked murder mysteries tumbled out on the bed. Miss Sanders, who had stood by to watch the opening, reached over and picked up a folded sheet of white paper.

  “Here’s some sort of note,” she said.

  Fredericka fairly snatched the letter. She read:

  Dear Fredericka,

  I have made this large purchase at your bookshop and from your efficient new assistant. I asked specially for murders with a country setting, and Connie says she’s done her best. So please get to them right away and I have every hope that this overdose will cure you forever—and Amen—

  I’ll collect you around four and hope you feel up to an evening at the Careys. Connie’s not having anyone else so it oughtn’t to be too tiring for you. We’ve all recovered sufficiently to want to iron out the wrinkles in this case and then file it clean away.

  Quite yours,

  Peter

  For some reason Fredericka flushed and Miss Sanders looked at her critically. Then she smiled: “Well, I’ll leave you to it. Now you won’t be sitting on that push button all morning like you did yesterday afternoon.”

  “Oh, Nurse, I am sorry.” But Miss Sanders had left before she could hear this unnecessary apology.

  In spite of the murders, Fredericka’s morning dragged and the bed grew hot and sticky. By noon she had had enough of it, and of the books. “I guess I am forever cured,” she said out loud to the empty room. She decided to get dressed, ask for the crutch Miss Sanders had promised her, and do a little experimenting with it. By afternoon she was fairly sure of herself and feeling very much recovered. She even went calling on some of the other patients down the corridor. Then, when she returned to her room at three the young substitute nurse came in to tell her that Mrs. Sutton, who was in the other wing, had asked to see her.

  Fredericka limped after the nurse, more rapidly than she would have believed possible. She found Mrs. Sutton propped up against some large pillows, looking very frail and white.

  “My dear Fredericka,” she greeted her, “when I heard you were here, and leaving so soon, I felt I must see you for a moment.”

  Fredericka smiled as she stood her crutch against the wall and lowered herself into the large chair by the bed. Then she reached across and took the thin hand in hers in a sudden gesture of affection.

  “It’s all over,” Mrs. Sutton said quietly.

  “Yes. And once you’re rested, everything will be all right again.”

  “I expect so. But I shall miss Philippine.” She stopped and her next words came with obvious difficulty: “We mustn’t judge her too harshly. It’s the upsidedown-ness of the world that brings out the wickedness in all of us—warps us in our souls, like Philippine, or in our bodies and spirits, like Roger.”

  How good she is, Fredericka thought, and how much she has suffered. She wanted to find the right words in answer but for a moment she could not speak. Then, in a rush, the right words came: “Thane and Peter both tell me that Roger is getting well—and that he has everything—everything you need.”

  Mrs. Sutton smiled and for the first time there was a fleeting look of happiness on her face. Then it vanished as she said, quickly: “But I didn’t ask you to come here to console me, rather to apologize to you for what my family have done to you. I don’t think Philippine intended to—I mean—oh dear. I just am very sorry, Fredericka. And once I’m mended and restored I shall try to make it up to you.”

  Fredericka stood up and moved awkwardly to the bed. Then she stooped down and kissed the soft cheek lightly. “I know you will want to. But there’s no need. I’m really happy in South Sutton and perhaps I wouldn’t have been otherwise—” She blundered on hurriedly: “Aside from anything else, I wouldn’t have come to know you so well if it hadn’t been for all this.”

  Margaret Sutton made no attempt to answer. She smiled tiredly and then turned sideways on the pillow and shut her eyes. Fredericka felt for her crutch and left the room as quietly as she could. But when she reached the door, she turned back to see that the woman in the bed had opened her eyes and was smiling again. “Fredericka,” she said firmly, “if Peter hasn’t given you that message from my tussie-mussie, he must. You see that he does—and,” she hesitated, “you follow its advice.”

  As Fredericka limped back to her room, she too was smiling. She’d forgotten all about that tussie-mussie.

  “What’s the joke?” Peter asked, rising from her only chair. “And where in thunder have you been?”

  “Visiting Margaret Sutton, and the joke is private—for the moment.”

  “I’m a sleuth—you forget. You can’t keep a secret from P. Mohun, Spycatcher. Just let that be a warning to you.”

  On the way out, Peter said seriously, “How was Margaret?”

  “All right, I think. I do admire her, Peter.”

  “You’ve reason to.” He was silent for a moment and then he went on slowly, “You know I think she knew about Philippine
from the first and I think she forgave her for killing Catherine—her own daughter. But Margaret believes in man’s natural goodness and she didn’t realize what can happen when human beings become killers.”

  “If that is true, then she must blame herself for Margie’s death. She was distressed about me, too.”

  “Well, even at her age, we live and learn.”

  “But I’d hate her to unlearn that belief in inherent goodness.”

  “In some ways I think it may be strengthened.”

  “Yes. I see what you mean,” Fredericka said slowly. “Shadow strengthens light, I suppose. But the price was high.”

  “Yes. Too high,” Peter answered and then as if he couldn’t bear the subject any longer he said quickly: “Did you like my murders?”

  “Not as much as I hoped. I’m a changed woman, Peter.”

  “Are you telling me?” Peter laughed. “Well, here we are and you haven’t said a word about my brand-new Ford.”

  “Oh Peter. It’s beautiful. I—I just didn’t think.”

  “Well, I’ll forgive you.”

  He stopped the car but before he got out he patted her nearest knee affectionately. He laughed suddenly. “I’m awfully pleased with you, Fredericka. Not just your recovery but, well, you have grown up, haven’t you? Or perhaps I mean grown down.”

  He got out and lifted the invalid from the car. Then he took her free hand, ostensibly to help her, as they walked up the path to the bookshop.

  * * * *

  A thunderstorm flashed across the valley while they were eating their supper. “I can’t decide what weather I like best from our window, Connie,” Thane said. “This is superb, but rather like a backdrop to Macbeth and I’d rather we’d left all that behind us. Summer afternoon’s better perhaps, especially at sunset.”