Uninvited Guest

by George Harmon Coxe

  “In any case,” he said, “it’s the Major’s problem now, and I imagine he’ll settle it, one way or another. He’s a very shrewd fellow.”

  Scott watched him go and then glanced round to find the room filling up. Women in cotton, sun-backed dresses came in for some rendezvous, most of them with straw shopping bags, many with children, some with both. The local business men were distinguishable by their white and tropical-weight suits and ties; the others were clad in slacks or shorts and for the most part wore loud-patterned, short-sleeved shirts. Those who were here on a holiday were at ease as they pretended they were residents of some standing; the others with their cameras, those here for the day from some ship, had more fun because they did not care what anyone thought.

  Ordinarily the scene would have interested Scott but today he was brooding and saw little of it. He did see Lambert and Sally walk past the long bar on the way out and he did nothing to attract their attention. When they had gone he stood up and went out on the veranda where Freddie Gardner sat alone watching the activity on the street below. He glanced round when Scott pulled out a chair. He said he was having a rum and water and what would Scott have.

  “Nothing, thanks,” Scott said. “Just thought I’d sit down a minute.”

  Freddie made some comment Scott did not hear be cause he was busy with his own thoughts. He had asked Lambert about Freddie once and he remembered what Lambert had said.

  “Freddie? I guess there’s not much to know about him. Been here a long time. Came from Trinidad or some place but went to school in England for a bit. No money, no family; at least he never mentioned any. Worked as a greeter at various clubs, sold things, does some writing for the Advocate. No great strength of character, really. But then neither have I . . . Very amusing, Freddie. I like him.”

  As these things came back to Scott he looked down at the narrow, crown-surfaced pavement with its deep gutters and wondered why anyone had named it Broad Street. At its upper end it widened somewhat and was graced by a half dozen modern-looking buildings but the other way, towards the Careenage, the buildings were old, two-storied mostly, their second floors overhanging the narrow sidewalks in many cases. Cars, trucks, busses and bicycles rolled by in an unending procession and diagonally across the way and next to the department store was the alley which served as a market place for the female hawkers to sell their vegetables and fruits, most of which were shipped in by schooner from St. Lucia and Dominica. Somehow the scene to Scott was ever changing, but as always the smartest-looking individual performance was put on by the white-jacketed and white-helmeted constable who directed traffic with a flourishing precision that was a delight to behold.

  Scott saw all this even as his mind busied itself with other things, and now he looked at Freddie. When he had the other’s attention he spoke without preliminaries, his accusation low-voiced and intent but not angry. He said:

  “You’re the bastard who tipped off Briggs about the pillow, aren’t you?”

  Freddie’s jaw sagged. He blinked hard behind his glasses and his round face flushed.

  “What?” he said, his voice choked. “What did you say?”

  “You were waiting there last night by the galley when Sally came out of the forward cabin. You heard what she said to me. You’re the only one who could have heard.”

  “Well-I-”

  Freddie broke off, swallowed. Then, getting himself in hand, he continued hotly, a defiant glint in his eye. ‘Why not?”

  It was Scott’s turn to stare. He had not expected the answer and could not understand it. In his own mind there was no doubt about Julia’s death being murder and he intended to ask why Sally had to be involved. Before he could say so, Freddie continued.

  “Why shouldn’t I tell the truth?” he demanded. “How did I know you were going to lie? You and Sally?”

  “Wait a minute.”

  “Why didn’t you tell the truth in your own statements? Why jump me just because I did?”

  Scott eyed him scornfully and tried to keep his temper in hand. “You wanted Briggs to think it was an accident, is that it?”

  “Why should I care what he thinks?”

  “You’re getting tough, huh, now that Julia’s out of the way? Last night it was different.”

  “I don’t see that—”

  Scott cut him off. “If someone killed Julia deliberately—and I think someone did—it would be a wonderful break for the police to accept an accidental verdict.” He leaned forward when Freddie tried to interrupt. “Julia despised you, didn’t she?” he said, still quiet. “With her around your chiseling days were over. With her out of the way you’ve still got a living sucking around Lambert and trying to cut in on his deals. That makes a motive for murder in my book.”

  “Damn you.” Freddie pushed back his chair. “You ean’t talk to me like that.”

  “I am talking to you.”

  “Not any longer, you’re not.”

  With that Freddie was gone and Scott was sitting there wondering why he had to do things the hard way. Why couldn’t he play it cagey and string Freddie along and try to find out what he thought about this and that. There were a lot of things he wanted to know. For one, he wanted to know more about this man Waldron who had known Julia so well the summer before. Freddie could have told him. But no, he had to start right out by accusing Freddie and Freddie would not stand still.

  CHAPTER 9

  AT THREE o’clock that afternoon Alan Scott, flat on his back on the cockpit cushions, was staring at the sky and sullenly contemplating fate, circumstances, and his own unenviable plight. In the distance came the sound of bathers on the Yacht Club beach and now, hearing a splashing nearby, he assumed it was one of these until a familiar voice cut through his thoughts.

  “Ahoy the Griselda! Anyone aboard?”

  Sally Reeves was treading water twenty feet away and when she saw him sit up she waved and swam toward the ladder. In the next few moments while he helped her aboard and she stood sleek and dripping in her black one-piece suit he felt only the warm glow of pleasure that always came when she was near. Her hands were cold and soft in his but when she looked up her smile seemed forced and worry was working in the corners of her green eyes.

  “I didn’t see you but I saw your dinghy,” she said. “I wanted someone to talk to.”

  He told her to sit down and she said she’d drip awhile first, standing where she was, firm-fleshed and slender, her young bosom rising and falling gently from her previous exertion. Normally it would have given him much pleasure merely to look at her and watch the simple movements of her body but when she sat down on the edge of the cushion and he began to think again this odd feeling of depression and futility began once more to warp his mood.

  “It was Freddie who told Briggs about the pillow,” he said. “He heard you tell me last night and I forgot that he was just round the corner.”

  “I wondered,” she said, not looking at him. “I didn’t know what to think this morning.”

  “I guess it was a bad idea, telling you to hold out on Briggs.”

  There was no answer to this. Sally was watching a small sloop come about beyond the Aquatic Club, or seemed to be. He was not sure she had heard him and after a moment he said:

  “I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

  This time she heard him. She shrugged faintly, her gaze still fixed.

  “It doesn’t matter, Alan.”

  Again she was silent and now, his depression growing on him, he felt the first stirring of resentment. “You might have told me about your swim last night.”

  “My swim?”

  “The guy in the boat that chased you. That happened before I came to tell you about Julia.”

  “I know.” She sighed, looked at him, dropped her glance. “I don’t know why I didn’t. I guess I was still scared. I guess I was thinking with my emotions instead of my head. When you told me about Julia and—the pillow—how she died—” She exhaled audibly. “You kept talking about that pillow
and how we mustn’t mention it. It was almost as if you thought I had killed her . . . oh, I know you didn’t but—”

  She cut the sentence short and Scott checked his reply. Why, he asked himself, couldn’t she understand that until murder was proven the police must continue to suspect her. Or realizing this, was she afraid to admit it, even to herself?

  When he saw she was still watching the sloop he tried to stop thinking and they sat mute and withdrawn until, with what seemed an obvious effort, she turned and gave him her attention. She managed a small smile. In her attempt to digress to more pleasant subjects she was even able to embellish her words with brightness, forced though it was, as she asked if he had heard the news about the divorce.

  “Major Briggs said they found papers in Julia’s hotel room which proved she actually had the divorce all the time,” she said, interested now. “Imagine her telling Keith she didn’t.”

  Scott said he’d heard about the divorce. What he said then surprised even him. He had no intention of sounding bitter, no desire to anger her. It may have been his own black mood, born of disappointment and frustration; it may have been self-pity, it may have been simple jealousy. Whatever the reason, he started off badly, and, having started, could not retrace his steps.

  “I guess that sort of simplifies things, doesn’t it?”

  “Does it?” She eyed him curiously.

  “Well, doesn’t it? Now Keith can buy a piece of your sister’s island if he wants to. If he wants to get married he can.”

  “What?”

  Scott should have quit then. What he wanted most was to hear her laughter, to see her smile, to put his arm around her. Yet for all this some perverse and uncontrollable impulse kept him going.

  “Well, isn’t that how it is? You didn’t come down here all the way from New York just to make a fourth at bridge on this cruise, did you?”

  “Oh,” said Sally and her smile grew tight and fixed. She looked right at him, her green eyes suddenly frosty. Understanding now what he meant, she seemed almost glad to have the chance to voice her resentment, and she promptly gave her attention to his question. “I’ll tell you, Alan,” she said, “since you’re so interested.”

  He started to interrupt, seeing the danger signals and aware that he had gone too far. He flushed. He cleared his throat and tried to smile. But there was no interruption. She never gave him the chance.

  “It’s very simple, really,” she said. “Vivian and I are step-sisters and we didn’t have very good luck about keeping our parents. She lost her mother and I lost my father. That was a long time ago. Later my mother and her father were married and a few years after that her father died. We were never too close but Vivian was seven years older and she started to work as a cigarette girl when she was nineteen, and then she was a show girl in some of the better nightclubs because she had this straight and lovely body and a striking sort of beauty that is always in demand.”

  She hesitated, not looking at him now, her thighs together and her hands cupped on her knees. “She sent money to my mother and me after her father died. Later, just after mother passed on, she married a rich Venezuelan. She sent me to boarding school and then through four years of college and there was no way I could pay her back even though it was always in my mind. Her husband was killed in a plane crash and his money was mostly his family’s and they offered her a hundred thousand dollars as a settlement. I was still in college then and I seldom saw her but the monthly check always came on time.”

  She paused and said: “She was twenty-eight when she married Mark Farrow. They were in love then and are now but I think there was a little misunderstanding about money. She did not have quite as much as he thought she had and it was the same way with him—a good family in England but not enough money of his own to retire on. So they got the idea of developing this island. They put all they had in it and a little more they got from friends. The trouble was it was more expensive than they guessed. They own the island. They have a dock and a comfortable fishing camp and roads. They think once they have a guest house and some cottages and maybe a nine-hole golf course they’ll get the people they want.”

  “Look,” Scott said, feeling uncomfortable and ashamed and wanting desperately to say he was sorry.

  “No, Alan.” She shook her head and her smile was still fixed. “You wanted to know, didn’t you? . . . So they found out Keith Lambert had plenty of money to invest and Vivian called me. She said she needed help and for me to get time off and come down here. She sent me the fare and I came because I wanted to help, not knowing what she wanted until I got here. They had planned this cruise because they wanted to get Keith away from all the others who were after his money. All I had to do was be a pleasant companion for him while I was here.”

  She looked right at him and said: “If you think I was supposed to act as—what do you call it, a shill?—you’re mistaken. The selling, if any, was to be done by the Farrows. Being a practical minded person Vivian suggested that I could do worse than marry Keith but that was her thought, not mine. All I had to do was look as pretty as possible and be agreeable to a pleasant young man who is very much of a gentleman even though not particularly adult. That’s what I intend to do if we ever take the cruise. Furthermore I hope Keith will back the Farrows—I wouldn’t say this to him because it’s not my affair—because I think they have a sound investment.”

  She stood up then, putting on her cap as she did so. When he rose with her and put out his hand, she avoided it. By that time he was ashamed of his conduct; he was ashamed of all those thoughts he had harbored that made him doubt her.

  “I’m sorry, Sally.”

  “It’s quite all right.” She gave him a smile but it was a strange sort of smile and one he had never seen before. “As a matter of fact I’m glad you asked. I knew something was wrong. I’ve been wanting to tell you how things were and now you know.”

  “It wasn’t any of my business,” Scott said. “I don’t know what got into me. Maybe it’s because I’m jealous but-”

  She did not seem to hear him. She was poised on the rail now, starting her dive, and he said: “Wait!” and she, speaking over shoulder, said: “I think you’re having company.”

  She hit the water then. When she surfaced and started to swim he glanced round and saw the rowboat coming with the police constable in the stern. He waited until it came alongside, long-faced, disconsolate and irritable.

  “Major Briggs would like to see you, sir,” the constable said. “I’m to wait and accompany you.”

  CHAPTER 10

  MAJOR BRIGGS wasted no time on the amenities once Scott had settled himself in the chair at the end of the desk. His manner remained businesslike but his glance was enigmatic and direct, and his opening remarks came as a distinct shock.

  “Im afraid I’ll have to ask you for another statement, Mr. Scott,” he said. “That’s why I sent for you. It would help matters if you’d tell the truth this time.”

  Scott’s mouth opened and his angular face flushed. In that first instant he seemed unable to think and the best he could do was to make a parrot-like reply.

  “Truth?” he said.

  “According to your statement”—Briggs consulted the paper as he spoke—”you came aboard the schooner with Lambert about one o’clock. You remained there until after you had discovered the body somewhere around six this morning. Is that correct?”

  Unable to make the direct he, Scott hedged. “I think that’s what I put down.”

  “How then do you explain your presence at the Carib Hotel shortly after three this morning?”

  Briggs’ tone was conversational but his eyes remained probing and suspicious and Scott knew he had very little time to make up his mind. He could deny the accusation, tell the truth, or stall. He decided to stall first.

  “Who says so?”

  “As a matter of routine,” Briggs said, referring to some papers on his desk, “we checked every employee at the Carib to see if anyone had made any inquiries
about Julia—I believe the proper name is Parks. There were no such inquiries but a man was seen to leave the rear entrance of the service wing and enter a car parked nearby at approximately three fifteen. Fortunately the license of the car was noted. According to the records the car is owned by Dear’s Garage and is hired by you.”

  Scott let his breath out, deciding now that it was pretty silly to carry on with his bluff. It had been a mistake in the beginning, considering how things were working out. He did not know how he could justify his lie but it no longer seemed to matter, provided he could keep from involving Sally any more than she was already involved. He saw no reason for telling of his early morning call on her and the warning he gave and so, omitting only this, he told the truth, finding it a great relief to be able to do so.

  Briggs listened without interruption and then asked the obvious question. “Why wait at all? Your duty was to inform the police at once.”

  Scott couldn’t think of any answer. He stared glumly at the desk top, suffering in silence until Briggs pressed him for another answer.

  “What did you expect to find in the woman’s room?”

  Scott said he did not know. Last night he had been scared and confused. He had no thought of searching Julia’s room until he found the key in her pocketbook. It was an impulse—a very bad one he was free to admit—rather than sound judgment that made him go there looking for some clue that might help.

  “For all I knew,” he finished lamely, “I might be under some suspicion, might even be arrested. Then it would be too late to look.”

  “You are under some suspicion, Mr. Scott. More so now than before.” Briggs sighed and glanced out the window. “It’s not a very good answer, is it?”

  “No,” said Scott, “it isn’t.”

  Briggs hesitated, eyes still probing. “You were alone with her on the boat after the others left.”