Call After Midnight (15 page)

Captain Parenti said at last, “Is that all?”

“That’s all. Except the police have a report of it. The precinct station—”

“But they didn’t find anybody.”

“No. Not that we know of at least.”

“How old is your nephew?”

“Twelve. He couldn’t have invented this, Captain. He’s a limb sometimes but he tells the truth. It hooks up with what had happened previously and—”

“I don’t say he invented it.”

“You imply that I did and suggested it to him.”

Captain Parenti put up a thick hand. “I don’t imply anything.” He turned to Jenny. “Have you anything to add to this?”

“No. It happened just as Cal has told you.”

“Where’s this empty bottle?”

Cal replied. “At my home, in town.”

“Your idea is that this is connected with Mrs. Vleedam’s murder.”

“It seems reasonable.”

“Why?”

“Because there isn’t any motive for an attempt to—to—”

“Murder her,” the Captain said flatly, jerking his head toward Jenny.

“—unless she’s a witness to something that’s dangerous.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. Jenny doesn’t know. But it’s the only motive that seems reasonable.”

“Yes, you said that. Did you give the New York policeman your idea of this?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“For one reason, I preferred to report it to you. For another reason, I wasn’t sure until my nephew told me about the phone call.”

“You mean to say you didn’t believe Mrs. Vleedam?”

“I believed her. But both of us thought that there might have been another explanation—that is, that the man pretending to be a messenger
could
have been a burglar,
could
have got hold of her keys somehow and that she might have forgotten the bottle of pills. That seemed the more probable explanation. When we heard from my nephew we knew—”

“Yes, yes. Why are you telling me about this?”

Cal was losing his temper. “Because it’s your business to know and it’s your business to protect Jenny.”

Captain Parenti rubbed his fleshy nose, eyed Cal and said, without irony, “You’re a big strong man.”

Cal then lost his temper. “I’ve told you the truth! If you’ve got eyes in your head you can see that somebody tried to dope Jenny and—God knows what else. What are the police for? A woman was murdered. Isn’t that enough to get it through your thick skull that another woman is in some kind of danger and—”

“So you say,” said Captain Parenti. “Now, Mrs. Vleedam, about these keys you say someone took from your handbag? Where was your handbag between the time you are certain you had the keys and the time you found they were lost or stolen?”

How does anybody know exactly where she has put her handbag at all times over a nearly twenty-four hour period, Jenny thought despairingly. “In my apartment—in Cal’s car—in this house—”

“Where in this house?”

She didn’t know. She must have brought the handbag into the house with her when she arrived; she must have taken it into the library with her; she must have taken it up to the guest room. She must have left it there.

“You don’t seem sure,” Parenti said.

“It’s automatic,” Jenny said. “A woman just picks up her handbag and thinks nothing of it. All I’m sure of is that the keys were there when I came home from work Friday night and gone last night.”

“Do you think Mr. Vleedam took them?”

“No!”

“Blanche Fair?”

“No. Why should she?”

“Mr. Calendar?”

“No.”

“Are you perfectly sure that you didn’t just lose them—along the parkway, anywhere?”

“I looked in my car,” Cal said. “No keyring.”

“I know they’re gone,” Jenny said. “And I know somebody tried to get me to open the door of my apartment. And I know there was an empty pill bottle—”

“I see.” Captain Parenti started for the door.

“You’ve got to believe us!” Cal said. “This is no fool trick of trying to cast suspicion on somebody else.”

“But you made very sure that a report of this would be on record at the precinct station.”

The Captain walked out; they heard his light footsteps along the hall.

“All the same,” Cal said slowly, “I think he did believe it. Or some of it.”

Jenny felt chill and miserable. “I don’t think he did. I think he believed we made up the whole thing in the hope he’d think it was Fiora’s murderer and so Fiora’s murderer couldn’t be me or you or Peter.”

Cal’s anger had subsided. “Naturally he’d consider that. It’s a pretty peculiar sort of story. But I don’t think he’ll discard it. One trouble is of course that he doesn’t have the police force that he’d have in a city. Or the ways and means to—well—”

“Protect me,” Jenny said.

Murder couldn’t happen and it had happened, where the wide chalk mark showed white on the rug.

She rose. “I’ve got to get out of this room!”

“Me, too,” Cal said, looking around it soberly, “What did Parenti bring you up here to talk to you about?”

“The same old thing,” she said wearily. “Why did Peter send for me? Why did I come? What was the meaning of—the time you and Blanche came into the kitchen and found me and Peter and—

“Yes, I see. Oh, I asked Peter where he was last night. He said, here of course. Just to cover the ground, I talked to Victor. He and his wife Rosa live in the old gardener’s cottage, near the garage. I asked Victor if Peter had taken out a car last night. He said, no. Now don’t tear me to pieces. It was only to make sure—”

“I was already sure of that,” Jenny said.

“Yes, of course. Well, let’s get out of here.”

The baggage was gone from the hall but Mrs. Brown was by no means gone. Voices which sounded loud and determined on Mrs. Brown’s part and low and rumbling on Peter’s part still came from the library. The door opened as Jenny and Cal reached the lower steps and Mrs. Brown came out apparently at the propulsion of Peter’s hand on her elbow. Once in the hall, though, she planted her feet firmly and looked up at Peter. “I tell you Fiora did make a will. She wrote to me. She told me so—”

“Mrs. Brown,” Peter said in a harassed way, “you must believe me. Fiora had nothing to leave. She made no will.”

“Then—then what were those lawyers doing here?”

“Lawyers?” Peter’s eyes went over Mrs. Brown’s shoulder and saw Jenny and Cal. He shot them a silent plea for aid and said to Mrs. Brown, “What lawyers?”

“Those two men. They were here—” She turned around and saw Cal. “That’s one of them. And there was another one—sort of gray hair, didn’t say a word, just stood and looked at me. I
know
he was a lawyer. Why are they here if there’s no will?”

Peter was holding himself in with difficulty. He replied, however, politely, “This is my friend and business associate, John Calendar. The other one was Arthur Furby. He’s general counsel for the railroad.”

“Then he’s a lawyer!”

“Not that kind of lawyer, Mrs. Brown.”

“Any kind of lawyer can draw up a will!”

“Well, he didn’t. Not for me. Not for Fiora. Fiora had nothing to leave anybody.”

Mrs. Brown blinked and then pointed furiously at Jenny. “What’s your former wife doing here? Just tell me that. I’m Fiora’s aunt and—”

“Mrs. Brown,” Peter said with firm but labored politeness, “you are indeed Fiora’s aunt and I’m sorry I didn’t notify you of her death—”

“Murder,” said Mrs. Brown.

“You must forgive me. Things were so—I simply hadn’t had time and forethought to look for your address and let you know about Fiora. Now that you’ve come I hope you’ll stay until—”

“I intend to,” Mrs. Brown said.

Peter sighed. “I’ve sent your baggage upstairs.” He gave Cal and Jenny another harassed look. “Jenny, will you show Mrs. Brown a guest room—I don’t know just where Rosa put her bag but you’ll see.”

Cal said as politely as Peter, “Mrs. Brown will find her bags, Peter. Jenny and I must be starting back to town and I’d like to talk to you a moment before we leave.”

Mrs. Brown bridled. “And high time that first wife of yours leaves! She’s no business here. It’s an outrage!”

Cal took her arm in what Jenny felt was a very hard grip. “This way, Mrs. Brown. I’ll show you.”

Mrs. Brown gave a kind of wriggle and then a baffled glance up at Cal who led her inexorably to the stairs and up.

Peter said, “What a woman! Fiora didn’t leave a will. She never made a will. She didn’t have anything to leave anybody. Jenny, can’t you get rid of that woman! I don’t think I can stand having her around and she’s brought a ton of baggage.”

“She is Fiora’s aunt.”

“I never saw the woman before. Oh, I knew that she asked Fiora for money every so often. At first I let Fiora send her some but I stopped that. Fiora didn’t think she really needed it. She’s a widow but she’s got some sort of income. I didn’t even know she was in New York.”

“She said she meant to surprise Fiora.”

“It’s a surprise all right,” Peter groaned. “When did you and Cal get here? You’re going to stay, of course. I’ve got to have you, Jenny. I cannot cope with that woman—”

“Neither can I. Peter, have they made any progress?”

“The police? Peter looked drawn and tired. “I don’t know. They practically went through the house with a microscope looking for another gun. Didn’t find any. Oh yes, they checked on the references and background of Rosa and Victor. Victor is just out of his army service, had a good record, came out a sergeant and married. Neither he nor Rosa have had much experience in domestic service but she can cook and he’s a smart boy. Nothing against them. I told Parenti all that but he checked up just the same. There was a great fuss about some fingerprints that somebody missed getting yesterday—”

“Mine. They have them now.”

“How’d they miss your fingerprints?”

“I don’t know. I suppose I was in my room and—the young policeman just didn’t see me. It doesn’t matter. They haven’t found the gun then.”

“Haven’t found anything as far as I know. Jenny”—he gave a swift glance around the hall and whispered—“don’t tell the police about the times I phoned you and the little presents and all that. They might get an idea that—”

“I know. I won’t. Cal warned me.”

“But of course you know I meant every word I said to you yesterday just before you left.”

He looked so tired, and so attractive with his tanned face and broad shoulders and the appeal in his eyes, that she almost said, “Yes, yes, of course I believe you.” She said instead, “Don’t talk of it now, Peter.”

“But I need you now!” Peter said. “Jenny, don’t you love me at all any more?”

“Of course I do,” she said quickly. “I’ve never stopped. But we’ve got to wait and—and be sure this time.”

“I’ve been sure—” He stopped as Cal came running down the stairs.

He came to them, looking in his turn a little harassed. “You won’t believe this. She’s taken Fiora’s room. Are the police through with it, Peter?”

“I guess so. They took all those pictures the—the night it happened. They’ve searched it through, everything. They must be through with it.”

Cal ran a distracted hand over his head. Jenny had never seen him at a loss but he was then. “She asked to see Fiora’s room. So I showed her and she looked all around it and said that’s where she was going to stay. She found her baggage in a guest room. She had me lug it all into Fiora’s room and then she started in opening windows and said she’d find the linen closet herself and the last I saw she was looking in the dressing room, opening the cupboard doors.”

“Well,” Peter said, “it’s all right. Fiora’s jewelry is in the safe. Oh—” His eyes went on past Cal and Jenny and he gave another groan. “Here’s Parenti again.”

Here indeed was Captain Parenti, outlined against the open front door, coming into the house and approaching them. “We’ll be leaving now, Mr. Vleedam,” he said. “I just wanted to tell Mr. Calendar and Miss—I mean Mrs. Vleedam that I’ll appreciate it if they stay here tonight. Here in the house.”

“Certainly,” Peter said. “I’ve just asked them to.”

But Cal gave Parenti an odd look. “Why?”

“Just as a favor to me,” Parenti said smoothly. “Besides, the inquest is tomorrow morning. I’ve asked Miss Blanche Fair to stay, too. Thank you.” He turned away with finality, trudged back to the front door and out. In a moment they heard a police car start up.

Cal said nothing but said it thoughtfully.

Peter said, “Good. I can’t stand this place alone.”

Jenny said practically, “Somebody had better tell Rosa. Meals for all of us—beds. She’ll need help.”

She found Rosa in the kitchen. Blanche was already there. She guessed Jenny’s errand. “I’ve told Rosa. She says it’s not too much work. But why on earth does that man want us to stay? I didn’t even bring a toothbrush.”

Rosa asked nervously if a buffet supper would be all right. Blanche lifted her thick eyebrows but nodded.

“Of course it’s all right, Rosa,” Jenny said. “I’ll help you.”

“Oh well, of course you know your way around here,” Blanche said and left.

It seemed strange to be going about the familiar kitchen, even though it was unfamiliar in its new and modern dress. Jenny’s mind went back irresistibly to the little suppers she had cooked for Peter, with Peter tipping back in a kitchen chair, a glass in his hand, laughing with her. They’d eaten often on a bridge table, set up before the fire in the library, giving bites to Skipper who pranced around them, all paws and whiskery face.

She thought, too, as she had too many times, of the weekends when Blanche and Fiora had been there, either staying with them, or staying in Art Furby’s little house a mile away. Jenny hadn’t noted then even a hint of Fiora’s ruthless determination. She hadn’t guessed a thing.

She wouldn’t think of that now. She was washing lettuce and Rosa was getting out plates in the pantry when Cal came in.

“Can I help?”

“No, we’re finished until time for supper. Cal, I want to see Skipper.”

Cal went with her out the back door. They were on the path leading to the garage and the old gardener’s cottage when he said in a low voice, “Parenti’s not taking any chances. I thought he wouldn’t. He’s leaving a policeman here tonight. I rather think the policeman has special orders to keep an eye on you. So I’m sure that Parenti believed us and that’s why he wants us to stay here. He’s not going to take a chance with your safety. Parenti’s a good man.”