Ken walked in on us, and his face assumed a look of outrage.
"What are you doing, Mary? Are you trying to make work for yourself? I keep this room clean myself—and I mean clean—" He turned to me and let out a yell. "Hey, you! What's that you're using for a duster?"
I looked down in some confusion and stammered, "Why, I—I don't know. It's just an old piece of cloth I picked off the floor."
He came over and snatched the thing out of my hand. "Old piece of cloth," he said bitterly. "That's my pajama, and it's almost brand-new."
"Do stop fussing, Ken," Mary broke in crossly. She was busy getting dust out of the carving on one of the chairs and added abstractedly, "We're fixing this room up so that it will be ready for Homer, and we're moving you in with Lucy."
Ken, who had opened his mouth for further belligerence, left it hanging open, but was stricken speechless.
"We've been told to make the soldier's furlough as pleasant as possible," I explained.
He looked from one to the other of us and then asked mildly, "Has Lucy been consulted?"
Mary still had most of her mind on her work, and she said in an absorbed voice, "Oh no—but she won't raise any objection. Lucy's obliging about little things like that."
"She writes to ten soldiers, and does canteen work, and things like that," I explained.
Lucy came snooping to the doorway, stuck her head in, and asked. "What's going on here?"
"It's nothing," Ken said, waving a huge hand. "Nothing at all. They're just going to move me in with you."
"What!" Lucy shrieked.
"I'm a gentleman," he assured her. "I know there's only one bed in there, but we can take turns."
Mary turned away from the carved chair with a little sigh of satisfaction and said, "Ken, get Lucy to help you bring that green studio couch from the living room and put it in Eugenia's room."
"They've changed their minds," Ken said to Lucy. "They're putting me in with Eugenia."
Mary blinked at him. "I don't think that's very nice, Ken, even as a joke. Lucy will sleep in with Eugenia, of course, and you'll take Lucy's room."
"All right," Ken said resignedly. "Come on, Lucy."
When we had finished fixing Ken's room for Homer, Mary decided that we'd do hers next.
"I think if I give it a thorough cleaning," she explained, "I might feel comfortable in it, the way I used to."
As we crossed the hall I remembered how I had felt in that room of Mary's—nervous and uncomfortable for no reason on which I could put my finger. In the end I had put it down to sleeping in Mary's sacred bedroom behind her back, as it were.
We went furiously to work and sweated up and down and back and forth across that room, until I was ready to drop. Finally, when Mary's back was turned for a moment, I crept away and sought out Lucy.
"For Pete's sake," I said desperately, "make some afternoon tea so that I can have a recess."
Lucy giggled, said, "I know what you mean," and obligingly headed toward the kitchen—where I was embarrassed to find Ken hanging up his newly washed sleeping garment.
I went back to Mary's room, and on with the grind.
"This is a lovely bed," I said, hoping to slow her up.
"Yes, it is—but it's not really appropriate, you know—too cottagy. I'm going to have it taken up to the country—it'll be entirely suitable there. I've already bought another one for here—but I have to wait until the moving company is taking a load up that way before they'll take this bed."
"I like this big drawer underneath," I said. "Handy for storing blankets and things."
Mary glanced around. "Oh, that drawer! It's no use to me at all—I've never even been able to open it."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I LOOKED at the drawer again and remembered releasing the corner of the bedspread that had been caught in it. The drawer had moved smoothly and easily.
"Mary, I mean this drawer under the bed. It opens quite easily."
She turned around, impatient at being interrupted in her work, and brushed her hair back with her elbow.
"My dear, that drawer has never been opened—I ought to know. Homer and I both worked on it when I first got the bed. We had to leave it in the end, because we didn't want to force it for fear of breaking something. It's quite valuable, you know."
I lifted the spread and started to pull on the thing, but this time it would not budge, although I tried for some time.
"But; Mary, it did open," I persisted. "When you told me to lock your room I came in here and looked at the bed, and a corner of the spread was stuck in the drawer. I pulled it out and then pushed the drawer in again without any trouble."
"Oh, you must have been mistaken. Here, take these china figures into the bathroom and wash them, will you? And be very careful—they break so easily.'"
I said, "Just put them down there, and I'll do them in a minute," and slipped out of the room.
Out in the hall I leaned up against the antique desk, feeling slightly dizzy. Somebody had deliberately jammed that drawer, I thought—and why? Something must be hidden in it—it was big enough. Suzy had been poisoned, Betty gone off nobody knew where, and Homer was sneaking in and out of the place for reasons best known to himself. Homer must be found at once, I thought rather wildly, and I must get that drawer open—or somebody must.
Ken emerged from the kitchen and called to me, "Hey, what are you loafing around like that for, when you should be washing the ceilings and getting dust out of the cracks in the floor?"
"You probably think you're kidding," I said bitterly. "Listen, Ken, something peculiar has happened. There's a drawer stuck—will you come and open it for us?"
"Lead the way," he said cheerfully. "Only I don't know what you consider peculiar about a stuck drawer. It happens all the time."
We went into the bedroom, and Mary looked up and said, "Ken, it's a perfectly beautiful day—why don't you take a walk?"
"Don't you worry about my getting in the way of your house cleaning," he laughed. "If I do, just brush me along with the rest of the dirt."
"Why, I never meant anything of the sort," she protested. "I just thought—"
"Here's the drawer," I said. "You pull one end, and I'll pull the other."
Mary came over immediately and began to fuss, but we ignored her and concentrated on pulling. It was no use, though, for it would not move, and presently Ken told me to stop and began carefully to examine the bed and its drawer.
"Do be careful," Mary fretted. "You're soiling the spread."
Ken glanced up at her. "I'll have to get some tools to open this."
"I will not allow you to start chiseling and hammering on that bed," Mary said, putting her foot down. "That drawer has been stuck forever, anyway, and there's no need to start trying to open it now."
"But, Mary, it was open," I said seriously, "and now somebody has jammed it. After all that has been happening, I think we ought to open that drawer and make sure that it's—well, empty."
She flung around on me, completely exasperated. "Eugenia, really! This trouble over Suzy has made you hysterical. I will not have my valuable antique bed destroyed just because we are all upset. You were mistaken about the drawer—it never has opened, and I don't intend to have it opened now. And you're not to tell the police about it. I won't have them coming in here with hatchets and wrecking all my nice things."
"Whoa, Mary, back up," Ken said easily. "We'll let the drawer blow, if you say so. Anyway, Lucy has tea ready, and she said we were to hurry or the biscuits would be cold."
"Now why in the world did Lucy want to bother with afternoon tea?" said Mary, who had suffered too many interruptions already. "And butter so scarce, too."
"Well, I'm used to my tea," Ken said, his eyes still on the drawer. "We always have it in the afternoon, at four o'clock, in the Army. The corporals bring it around, you know—and to see those men serving tea under fire is an inspiration."
Mary looked at him for a moment with her forehead puckered
and then said vaguely, "Oh, I see—it's a joke."
Ken sighed. "If you'll excuse me, I'll go and join the tea party."
"I'm coming too," I said firmly, although I knew Mary had an eye on the china figures which had not yet been washed.
She called after us, "You two go ahead, and I'll come in a minute."
Lucy had the tea spread out in the living room, and the three of us fell on it and had to use stern control to leave a biscuit or two for Mary. By the time she had torn herself away from the work and joined us, the tea had cooled and the biscuits were cold—but she didn't seem to notice it. Her eye fell on the green studio couch, which had not yet been moved, and she wanted to know, more or less politely, when Lucy and Ken were going to get around to it.
"Don't give it another thought," Lucy said airily. "We'll carry it out as soon as we've finished tea."
There was a light tap on the french doors that opened on to the balcony, and Egbert stuck his head into the room.
"You must forgive this rather informal entrance," he observed, settling his pince-nez, "but we were doing a little investigating on the balcony and heard your voices."
He stepped in, followed by his two men, and Ken remarked, "I had a feeling that we should have muzzled Lucy."
"Me!" Lucy shrieked. "Why, every time you open your mouth I think it's a thunderstorm blowing up!"
Mary tried to make a quiet getaway back to her beloved housework, but Egbert pinned her down neatly.
"Mrs. Fredon, I believe I have news of your husband."
Mary stopped on a dime and swung around to face him. "What is it? Where is he?"
Egbert's eyes shifted behind the glasses, and I could have sworn that his mind was, humming busily, trying to think up what to say next. He moved forward and after only a brief hesitation said smoothly, "If you'll just sit down and answer a few questions for me I'll be glad to tell you what I can."
Mary registered annoyance and sat down reluctantly, but before Egbert had time to start on her she started on Lucy, Ken, and me about getting the studio couch into my room.
"Come on, girls," said Ken, "we'll each take a cushion to start with."
"No, no." Lucy demurred, "I'll tell you how we'll do it. Put the cushions and the mattress on the floor, and we'll carry the bottom in first. I like to get the worst part over with."
Egbert said, "Now, Mrs. Fredon "
"No, you can't do it that way!" Mary exclaimed. "Take the cushions and mattress into the hall first, and go over them with the hand vacuum, and then put them on the bed. After that, you can carry out the bottom parts—go over it with the vacuum—and put it right under the window in Eugenia's room. I'll come as soon as I can."
Egbert cleared his throat and put a little more firmness into his voice. "Now, Mrs. Fredon, I'd like you to tell me if your husband has had any business worries of late."
Mary gave him her rather abstracted attention, while we started to take the parts of the studio couch out into the hall, and I heard her say, "No," decisively, as I went into the hall with a couple of pillows perched on my head.
When we had the pillows and mattress piled up in the hall Ken dropped his voice and said, "Lucy, remember when you gave an imitation of a vacuum cleaner at the country club that time? Do it again, will you, and put everything you've got into it, while Gene and I get the other part of this thing."
Lucy giggled happily and then sent her voice soaring into a steady drone. It was without doubt the best imitation of a vacuum cleaner I had ever heard if I had ever heard any.
Ken and I carried out the bottom section without accident, and to the accompaniment of only three apprehensive shrieks from Mary. In the bedroom we had to move a small table and a chair from under the window, but as soon as we had placed the couch there Ken put the table and chair on top of it. He said he wouldn't be responsible for moving one stick of furniture in Mary's apartment, and that the table and chair were now back in their original places, although a little closer to the ceiling.
Lucy stuck her head in the door and asked if she had done enough vacuuming, but Ken said no, Mary might think we had not been thorough enough and would make us do it over again.
"But my throat's sore," Lucy said huskily.
Ken eased her out into the hall, whispered, "Just a minute or so more," and closed the door on her.
He came back to me and handed me a cigarette. "Now we're alone, and I'll have to work fast."
"What at?"
"You. Now look here—you can see the sort of furlough I have—no one to take me in and love and care for me. I'm an orphan, and nobody cares. Mary is a good soul, and generous, but my cigarette ash and the soles of my shoes trouble her very dreams. In fact next furlough I'd like to come and visit you."
I laughed. "'I live in a one-room apartment."
"Don't quibble—and why do you turn me down so promptly anyway? I know you have no steady in the Army."
"You don't say."
"If you did," he went on, "you'd be writing letters all the time, and going around asking for stamps and things."
"I don't think Egbert could have done better than that," I said admiringly.
"Never mind Egbert—I want you to write to me and let me take you out when I can get off."
"Dropping all other dates when you appear?"
"Yes." He caught my arm and swung me around. "We could have a lot of fun, and you know it—if only we didn't have all these people milling around."
"But what about the girl to whom you're practically engaged?"
"I found out that she's just been married."
"Oh dear," I said, "that's a pity."
"No, it isn't—I like you better—and if you're not tied up in any way I don't see why you won't give me the opportunity to—er—"
"To see whether you like me or not?" I supplied courteously.
"All right—if you want to put it that way. And at the same time you can be finding out whether you like me or not."
"Nothing could be fairer than that," I agreed.
"Good," he said, and enfolded me in a huge embrace with a kiss attached to it.
I disentangled myself and explained, "The kissing part comes later—it's illogical to put it in here."
"Listen, shut up, will you." He gave my head a playful push that practically dislocated my neck. "Now I want to make a date with you for about two o'clock tonight in Mary's ex-bedroom."
"I—what?" I said feebly.
"It's that drawer under the bed. Somebody has been busy with his little hammer—quite recently—and nailed the thing shut."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
"I'M GOING to open that drawer," Ken said, "and if there's nothing in it, all right. Mary needn't know about it because there won't be a mark on her precious antique. I'm a smooth workman."
"I think it should be opened," I agreed uneasily, "but it seems to me the police should do it."
"No," said Ken. "Egbert's heart would be broken if he got all steamed up and then found the drawer empty."
Lucy pushed the door open and came in.
"I'm through," she croaked. "I suppose Mary will say we didn't clean the thing thoroughly—but I have my vocal chords to think of. Listen, we have to market for tonight's dinner."
"We'd better get going then," Ken said, instantly serious. "Let's see— what do we need?"
"Why don't we just go out for dinner?" I suggested, and was ignored by both of them.
They went along to the kitchen, discussing the fascinating subject, and I moved to a point just outside the living room and listened.
"I assure you," Mary was saying indignantly, "that my husband had no interest in other women. He barely noticed Mrs. Emerson, and I doubt that he was even aware of Suzy's existence."
"And yet he poisoned her," said Egbert delicately, "and very probably did away with Mrs. Emerson as well."
Mary gave off sounds of pure fury and could be heard getting to her feet, so I backed up and went to my room.
So that's the way Egbert figured
it, I thought—and it sounded reasonable to me. Something had happened to Homer's mind, and he was sneaking around killing young women. He was hiding somewhere close by, too—perhaps right in the apartment—and I was a young woman.
I shuddered and, looking at the studio couch, felt a surge of thankfulness that Lucy was sleeping in with me. I tried to think of something else aud immediately pictured the drawer under the antique bed—and Betty's dead body nailed into it.
My teeth were chattering by that time, so I clenched them together and went over to look out of the window. It gave on to a closed court, and there was nothing to see but the Emerson windows directly opposite. They were neatly draped with glass curtains, so that it was impossible to do any snooping.
I turned away and thought about Betty again. She couldn't be lying dead in that drawer, my reason protested feverishly—the weather was warm, and there would be an odor—there had to be an odor. I was conscious of a feeling of nausea, and when it had passed I went quickly out of the room.
Mary was in the hall, frowning and looking thoroughly annoyed. She did not see me, and went on into her own room, closing the door firmly behind her. It occurred to me suddenly that Ken was laboring under a misapprehension. Mary had complained of her room being haunted and had cleaned out Ken's room and had the studio couch moved. She had told him that she was fixing it up for Homer, and he had evidently assumed she was moving in there herself—and that the coast would be clear for him to open up the drawer.
But I knew that Mary had cleaned her own room with an idea of sweeping out the haunts along with the dust. I'd have to tell Ken, and perhaps we could persuade Mary to use Homer's room.
I turned toward the kitchen and met the intelligent shine of Egbert's pince-nez.
"Hello there," I said casually.
"Would you care to tell me just one thing—truthfully?" he asked with deceptive mildness. "Why are you here?"
"I embezzled some money belonging to my boss, and I'm hiding out until it blows over."
Egbert sighed and murmured, "You are most difficult."
"Well, it's no wonder," I said crossly. "I come here for a vacation, expecting peace and quiet, and the place might as well be a lunatic asylum. How would you like it?"
The Black Eye Page 8
