Give Up the Body (28 page)

“You knew we were hunting her.”

“Mere rumor,” I said. “And since when does a verbal statement have any effect in law?”

“Nevertheless,” he said smugly, “your Jeff Cook is in jail right now. In Teneskium County.”

I
COULDN’T GIVE
Tiffin the satisfaction of seeing my face so I turned my back and walked away. Frew was staring at me sourly and I returned the stare with equal sourness. I went to a window and glared at the pane. Jeff in jail—and I had as much as put him there! How he would love me for that. And when we had seemed so close to the solution.

I wanted to bawl for having made such a mess of things by letting Tiffin know where Glory was. But that only lasted a moment, and then my brains began to perk. The window pane reflected the room and I could see Tiffin prowling about. I could see Hilton too, he seemed to have relaxed himself as if he refusd to be disturbed by his enforced stay. His attitude gave me an idea.

I turned and went directly to him. He looked politely but noncommittally at me. “They haven’t any right to hold you,” I said softly.

“It’s less trouble than making a fuss.”

“It would be even less trouble for you to meet me at my house in three hours. Less trouble for everyone,” I added. I tried to fill my voice with innuendo.

Hilton looked irritated. I nodded meaningly and strolled away just as Tiffin charged up. “What were you saying?” he demanded.

“Nothing,” I said.

“Nothing,” Hilton said.

There was nothing Tiffin could do about that so he stomped off. I followed him and cornered him. “Godfrey,” I said, “you’d better let Jeff out now. It will save me the trouble of getting a writ. You have no grounds to hold him.”

“You, Adeline, mind your own business.”

“It is my business, and that of The Press,” I said.

“By the time they know,” he said, “we’ll have the information we want.” He was so smug about it. So smug!

“You mean you dare hold him on that flimsy charge?”

“And you too,” Tiffin said. “The sheriff will be here soon—for you.”

I called him names until I got tired. The madder I got the more smug his smile. Finally I walked away.

Tiffin dogged me. And I could see by the way the policemen watched me they had their orders. Tiffin was pulling an illegal trick and it looked as if he would get away with it. And this after what I had done for him!

The longer I waited the more I could picture Jeff in jail. Maybe they were third degreeing him. I felt worse every moment. And there seemed no way out of it. Every time I moved toward a door a policeman on guard would move suggestively.

Finally I walked through Willow’s room to the bath. Tiffin was on my heels. I turned and looked coldly at him. “Here too, Godfrey?”

He was licked and so I locked the door on him. At least I had a few moments alone. It wasn’t the pleasantest place in the world. My imagination was all too vivid picturing Willow in here, standing in that tub sawing at his own wrists. I began to shake and I knew I would have to hurry and get out of here.

I forced myself over to the tub and turned on the cold water. Fortunately the tub had been wiped clean of bloodstains or I think I would have lost my nerve completely.

With the water roaring nicely, I went to the window over the basin and looked out. It was as Jeff had told me, straight down for two stories and a steep slate roof above. I moved across the room and began opening drawers and cabinets. One set of waist-high doors opened into a linen closet. A series of shelves was filled with sheets and towels and pillowcases.

I felt like an eloper, knotting sheets together. I used six, the entire pile. They were nice big linens and it was a shame to treat them this way. But I was in no mood to respect the quality of Mrs. Willow’s sheets. I knotted one end of my rope about the drain pipe of the bowl, and to make sure took a half hitch around the other pipes. Then, opening the window, I tossed out the rope.

“Appreciate me, Jeff Cook,” I muttered. I clambered onto the basin and teetered a moment and began to wriggle through the window. I could hear sounds indicative of Tiffin’s restlessness. I was halfway to the ground when he broke down the door.

I am no super-athlete. Before long my arms threatened to come loose in their sockets. I began to wish I was with Jeff in the County jail. Then I glanced up and saw Tiffin’s face above me, and I forgot about my aches. I looked down, saw only six feet of air to the ground, and I simply let go.

I took the shock with bent knees. I began to run as soon as I caught my balance. There was nowhere to go but through a hedge and into an adjoining yard. Behind me, someone blew a whistle.

I stumbled over garden stakes, skinned my knee on a low, nasty picket fence, and arrived in an alley. I was breathless by the time I staggered onto a lighted street. I began to flag passing cars. The third one stopped.

I knew I had drawn the typical masher as soon as I was inside. But behind me were policemen. I preferred to handle the masher. Anyway, he only drove three blocks before he had to make an arterial stop. There was a lighted drugstore on the corner. I jerked open the door.

“Thanks,” and I was gone. Before I had been panting too hard for him to start his line. And the one tentative pat he had tried received coy but firm slaps at his hand. I felt pretty good now.

I was in a phone booth when I realized my purse was still at Willow’s. So I had to go out and smile a nickel from the druggist. Finally I had The Press on the phone. I told them as much as I had breath for, explaining what I was going to do.

I got a happy promise of cooperation. I left the drugstore and walked back to Willow’s and gave myself up.

• • •

Jocko was beside me while I drove Jud’s car. Tiffin followed in the county sedan.

“Why’d you do it, Addy?”

“Give myself up? Well, I got in a car with a masher and even Godfrey is better than that.”

“You know what I mean,” Jocko said. “Why didn’t you give Glory up before?”

“Why did you let Tiffin talk you into pulling this arrest on Jeff and me?” I countered.

“Addy,” Jocko said sorrowfully, “if you ain’t going to play fair, why should we?”

And the conversation rested on that. It was pretty late by now and there wasn’t much traffic, so I could drive and think at the same time. I was building a fine theory. I needed to talk with Jeff and Hilton before I was sure of anything. But if all the disputable factors fit then I was sure I could put an end to this case. Not personally. I was feeling magnanimous and willing to let the police light the fuse. I was so absorbed in my thoughts I drove right by the jail and Jocko had to wake me up.

“You’re not going home yet, Addy,” he said.

“Pretty soon, Jocko.”

Jocko gave me an inquiring look. I ignored him and parked. Tiffin was right behind us. We started up the courthouse steps together. In the lighted foyer we met Jeff chatting with a thin, sharp-faced man.

Jocko stopped dead. “Addy!” he said in a pained voice. Tiffin was positively saffron with rage. Jeff grinned amiably at us.

“Got it solved, O’Hara?”

“I’ve let Tiffin take over,” I said. “He knows the right way to handle people—reporters and such.”

The sharp-faced man came up. “Mr. Cook is out on a writ. I’m warning you, Mr. Tiffin, that I have one prepared for Miss O’Hara too, should you plan to put her in jail.”

Tiffin was too anguished to talk. The lawyer tipped his hat to me. “Courtesy of The Portland Press, Miss O’Hara.” He strolled to the door, then stopped.

“Let’s go, O’Hara,” Jeff said. “We’re keeping Mr. Tiffin awake.”

“She did reach a phone,” Tiffin moaned.

Jocko said, “Favors work two ways. Let’s go see if Miss Martin is sober yet.”

“Tiffin was really sore,” I said as they walked away. “He’s desperate too or he would never have pulled such a boner.”

Jeff looked coy and blinked his eyes like a bashful maiden. “Tell me about it, my knight errant.”

“I was hungry,” I said. “And out of money. I had to get you out so you could stake me to a meal at the Chinaman’s.”

Jeff took my arm and piloted me to the car. We thanked the lawyer and assured him we would try and stay out of jail over the week-end. Jeff drove and I filled in the ten-mile trip by giving him a resume of past events. When I came to my really foolish stunt with the sheets, he pulled the car to a complete stop.

“O’Hara-is that the truth?”

“Certainly,” I said indignantly.

“You utter damned fool,” he said flatly.

I was ready to bawl. I was tired and hungry and now I was being told off for trying to help. Then Jeff pulled me close and kissed me thoroughly. “Don’t ever try a trick like that again,” he said when he was through.

“I’m forgiven?”

“Of course,” he said. “What a story! What a story!” he chortled. “We’ll crucify Tiffin.”

At least, I consoled myself, he had thought of me for a moment. Jeff started the car again and I went back to my theorizing. But I was too weary to concentrate much. It wasn’t until we had finished a refreshing meal, just getting out as the Chinaman closed his doors at twelve, that I began to perk up.

I had told Jeff of my attempt to get Hilton to come to my place. We went there now. We still had a few minutes to wait and Jeff used it telephoning. When he was through he came and flopped wearily beside me on the couch.

“Willow’s condition is unchanged,” he said. “But there’s a chance of his pulling through—to decorate a noose.”

“Hold it,” I said. “Isn’t that a car?”

It was. We could hear the motor a block away. A car was a rare thing at that hour. We both held our breaths, listening to the sound come closer. The car hesitated at the corner. Then the noise was intensified and I knew someone was coming this way. I rose and turned on the porch light. The car stopped across the street. I went outside where I could be seen.

The car door slammed. It was dark but I was sure it was Hilton coming toward me. Jeff’s arm reached from the doorway and he caught hold of my shoulder and pulled me inside.

“Waiting to get shot?” he demanded.

“It’s Hilton,” I said.

“I repeat my question,” Jeff said. When footsteps came up the walk he kept me back and opened the door himself. He was much more cautious than I. It was Hilton, and he came in unarmed and nodding pleasantly.

He sat in my easy chair and offered me a slight smile. “I didn’t come because of your threat. I’m sick of all this mess.” His smile was gone now. “Murder and suicide.”

“Attempted suicide,” I said.

Hilton shrugged and adjusted his glasses. “It means the same thing. And I think it will be easier with you than with the police.”

“Then,” Jeff blurted tactlessly, “you admit you and Willow were using charity funds for yourselves.”

“Yes,” Hilton said, “I admit it.” He agreed wholeheartedly to the theory that Jeff advanced then. I felt proud of Jeff for having thought it out himself.

I said, “Maybe that was why Willow was in Delhart’s room the other night. He could have been hunting for private records that Delhart might have had.”

I had to explain to Hilton what I meant. He said, “That’s right too. Willow told me he was going to see if he couldn’t find something that might incriminate us. I searched the offices in town and here. I left the other up to Willow. No luck,” he added briefly.

“Maybe there aren’t any records,” Jeff said.

“If Willow doesn’t pull through it won’t matter,” Hilton said. “I can plead ignorance. And Glory won’t talk. When I told her I wouldn’t do her dirty work again (we did meet, Miss O’Hara) she knew I didn’t mean it. With her chances of getting anything from Willow gone she’ll stick with me.”

“What was this ‘dirty work’?” I asked him.

“Glory needed money,” he said. “I took a chance to get it for her from Delhart’s funds. I made it all back except this last time. And now she needs money again.” Hilton was perfectly calm about it. There was no expression except in his eyes. I could see softness in them. No matter what, this man wanted Glory Martin!

“She needed money to run off with Tim Larson,” Jeff murmured.

“Hardly,” Hilton said dryly. “She had her faults but she’s no fool.”

“Tell me,” I said, “about Delhart’s call to his lawyer.”

“That was about Glory too,” Hilton said. “He was having his will changed to cut her share of the estate. But,” he added, “not enough to give her a motive for murder.”

“And that’s all?”

“Yes,” Hilton said. He lit a cigaret after offering his pack to both of us. His eyes looked owlish behind his heavy glasses.

I said, “Did you run across Willow when you were walking on the night of the murder?”

“No,” he said frankly.

“Then,” I said, “he must have gone by way of the near side of the pond and across the dam.”

“Daisy or Frew could have seen him,” Jeff said.

“Daisy wouldn’t tell,” Hilton said without smiling. “She really cared for her father.”

His tone of voice made me say, “But not for her mother?”

“Her mother is dead,” Hilton said. “Mrs. Willow is her stepmother. Daisy would destroy the woman if she dared. But she is deathly afraid of her. And then her loyalty to her father keeps her tied at home.”

“She tried to kill herself,” Jeff said. “So maybe she did see her father that evening.”

“Possibly,” Hilton said. “Or maybe it was because she thought the truth about her affair with Delhart would come out.”

“Affair!” I said.

Hilton couldn’t resist a chuckle at my surprise. “Practically,” he said. “Delhart was a fool about that. It was Mrs. Willow’s idea. A sort of childishly devised badger game. Of course Daisy was only promised—she retained her status as bait.” He paused a moment.

“Then we had the spectacle of Delhart’s former housekeeper demanding he marry her step-daughter,” Hilton went on. “Mrs. Willow and Delhart did fight. I’ll admit it now.”

“And Delhart refused?” Jeff asked.

“No,” Hilton said, “he agreed. It was Daisy who backed off at the last moment.”

Jeff groaned, “Delhart agreed! There goes a good motive shot to hell.”

Hilton shrugged. He looked at me. “How much immunity do I get for being so talkative?”