Death Before Bedtime (20 page)

“It must’ve been quite a shock, when you found out.”

She rolled her eyes briefly to heaven. “I’ll say it was. I thought seriously of killing myself, being young and dramatic but then after a while I got used to the idea … and Lee was marvelous with me, called me ‘his own girl.’ ” She seemed, suddenly, very moved, for the first time since the trouble began.

“He must have been very fond of you. He would have to have been to include you in his will, knowing everything would come to light, embarrassing his family.”

“Much he cared about them!” This came out like a small explosion.

“You mean …”

“He hated both of them. Mrs. Rhodes was an ice-cold woman who married him because he was a young man who was going to make his mark, because
she
was ambitious. He went into politics and ruined his health and got mixed up with all sorts of terrible people and finally was killed by one of them just because she wanted to be a Senator’s wife, a President’s wife. How he used to complain to me about her! And his daughter: well, he understood her altogether too well … everyone did, what she was and is. Of course, he stopped her that once, when she ran off with a weight-lifter on the eve of her wedding to Verbena Pruitt’s nephew …”

“She was supposed to marry Verbena’s nephew?” I had not heard this before.

“That was the plan, only at the last minute, after the wedding dress was made and the reception already planned, she left home with this man. Lee brought her back and annulled
the marriage but that didn’t change
her.
” I was rather proud of Ellen’s character; she would not be controlled by anyone.

“How did Verbena’s nephew turn out?”

Camilla frowned. “He became an alcoholic and later died in an accident. Even so, he was the catch of the season and everyone thought he had a great future ahead of him. He was rich and in the Foreign Service, his father had been Ambassador to Italy and what with Verbena’s influence and so on he could have risen to great heights.”

“But he
did
take to drink.”

“Even so, no one knew it at the time. Ellen had no business walking out.”

“Perhaps she suspected what his future might be; it looks as though she had better sense than her father.”

Camilla shook her head stubbornly; then, with woman’s logic, “Besides, he might not have been an alcoholic if she had married him. Well, her parents never forgave her for that particular scandal and then after she began to have men friends of all sorts they sent her away to New York where that sort of thing isn’t so noticeable.” Talisman City suddenly showed its bleak intolerant head, besprinkled with hayseed and moral rectitude. I saw no reason to defend Ellen who is a bit of a madwoman about sex; on the other hand, Camilla’s high and mighty line did not accord with her own behavior. It was obvious she hated Ellen and would use any stick to beat her with and Ellen always proffered a formidable mace for this purpose to anyone hostilely minded.

“Tell me,” I said, a little maliciously, “why do you think Rufus killed your father?”

She was startled. “Why Rufus … but obviously because of that business deal, the one Johnson’s involved in, too. At least that’s what Winters said. Rufus was to cover up for the others; he was to take the blame.”

“But now it’s all in the newspapers and Rufus is
not
taking the blame.”

“Then why did he say he was going to in his confession?”

“Perhaps because someone else wrote it for him, after killing him.”

Her eyes grew round. “You’re not suggesting that Rufus was killed, too?”

“It’s possible.”

“But who would want to kill him?”

“The same man who murdered your father.”

“But that man was Rufus.”

“There was a time when you weren’t so sure.”

Even in the gloom, I could see her flush. “That’s not fair,” she said in a small voice.

“Why did you think your husband killed the Senator?” I closed in, aware of my advantage.

“I told you. I was upset, hysterical.…”

“Why did you think he did it?”

“For … for the same reason everyone else did, because of the contracts running out, because Lee wouldn’t help him.”

“Yet you knew that the contract had already been secured through someone else.”

“Verbena told you that, didn’t she?” Out it shot, before she could stop herself. She bit her lip.

I was slowly getting the picture, all the background was in a last: now for the foreground, to fill in the shadowy outline at the puzzle’s center, to construct the murderer. I was growing nervous with excitement.

I controlled my voice, though, sounded offhand. “Yes, as a matter of fact Verbena did mention to me that she had helped Pomeroy get his government contract before he came to Washington to see Lee.…”

“That wasn’t wise of her at all. These things are so delicate;
it could affect our whole business. That was why Roger said nothing about it even after they arrested him.”

“If you knew that he had no real quarrel with the Senator, that he wasn’t ruined, why did you tell me that night that he was the murderer?”

“Because,” she had regained control of herself now, “because I didn’t know until the next day that his contract
was
set. He told me when it looked as if he might be arrested any minute. He knew that I adored my father more than anyone else in the world. He knew that I had lost my head when he was murdered and I think he knew, also, though he never mentioned it, that I suspected him of the murder, to get even with Lee, to get my inheritance … so he broke an old rule of his and told me about his business, about how he had gone to Verbena and she had helped him, despite the Senator. Then I knew how absurd the whole case against him really was.…”

“But you had come to me and told me you thought he was the murderer.”

“I thought he was, yes. I thought he’d gone mad. I thought he’d kill
me
next to get the inheritance. I thought he was desperate and so I went off my head for twenty-four hours. It was just too much, having everybody know I was Lee’s daughter; everything was so awful that I … I came to your room. I don’t know why but I did. For some reason I was afraid Roger might kill me that night. I … was terribly ashamed afterwards.”

There seemed nothing more to clear up here. Her story was accurate, as far as I could tell. It was also revelatory. Verbena Pruitt began to loom large in the background. What was her role in all this? I had never suspected that she would ever seem mysterious to me. I had underestimated her.

I was ready now to end the session with Camilla Pomeroy;
unfortunately we had to go through a number of gyrations which propriety, at least in Talisman City, demands of those who have known one another’s bodies.

I told her that knowing her had been one of the most wonderful events of my life and that I hoped we should meet again, soon.

She told me that I had helped her more than she could say, at a desperate moment. She asked me to forgive her for what she had done. Not entirely sure for which of her treacheries she desired forgiveness, I delivered myself of a blanket absolution. Then, our love affair put on ice as it were, each with a beautiful memory, she pressed my hand and left me to pay the check.

When I got to the lobby she was gone. I was about to call a cab when I saw two familiar figures in serious talk, half-hidden by a potted tree. I went over and said hello to Elmer Bush and Johnson Ledbetter, the Senator-Designate and perhaps never-to-be.

They both looked as though I was the last person in the world they wanted to see at this moment. The falling statesman looked puffy-eyed and tired. The journalist looked eager, like an opportunistic tiger courting a lost sheep. They were cooking up some scheme.

“How are you today, ‘Senator’?” I said brightly; even the falling statesman got the quotes.

“Very well, Sargeant.” I was surprised he remembered my name.

“This is a grave crisis,” said Elmer Bush in his best doom-voice.

“A misunderstanding,” said Ledbetter in a strangled voice.

“We hope, however, to have the truth before the public tonight, on my program,” said Elmer tightly.

“I hope, sir, that you will be vindicated.”

“Thank you, my boy,” said Ledbetter in a husky voice. At that moment the famous newspaperman’s cry, “There he is!” was heard in the lobby, somewhat muffled out of deference to the Mayflower’s dignity; and a journalist and photographer came pounding toward us, their rimless spectacles gleaming, their faces red from cold and pleasure as they cornered the falling star.

“It has all been,” intoned Johnson Ledbetter, “a fantastic mistake.”

Fantastic mistake or not, it was the main conversation in Washington these days and, to read the newspapers, everywhere else, too. Corruption when it stains senatorial togas, always ceases to become squalid and becomes tragical, as Mr. Ledbetter would say.

After leaving the Mayflower, I went to the house of Mrs. Goldmountain, knowing that she was to be at home this afternoon. She was, I had discovered, a good source of information, having spent the better part of her fifty years climbing upwards socially; along the way she had investigated nearly every eminent closet in Washington society, she was also proving to be a source of revenue to me as far as the Heigh-Ho Dogfood Company went.

I was led to the yellow room where I found her in deep conversation with that Vice-President of Heigh-Ho to whom I had spoken the day before.

As I entered, she was saying, “Hermione has a range of four octaves, of which three are usable.”

“But that’s marvelous,” said the official, a doggish-looking man, constructed on the order of a chow.

“Mr. Sargeant, I’m so happy you came by, and just at this moment, too. I’m sure your ears must’ve been burning.”

“Pete, here, knows what we think of him at Heigh-Ho,” said the chow, beaming, handing me his damp squashy paw to shake; I shook it quickly and let it drop. I bowed a moment over Mrs. G’s hand, the way diplomats are supposed to do.

“In many ways,” said the chow, “this will be the most novel public relations stunt of the age. You realize that?”

“That’s what I’m paid for,” I said modestly, making a mental note to arrange to take a percentage of the gross on Hermione’s various activities; I was wondering whether an agent’s fee, as well, would be too exorbitant, when Mrs. Goldmountain recalled me from my greed.

“Although I am, in principle, opposed to Self-Exploitation, I couldn’t, in all conscience, allow my girl not to take advantage of this wonderful opportunity, nor could I be so cruel as to keep her talent under a bushel.”

I refrained from commenting that that was probably just where it belonged, under the biggest heaviest bushel there was.

“You’ve taken the right line,” said the official gravely, impressed by Mrs. Goldmountain’s wealth and hard-earned social position,
and
excellent press relations; all that glitters is not a gold-mountain, I felt like telling him, but then it was to my interest to keep the farce going.

“Have you made arrangements about engaging Town Hall?”

He nodded. “It’s all being prepared now. I’m lining up the press. We’ll have a full coverage.”

“I can do all that,” I said quickly. “That’s my job, after all.”

“There’ll be a lot for you to do; don’t worry. Heigh-Ho, however, is getting behind this campaign with everything
it’s got. We may even take radio time.” The noise of money coming my way, lulled me for a moment, like the sirens singing; but then, before I knew it, Hermione and not the sirens was singing.

She had been brought into the large drawing room next to the yellow room and her accompanist had begun to play.

A long yowl chilled my blood, more chilling was the fact that, despite the unmistakable canine quality of the voice, Hermione had perfect pitch. She was not, however, a trained musician.

Mrs. Goldmountain looked dreamily toward the open door through which floated, or rather raced, the poodle’s voice. “She practices every day … not too long, though. I don’t want her to strain her voice.”

“Maybe we ought to insure it,” said the dog-food purveyor anxiously, “wouldn’t want anything to happen to her. Lloyd’s would be only too glad to oblige us.”

“If you like … though I’m sure nothing will happen; she is always under the closest supervision.”

Hermione screamed her way through the “Bell Song” from
Lakmé
and, my nerves in tatters, my ears vibrating like beaten drums, I applauded loudly, along with the official from Heigh-Ho. Mrs. Goldmountain only smiled.

Then, after several points of business had been cleared up, Mrs. Goldmountain and I were left alone: the official gone back to New York to make an announcement to the news services, Hermione gone back to her quarters and the tin of fois gras to which she was often treated after singing.

It took me some time to get the subject off Hermione and back to the Rhodes family or rather to Ledbetter who now occupied my hostess’s thoughts.

“Johnson called me on the phone this morning (we’re very close, you know); he sounded simply awful.”

“I know, I saw him at the Mayflower this afternoon. He was with Elmer Bush.”

“At least Elmer will stand by him through thick and thin. Johnson will need friends.” I allowed that this was probably the case.

“This morning I telephoned the Vice-President to tell him that I was confident Johnson had done nothing wrong.”

“What did the Vice-President say?”

“Oh, he was on the floor. I didn’t get him but his secretary said she would give him my message.”

“Well, according to all accounts he seems guilty of fraud, along with the other two.”

“I doubt it but then I must confess I never read the newspapers … at least the political sections; those people are always writing lies about personal friends of mine, and then they never know what’s going on until it’s already happened.” She smiled sphinx-like, implying she
did
know; and perhaps she did.

“In any case, he probably won’t be allowed to take his seat.”

“I’m sure they’ll be able to arrange it,” she said confidently. “They need him, you know.”