Cherry Ames Boxed Set 13-16

by Helen Wells

  “You have to give Richard credit,” Mr. Beasley said. “He was the most devoted brother you ever saw. Even when Merrill wasn’t easy to live with. Lots of times—I live in Crewe, so I know—lots of times Richard would stay home with him, or give up good times to stay with Merrill, just because he felt sorry.”

  “Do you think that was because,” Cherry asked, “Richard felt responsible or guilty about Merrill’s accident?”

  “He didn’t have any reason to feel guilty, for heaven’s sakes! Merrill struggled back to shore by himself—when he needed help—to make himself look superior to Richard. Still—well, yes—I suppose you could be right. Kids get funny ideas in their heads—grownups do, too, for that matter. I do know that Richard felt bad that he grew up big and strong and won the track meets and played on the school baseball team, while Merrill had to sit on the sidelines.”

  “So possibly Richard did blame himself, in some obscure way.” This might be the reason—or one reason—for her patient’s guilty, troubled feelings. Then Cherry asked, “Did Merrill have to sit on the sidelines? Couldn’t he have written for the school magazine, or belonged to the French or Latin clubs, or something else that isn’t too taxing?”

  “You’re a sharp one,” Mr. Beasley said. “That’s exactly what a lot of Crewe people thought. He’s bright enough. Me, I always wondered if Merrill didn’t enjoy poor health. And maybe traded on it a little.”

  “Well”—Cherry sighed—”rheumatic fever is a serious disease.”

  She asked Mr. Beasley what he could tell her about the Albee brothers at the present time.

  “I’d judge Richard to be about twenty-five or six by now, and Merrill around thirty. Still in poor health. The two of ’em still live with their mother in that big white house of theirs—the father is dead. Wait a minute. I heard Richard’s out of town, heard it about six months ago. Haven’t seen him around for six or seven months.”

  Cherry pricked up her ears. “Do you know why he left?”

  “No. Nothing special, or I would’ve heard. Everybody in town would’ve heard. Nothing unusual or alarming happened, I mean.”

  So far as the town knows, Cherry thought. A secret could be well guarded. The park attendant had no other recent news of the Albees.

  “Can you tell me anything about the business owned by the Albee family?”

  He could tell her only that the Albee factory was located just outside of Crewe. He “guessed” that Merrill operated it—“or maybe I should say he used to. Seems to me that factory is closed down.”

  “Are you sure? When did it close?”

  “Well, I’m not so sure, at that. Haven’t passed by on that road recently. But I heard something about the business having its troubles. Failing, maybe.”

  Cherry decided she had better visit the Albees. If the firm had closed down, that fact might be related to Richard’s breakdown. Perhaps, though, it would be wise to visit one or two more impersonal sources before she ventured into the thick of a family and business situation.

  “Well, Mr. Beasley, I certainly do thank you for giving me this information.”

  “Glad to be of help, ma’am.” They solemnly shook hands. Cherry was walking back to Gwen’s car when the park attendant called after her, “Hey! You didn’t tell me why you wanted to know about the Albee boys!”

  She smiled and climbed into Gwen’s car. There wasn’t time to explain. Besides, as Richard’s nurse, she was pledged to keep his secrets.

  CHAPTER X

  Mr. Steele’s Story

  IT WAS HALF PAST TWELVE BY THE TIME CHERRY DROVE from Gull Point back to town. In Crewe she parked the car on the main street, had a bite of lunch, and located the police station. She talked with a uniformed police sergeant in a bleak office.

  The interview did not yield Cherry anything she did not already know from the telegram that the Crewe police had sent to Hilton Hospital. She was discouraged and asked a few questions.

  Yes, the Albee business was still in operation; Merrill Albee ran it. Apparently Sam Beasley had been mistaken. No, the Crewe police had not made a special search for Richard because his brother, Merrill, advised them that Richard had left to work out some kind of personal trouble.

  “He showed us Richard’s good-bye note to back up his statement,” the police sergeant said.

  A good-bye note! This was news! If she could see what was in the note—But the police did not have it.

  “As I remember, Merrill figured it meant,” the police sergeant said, “Richard would return home when he had straightened out his affairs. He was upset about something. Something personal, it sounded like.”

  Upset about Susan? About his family? Cherry asked whether he knew how the Albee family members got along together. The sergeant looked back at her with cool, amused eyes.

  “The police don’t know about people’s private relationships, miss. It’s none of our business. No, I haven’t heard of any quarrel, and Merrill sounded perfectly friendly about his brother. The best I can do is furnish you with the Albees’ home and business addresses.”

  Cherry thanked the officer for his trouble and left. In the car she mused about what to do next. The good-bye note was a very interesting discovery. Possibly Merrill or Mrs. Albee had kept it, and might let her see it. Still she felt a reluctance to enter that white house and wade into some sort of complex or troubled situation. If she prepared herself with more facts—

  What about visiting the Crewe bank where Mrs. Albee had an account? The bank officials might be able to tell her something about old residents like the Albees, and about the business as well.

  Mr. Steele was a gray-haired, flinty-faced man behind a desk. He reminded Cherry of the mathematics teacher who failed her in algebra (she had deserved it). She started out on this interview gingerly.

  “I’ve come to you, Mr. Steele, on behalf of a member of the Albee family.” She showed her hospital credentials. “Do you know the Albees, sir?”

  “Yes, I’ve known the family well through business for many years, particularly when Justin Albee was alive. A very pleasant association. I still sometimes see Merrill.”

  “Do the Albees have personal or business accounts here at the First City Bank, Mr. Steele?”

  The bank officer looked startled but answered, “Mrs. Albee and Richard maintain personal checking accounts here. May I ask the purpose of your questions, Miss Ames?”

  “One of our patients at Hilton Hospital is a young man who says he is—who may be—Richard Albee.”

  “Well! Indeed! That is exceedingly interesting! What’s he doing in Illinois? And what an odd way you put it—‘may be Richard Albee.’”

  Cherry fidgeted in her chair. She had aroused the banker’s interest, but his attitude toward Richard was so hostile, so suspicious, that she was alarmed.

  “Mr. Steele, this young man is seriously ill. That’s why there is some doubt about his identity, although we have reason to believe he is Richard Albee.” She was trying not to reveal the fact of his amnesia. “If he weren’t so ill and in need of help—I’m his nurse—I wouldn’t have traveled all this distance. My visit to you is an effort to get help for a very sick and unfortunate man.”

  The banker listened to this guardedly. “How extraordinary. A nurse doesn’t generally undertake—Well, I am sorry to learn that Richard is so ill, and I will cooperate with you. You understand, however, that I do so out of feelings of loyalty for the Albee family.”

  For the family. Not for Richard. Why was he hostile toward Richard? All Cherry could do was to ask questions, feeling her way as she went along.

  “Are Richard and Merrill in business together?”

  “They were, until Richard suddenly went away. They might or might not be again, when Richard returns. I—ah—gather the brothers have not been on the best of terms recently.”

  “Over a business matter?” Cherry asked. “Or a family misunderstanding?”

  Mr. Steele declined to disclose the exact cause of their rift.


  “Does it involve their mother?” Cherry persisted. “I’m sorry to press, but this information has a bearing on Richard’s recovery.”

  “I don’t see how,” the banker said rather testily. “Their mother? Both sons have always treated Mrs. Albee with the utmost consideration. I must tell you, Miss Ames, that Olivia Albee is in uncertain health.”

  So the mother was not well! This was no figment of Richard’s imagination, either; this was fact. Cherry recalled how worriedly and guiltily Richard had talked about his mother, even, at first, believing her dead. Yet the brothers’ rift was not about her. About what, then? She pressed the bank officer to tell her.

  He hesitated. “I can tell you this much. Merrill won’t be glad to see Richard again in any hurry, not after what Richard did recently. Merrill has complained to me about Richard—with justification, anyone would admit … Yes, about a business matter … Well, yes, it rather involves Mrs. Albee, too.”

  After what Richard did recently. Cherry recalled her patient’s feelings of self-blame. Was he actually guilty of some wrongdoing? Getting information out of Mr. Steele was difficult.

  “You seem to have a higher opinion of Merrill than of Richard, Mr. Steele,” Cherry prompted him.

  “Certainly. The older brother is more responsible, more practical, has the cooler head.”

  “I can see how important that would be in running the Albee business.”

  Mention of the business brought the banker to safer ground; he was willing to talk freely on this subject. The father, he said, had founded this business where medicines were developed and manufactured, and bulit it into a well paying business. The Albee family had originated and owned a formula for a “miracle drug” product that other manufacturers and druggists needed and purchased from them. Justin Albee had been careful to keep the exclusive rights to the formula in family hands. He had resisted efforts of larger firms to buy out the business or to effect a merger. He had, as planned, familiarized Merrill and Richard with the business, and left it to both sons as partners.

  “Mr. Albee died about four years ago?” Cherry said, recalling the Crewe police report.

  “Yes. He was ill for seven or eight years. Bedridden. Merrill left college—it was a sacrifice on his part, he left without graduating—in order to operate the business during Mr. Albee’s illness. As the elder son—he’s four years older than Richard—Merrill was the logical one to take charge. In my opinion, Merrill has done a very capable job for so young a man.”

  “And Richard?” Cherry asked.

  Mr. Steele’s eyebrows went up. “Since we’re talking candidly—I don’t consider Richard much of a businessman. He remained in college all during the years Merrill operated the business alone. I understand Richard is a brilliant student of chemistry and biochemistry, so I suppose his many years of training were not wasted.”

  Mr. Steele told Cherry that Richard had shown a special talent in college for research in the so-called miracle drugs. He proved so adept that he was deferred from army service: that is, he was exempted except in case of war, and remained on call as a potential government scientist. (“So that’s why,” Cherry thought, “his fingerprints aren’t on file with any of the armed forces.”) Mr. Steele said that Richard did advanced, postgraduate studies and research until he was twenty-five, about a year ago. Then he entered the family business.

  “He’s twenty-six now?” Cherry asked. “How long was he active in the family business?”

  “About six months. Quite long enough.”

  “But a research chemist of Richard’s caliber—I should think that in a business that manufactures drugs and medicines, he’d prove of outstanding value.”

  “Perhaps. I don’t know enough of the organic sciences to say. Merrill feels, and I am inclined to agree, that it’s a pity Richard ever entered the family business at all. At least Richard left the financial and management aspects to Merrill—fortunately.”

  Why, fortunately? Cherry wondered. Was Richard a brilliant theoretical biochemist without a trace of practical judgment?

  Mr. Steele was saying that since Merrill had already been in charge of the financial and management end, he did not welcome any interference by his younger, inexperienced brother. Richard for his part was glad enough to be left free to manage the production end of the business. He worked with a long-time employee, Mitch Johnson, the plant manager, in the six months before he went away.

  “And why did Richard go away?” Cherry asked.

  “You might say he absconded with twenty-five thousand dollars of this bank’s funds.”

  Cherry almost fell out of her chair, and her voice died in her throat. When she recovered her composure and could speak again, she asked for details. Her patient a swindler? A thief?

  “What Richard did,” Mr. Steele told her, staring past her, “was to borrow twenty-five thousand dollars from us on his personal note. He said it was for use in the family business. Since Richard was just starting to earn a living, he had no personal collateral to offer, but he agreed to a claim by us on his share of the business, in case he could not meet his note. We scarcely thought a member of the Albee family would default,” Mr. Steele said dryly. “When the promissory note fell due after three months, Richard disappeared.”

  “Disappeared,” Cherry murmured, “or broke down.”

  “Disappeared, Miss Ames. Absconded. So far he has not made any repayment. He has not even had the decency to communicate with us.”

  How could a man without a memory communicate with the bank? Or had he lost his memory as a way of covering up a crime? Cherry was so distressed she could hardly think what to say or ask next, except to cling fast to one principle: the welfare of the patient, guilty or not guilty, was always a nurse’s first concern.

  “What happens to Richard next? Tell me, Mr. Steele, has the bank taken any action against him?”

  The bank officer smiled faintly. “How could we, when we didn’t know where he was? The bank trustees are discussing court action and placing a lien on Richard’s share of the business.”

  That meant, Cherry knew, that Richard would lose his share, and that the Albee business would then be partly owned by the bank.

  Mr. Steele continued, “We have taken other factors into consideration—so far. One is that any legal action against Richard would be extremely hard on his mother—might nearly kill her, in fact. The Albees are old clients here, old friends. Aside from the lien which we could claim on Richard’s share of the business, Merrill has assured us he will see that Richard eventually pays us back, with interest. So far the bank trustees have waited, not very willingly. We hoped Richard would return and do the right thing. Now you tell me Richard is in the hospital!”

  “Yes, he is, and he is a very sick man.”

  “Bah! He’s found a convenient excuse! I suggest to you, Miss Ames, that Richard Albee fled to escape repaying his loan and is now pretending illness to escape lien action. What hospital did you say you’re from? Hilton, Illinois, isn’t it? I shall wire at once to your hospital authorities and to the Hilton police, and demand that Richard Albee be handed over to the Crewe police.”

  “No! Mr. Steele, you mustn’t do that! He’s not pretending—the doctors on the case will vouch for that. He was brought to us in bad shape—a motorist found him lying beside the highway—he’s better after several weeks but he still can’t—can’t cope with this difficult loan situation.”

  Cherry doubted Dr. Hope would pronounce him recovered enough to deal with such a crisis. Poor young man! Yet had he used the business as a blind and deliberately tricked the bank out of twenty-five thousand dollars, then fled? If so, why had he been found six months later in rags? What lay behind these contradictions?

  Look for motives, Cherry told herself. What did Richard want the twenty-five thousand dollars for? For his own use, one could argue, for once he obtained the money, he disappeared. But, in fairness, suppose Richard really had taken the loan for business purposes, then had lost his memory and wande
red away. It was possible: everything Cherry had observed about Richard suggested he was a conscientious man.

  Suppose he were not simply a thief, but a man at the verge of breakdown—suppose he had validly taken out a business loan. Then why could not the business repay? That was usual.

  “Mr. Steele, why can’t the business repay? That is, why can’t Merrill repay on Richard’s behalf? Aren’t the brothers business partners?”

  “Merrill has no responsibility for Richard’s note. Merrill is in the clear. Richard alone took the loan. He took a personal loan. The note carries his signature alone.”

  What a burden! Cherry wondered whether this loan falling due had burdened Richard to the point of triggering his amnesia. It could have. If only she knew whether he had acted in good faith with the bank, or if he were guilty of theft! Why had he needed the loan? What circumstances had he been facing? It was essential for Dr. Hope to know.

  Cherry did know one thing. Flight from memory has more, and deeper causes, than a single event like this loan. That is, there was surely more to Richard’s story than the loan.

  “Well, Miss Ames? I’ve answered your questions, but you haven’t answered mine.” Cherry came out of her thoughts with a start. “You haven’t yet told me why Richard shouldn’t be remanded to the police. He’s not mortally ill, is he?”

  Cherry sighed. She did owe Mr. Steele and the bank an answer. Although she was duty bound to keep her patient’s secrets, she was just as obligated to act in her patient’s best interests. If she remained silent and Richard were placed under arrest, at this stage of his recovery—

  “All right, Mr. Steele, but I must have your word that you’ll keep this information in strict confidence.”

  He looked doubtful, but nodded. Then Cherry told him that Richard Albee suffered from amnesia. She described his symptoms. The bank officer looked stunned.