Call After Midnight (9 page)

“We hadn’t. We didn’t.”

“—and if, say the second Mrs. Vleedam strongly opposed this—”

As she would have, Jenny thought in spite of herself; she had told her she would. She hoped Captain Parenti could not read her thoughts.

He went on, “—that’s what I would call a motive for her murder. You all tell the same story.” He put down the lighter and rose. “My job is to find out if all of you are lying and why. You can go back to the city any time you want to.”

“Go back—” she began in surprise and then sprang up. “Oh, I forgot to phone. My job!”

The police captain could move as swiftly as a fat little snake. He was instantly across the room where he opened a panel in the wall and disclosed a neat green telephone. “Here’s a phone. There’s another in the hall. There’s another in the kitchen, and one upstairs. Use this one. It’s a single line by the way, not an extension. You can say anything you want to say over it. I wonder why your former husband had a single line put in.”

She guessed the reason: Peter liked to talk to her whenever he chose but he wouldn’t have liked Fiora to lift some extension telephone and hear him, as she had once accidentally and fatally overheard him talking to Fiora. She said, “It’s new to me …Do you really mean it?”

“About going back to the city? Certainly. This is Saturday. We can’t have the inquest until Monday. I’ll have to ask you to come back for that. What’s the matter? Don’t you want to go home?”

“Why, I—” Defiance caught her. She said unexpectedly, “I’ll stay here as long as Peter needs me.”

“That’s what I thought,” he said and walked out of the room.

S
O IF IT HAD BEEN
a trap she’d leaped straight into it. Prudence, she reflected suddenly, always came too late.

Well, she could still return to her own safe little apartment.

And leave Peter to face all the things he had to face, such as an accusation of murder?

The word collusion had a chilling power.

Nobody could ever tell what might happen, not when it was murder.

She’d telephone, as she had said she was going to do. She remembered to get a New York line and then dialed the number of Henri et Cie. Somebody was always in the workroom; she doubted if it ever really closed down, night or day. Henri himself answered though and he was in a state of frenzied French and English so mixed up that only her past experience provided clues to understanding. The point was that she was needed. Somebody had the flu, somebody had taken off for the weekend, he had no model, and a big client was flying in from Mexico that day for a private showing.

“I can’t come,” she said.

There was an explosion like fireworks. When it sputtered out she said, “I can’t come to work today, that’s all,” and hung up.

He would almost certainly fire her.

Still he might not. She reflected that Henri had a gift for publicity and her skin crawled. He would be quite capable of pointing her out, later, to clients, whispering that she was the Mrs. Vleedam—“The first wife,
vous comprenez
—in the house when the murder—oh, yes, the first Mrs. Vleedam—”

Blanche came in as she put down the telephone. “I saw the policeman leave. What did he say? Did he question you about your—your feelings,” Blanche said delicately, “regarding Peter?”

“Yes. Naturally. After what you told him.”

“I’m so sorry, Jenny. I don’t see how he got it out of me but then he’d have asked why you were here at all. Why you came. Perhaps I didn’t do much damage. I hope not.”

“I hope not, too,” Jenny said flatly.

“Did he tell you you could go back to the city?”

“Yes.”

“That’s what he said to me.” Blanche sat down wearily. “We’re like hooked fish. He knows he can reel us in any time he wants to. Jenny, who do you think shot her?”

“I don’t know. Obviously somebody from outside. I know it wasn’t Peter. I don’t see how it could possibly have been Cal or you—”

“
Me
!”

“And I didn’t kill her. Blanche, do you know whether she had any—oh, enemy? Somebody who would do that?”

“The police captain asked me that, too. No, I don’t know.”

“But you lived with Fiora. You’d have known—”

“I didn’t live all this time with Fiora. We lived together at first. Fiora didn’t have many jobs. I got a job immediately and stayed with it. I’m not boasting but as you know I did very well. Arthur kept raising my salary but I earned it. Fiora used to get some small parts in summer theaters or road companies. She was away much of the time. I decided I could afford a nice apartment and got one. After that I think Fiora rather drifted around but she would come to me for loans when she needed money. We always kept up a friendship but we didn’t share an apartment as we had at first—only then it was a room. But we kept in touch. That’s how I happened to suggest that Arthur ask her to dinner that time with Peter—”

“Yes, I know,” Jenny said shortly. “Did Fiora ever marry before she married Peter?”

Blanche’s green eyes widened. “No! That is, not that I know of. Oh, I’m sure she’d have told me. At least I think so. Besides, how could she have married Peter?”

“There’s always divorce,” Jenny said dryly.

“I think Fiora would have said something about it if she had married before she met Peter.”

“I suppose they’ve looked through Fiora’s room.”

“You mean papers. Letters. Oh, yes. Early this morning they were in there searching. When are you going back to town?”

Blanche’s authoritative manner roused again an incautious wave of defiance in Jenny. “I’ll stay here as long as Peter wants me.”

Blanche tinkled her bracelet. “Doesn’t it strike you that might look rather bad for Peter? Your being here in the house, his first wife? It might put him in a peculiar situation.”

“Well,” Jenny said, “I think the damage, if any, has already been done. On the other hand—yes, you may be right. I was thinking that Peter needs his friends.”

“Cal will stay. I’ll stay if he wants me.” She turned as Peter came into the room.

“Blanche,” he said, “if you don’t mind—I want to talk to Jenny.”

Blanche said, “Peter, I’m sorry that policeman got it out of me. I didn’t mean to tell him about you and Jenny. I mean, there in the kitchen just before Fiora was shot. But I was sure that your friend John Calendar had told him and we’d have to stick to the truth and—”

“Cal wouldn’t have told him. I wish you hadn’t.”

“I wish so, too—I couldn’t help it. You always think so much of Cal, Peter. I admire your loyalty.”

“Why not?” Peter looked puzzled.

“Oh, nothing.”

“You’d better explain.”

“Peter, truly I meant nothing. It only has seemed to me—perhaps I’m wrong—that Cal is jealous of you.”

“
Cal
?”

“Then I’m wrong,” Blanche said and smiled. “I had an unpleasant feeling that Cal wanted to get you out of the railroad altogether, so he’d be top boss. It’s nice to know that I’m wrong about that …Jenny is going back to town, Peter. I’ll leave you so you can talk.”

She walked gracefully out of the room. Peter stared after her, a little angry but also a little disturbed. Jenny said, “Cal is not jealous of you, Peter. He’s your best friend. Don’t let Blanche plant any seeds of distrust.”

Peter was as loyal to Blanche as to Cal. “Oh, she wouldn’t do that. I can trust Blanche. What’s this about your going back to town? You can’t go. I need you. You’re my alibi.”

“If it comes to that,” Jenny said a little dryly, “you are mine.”

“Yes, but that policeman talks about collusion. Are we protecting each other? What’s back of this? Asked me all sorts of questions—how long had it been since I’d seen you? Why did I send for you? Did I ever regret our divorce? Asked everything. Why, if he can do that, think what a prosecuting attorney can do.”

“I don’t think my presence here is going to do you any good.”

“What’s the matter with you, Jenny? You seem so different. I suppose you feel like paying me back for marrying Fiora. Revenge, is that it? I don’t blame you. All I want to do is make it up to you. I shouldn’t have treated you like that, Jenny—the divorce and all. I was sorry. I’ve been sorry ever since.”

“Don’t!” They were words she had wanted him to say but not here, not now.

Peter caught her hands hard. “You will stick by me, won’t you?”

She freed her hands. “Of course. If you mean about the alibi. Nobody can say we are both lying—”

“That’s exactly what that policeman did say!”

“But we
know
the truth, Peter.”

“A good prosecuting attorney can knock our story to pieces.”

“How?”

“Well, I don’t know how but he’ll make a good try.”

“Give the police time. It happened only last night They haven’t had time to—”

“They’ve grilled all of us already. Positively grilled us, especially me. If you don’t stick to me, Jenny, I mean about that alibi—”

“I’ll stick to that, of course. It’s the truth.”

“Yes but—Jenny I’ve been sorry! All the time! I’ve missed you so—”

“
Don’t
!” she said sharply.

Peter’s blue eyes turned icy. “You’ve turned against me.”

“No, no, I haven’t at all.”

He took a long breath and said steadily, “I want you back.”

Blanche said from the open door, “Cal is going back to town.”

Cal came in and Blanche followed him. Jenny wouldn’t look at Cal, who always saw too much.

But Cal said, “Do you want us to leave?”

Peter gave him a blank glance. “I’m talking to Jenny.”

“So I heard,” Cal said. “I couldn’t help overhearing. If you don’t mind my saying so, Peter, there are certain limits to decency.”

“What do you mean by that?” Peter said coldly.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Peter, you know perfectly well what I mean. Skip all these dramatics—”

“Dramatics?” Peter said coldly again.

“That’s what I said. Are you going back to town, Jenny? Because if so, I’ll take you.”

“I want you to stay,” Peter said flatly. “I beg you, Jenny—”

Cal shoved his own hands in his pockets and walked back to the door. “Make up your minds,” he said over his shoulder and disappeared.

Jenny started for the door. “I’ll have to come back for the inquest Monday—”

“The inquest,” Peter said with a kind of groan. He seized her shoulders and whirled her around to face him. “Please, Jenny, I meant everything I said. I don’t care who heard it—”

She detached herself. She almost ran upstairs. Cal was in his room, throwing things into his bag.

“I’ll be ready in five minutes,” Jenny said.

“I’ll get the car out.”

“Cal, aren’t you coming back?”

“Why should I?”

“What are we going to do about Peter?”

“What can we do?”

“He does need you. You’re his best friend.”

Cal rolled up a tweed coat.

“Cal, don’t roll that coat like that. Fold it,” Jenny said in a kind of nervous exasperation. “Here, I’ll do it.”

“Thank you, I’ve packed for myself many times. If you’re going back to town with me you’d better get your things together.” He turned to pick up his topcoat and added over his shoulder, “You’re not risking much. Peter will come running after you.”

“Cal!”

“I heard enough of that impassioned little conversation just now. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“
What do you mean
?”

“I told you, I heard you. You want Peter back. Of course, it wasn’t just the time and place. But somehow I didn’t think you’d play hard to get. Not a nice expression but it’s not a nice—”

“I don’t! I didn’t!”

“You know best, of course,” Cal said. “I’m ready to go. Hurry up—if you’re really coming.”

A large red vase stood conveniently at hand on a table but Jenny resisted its invitation to mayhem and walked out of the room.

But then she thought, did I really sound like that? Playing hard to get?

She wondered just how much Cal and Blanche had heard. Peter’s voice had been loud and determined.

She stood for a moment looking around the guest room and thought of Fiora. Poor pretty Fiora who had boasted so childishly of her rich husband. “Go and look in my dressing room—three fur coats.”

Some motion outside the window drew her eyes. The day was still overcast and gray. The Sound was as still as the sky; the tide was out. Two policemen were poking around amid the damp rocks and heaps of black mussel shells. As she watched, one of them bent over suddenly and scooped up something which looked like a limp, black snake.

I
T WASN’T A SNAKE THOUGH.
Both men looked at it, hiding it with their bodies, but it wasn’t a snake.

Whatever it was, it reminded her of the black stocking which she had found in the kitchen, moments before Fiora was murdered. She could see Peter picking it up, idly, inquiring about it and dropping it back on a chair. She couldn’t be perfectly sure that whatever the two men were examining was in fact a black stocking. It could have been a rope, anything. The police seemed to hold a short consultation and then headed for the breakwater that ran out beyond a point of land, half hidden by a heavy thicket of pines. She knew the tides along this section of the Sound coastline. Anything that anybody inadvertently threw into the water was very likely to be returned on the next tide and deposited there.

But a black stocking! Fiora, she thought, with terrifying clarity had not been strangled. She didn’t want to think about Fiora. She looked down at the terrace. The flagstones were damp that day and dark. The wide balustrade stood out solidly against the bank of shrubbery below it. The young spring lawn was startlingly green.

Cal said from the doorway, “I’m waiting for you.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Five minutes—”

She hurried to pack the few things she’d brought with her. The yellow dressing gown was too vivid a reminder of the moments when she had sat and talked with Fiora and unwillingly had begun to like and in a curious way to feel a little sorry for Fiora.

No, she mustn’t think of Fiora. She picked up her red coat and handbag and at the door paused to take another look at the room; yet she wanted never to see that room again. That was certain.