Skulldoggery (12 page)

H
ESTER SAT
cross-legged on the floor in an attitude of intent thinking. On the floor in front of her, the object of her observation, was a box of Mother Murphy’s Quick-Cooking Oats. It was, to be precise, the same box that she had dosed with cyanide peanuts and had later hooked from Crump’s kitchen. There appeared to be nothing sufficiently unusual about the box to justify Hester’s dedicated attention, and anyone, after examining it, would have sworn that it was perfectly normal. Anyone, that is, who was unaware of its contents. To Hester, however, there was one glaring discrepancy, in the light of what had happened, that refuted her earlier conclusions and opened up some speculations that were interesting to say the least. It was this discrepancy that engaged her attention and incited her mind. In brief, as she had observed when she first laid hands on it in the commission of a petty felony,
the box had not been opened.

The direct and immediate inference from this was clear. Mrs. Crump, struck down in an instant over a teacup, may have been the victim of a defective liver, as Quinn had suspected, but she had not died of cyanide in her oatmeal. Uncle Homer and Hester had simply been misled by the coincidence of her eating an oatmeal cooky at the time, which was a natural mistake, and one that almost anyone would have made in the same circumstances. It was quite a relief to be exonerated of any guilt in the matter, even though Mrs. Crump’s death had acutally been considered no more than an accident at worst. The police, Hester supposed, could be unreasonable about such things whether they were intended or not.

But why had the box not been opened? Surely oatmeal, if bought at all, was bought to use, and Mrs. Crump had surely bought it. Moreover, she had bought it for a specific and urgent purpose; namely, as an essential ingredient in Senorita Fogarty’s diet of oatmeal and sex. Even allowing that Senorita had made a sudden and remarkable recovery, it seemed reasonable to assume that Mrs. Crump would have put her on the diet anyhow, at least for the duration of Mother Murphy’s Oats, to help prevent a recurrance of Senorita’s malady if for nothing else. As anyone knew, it was an established fact that an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. In addition, at least a moiety of the diet must have been followed as prescribed, for Crump, on the afternoon of the same day that Mrs. Crump bought the oatmeal, had bought the stud. Would oats have been abandoned and sex retained? Well, maybe. Sex, of course, was a bit more than a curative for what ailed you. It was also the technique of procreation, with the result, in Senorita’s case, of beginning an interminable series of litters that would indefinitely prolong the exclusion of the family from the fruits of Grandfather’s will.

And what, by the way, had become of the stud? Lester had seen him in a cage when he was carried home from the kennel by Crump, but no one, to Hester’s knowledge, had seen him since. Junior swore that he had never laid eyes on him during all his afternoons of espionage, but this in itself was far from conclusive testimony, for Junior had clearly spent most of the time napping. What was more significant was the fact that she, Hester, had never seen him in the little park with Crump in the mornings. It did seem, when you stopped to consider it, that Crump would have given the stud a turn once in a while, or would even have let him join Senorita as a special treat. Decorum was well enough in its place, but it was hardly sensible to impose it too rigorously upon Chihuahuas. Anyhow, Crump’s moral disintegration after the abrupt departure of Mrs. Crump did nothing to support the theory that he wished to avoid a public display of passion. Hester was prepared to testify that public opinion meant little to Crump these days.

What meant something to Crump, in Hester’s private opinion, was the garden house. Although Junior was far too much of a dunce to realize it, Crump’s reaction to finding a spy stationed there had been excessively violent. One could accept his resentment, and even understand his ordering Junior off the property, but how could one explain the threat to run Junior through with a spiral dog stake, to say nothing of calling him a young son of a bitch? That was certainly extreme, and it aroused suspicion. After all, Junior was almost completely impotent between the ears, and his mere presence in the garden house, however annoying, did not justify such an unrestrained uproar.

Implications were all over the place, and Hester, being clever, had thought and thought about them. Now, however, the time for thinking was past, and it was high time, if ever it would be, for aggressive action. Indeed, she hoped that it was not too late. Things had been happening too fast and too erratically for comfort, that was all. Mrs. Crump was dead, old Brewster was dead, and Flo, in spite of her optimism, was halfway to jail. Yes, there was no doubt about it. Sense and order must be given to events that, up to now, had seemed disorderly and senseless. It was time to do instead of think, and Hester, who always knew what time it was, had already started doing.

It was almost midnight, and Hester, wearing a sweater and slacks and flats, was expecting callers. Perhaps it was extravagant to call them callers, only Lester and Junior, but she had drafted them into service as being more help than none, and here they were right now, apparently, for her bell was ringing.

She let them in, noting with some relief that they were dressed, according to instructions, in dark sweaters and pants. Experience had made her skeptical of their ability to follow even the most simple and essential orders.

“Well, here you are,” she said. “Did you bring the crow bar and the shovel?”

“Yes, we did,” said Lester. “They’re downstairs in the MG, and I don’t mind saying that they make it damn crowded. Are you sure that they’re necessary?”

“I’ll decide what’s necessary and what isn’t, if you don’t mind. We had better be on our way without delay, for it’s almost midnight.”

“Where are we going?” Junior said.

“You’ll find out.”

“What are we going to do?”

“You’ll know when we get there.”

“Damn it, Hester,” said Lester, “why do you have to be so mysterious about everything? I agree with Junior that it would be much more comfortable if we knew where we are going and what we are going to do when we get there.”

“No, thank you,” Hester said. “I’ve had quite enough of confiding in people who seem to have a positive genius for ruining things at the last moment.”

“At least,” said Junior, “you could give us a drink before we leave.”

“There’s no time for drinks. Junior, can’t you do anything at all without having a drink first? You’re getting as bad as Uncle Homer. By the way, are Uncle Homer and Aunt Madge waiting for us at Mother’s, as I requested?”

“Oh, they’re there, all right, and they’re wondering why. Uncle Homer was threatening to come along with us, but we slipped off without him.”

“Good. Uncle Homer would be a handicap at best. Now we simply must go. There’s someone we have to meet at midnight.”

“Who?”

“Lester, will you please stop asking questions? If I had wanted you to know who, I’d have told you who.”

“Well, regardless of what you want or don’t want, I’m not going an inch anywhere until I know who we are going to meet at midnight.”

“Oh, all right. I suppose that it can’t do any harm for you to know now. We are going to meet Lieutenant Bones.”

“Lieutenant Bones! Hester, are you sure you know what you are doing? I can’t think of a single good reason for meeting Lieutenant Bones at midnight or any other time.”

“Neither can I,” Junior said. “Why are we?”

“Because,” said Hester, “I want an official witness to what, I am convinced, will shortly be discovered.”

T
O
H
ESTER’S
importunate request for his midnight assistance, Bones had acceded reluctantly, and he was waiting impatiently. He had, indeed, first refused flatly, but he was eventually brought around by an eloquent appeal to his sense of duty, plus an oblique threat to his professional prestige if he should miss through pig-headedness such a rare opportunity for a major coup. Now that he was here, somehow waiting, where he had not intended to wait, for a mysterious engagement that filled him with apprehension, he wondered uneasily why he had not had the good sense to remain obdurate and detached. His knowledge of the night’s affair, whatever it might turn out to be, was as scant as that of Lester and Junior, of whose commitment he was unaware.

He was also unaware that he was parked at the curb of the street directly behind Grandfather Hunter’s house. He was unaware, that is, that the house was, or had been, Grandfather’s property. But he could see it rising like a Victorian monster in the moonlight, and he could tell from its size and the quality of its structure that it was surely the residence of someone who, however wretched his taste, did not lack the means of indulging it. Bones, observing the house, felt his uneasiness increasing measurably with every tick of his watch. Was it possible that Hester could have the effrontery to solicit the aid of a reputable detective in a job of simple housebreaking? Bones laughed hollowly at this notion and told himself that it was absurd, but he wasn’t sure. What was worse, having had some experience with Hester, he wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t be talked into agreeing.

Well, it was almost midnight. Lacking, he saw by his watch, two minutes. Midnight was the time of meeting, set by Hester herself, and he was therefore relieved of his commitment at that hour. That was fair and reasonable. If she did not arrive in two minutes, now slightly less, he would drive away and be done with it. Hope rose within him, and he watched his watch with one hand on the ignition key. But he was doomed by seconds to disappointment. An MG, packed with passengers, wheeled suddenly around the corner and pulled in behind him. There was Hester hopping out, and with her, God help Sylvester Bones, were Lester and Junior.

“Here we are,” said Hester, approaching, “on time as I promised.”

“So I see,” said Bones, without enthusiasm. “Who’s we? Is that your brother?”

“Yes, it is. It’s Lester. The other one’s Junior. He’s my first cousin, although he frequently doesn’t act like it. Sitting on his lap in an MG is rather hazardous.”

“What’s that he’s got? It looks like a shovel.”

“That’s what it is. And Lester, if you’ll notice, has a crowbar.”

“Would it be too much to ask what we are going to do with a shovel and a crowbar?”

“Not at all. I’m going to prise and dig. Or Junior and Lester are. That’s why I brought them along.”

“I was wondering why. Junior and Lester weren’t in the agreement, as I recall.”

“Well, they aren’t good for much of anything except odd jobs under close supervision, and so I thought I might as well make use of them when I could. Why don’t you get out of your car? We’re not going any farther.”

“What I can’t understand is why I came this far.”

“You’ll see. Do get out. I’m anxious to get finished.”

“It remains to be seen,” said Bones, “if we even begin.”

Nevertheless, he got out and joined Hester on the parking, being joined in turn by Lester and Junior, who came up from the MG.

“Why have you brought us to Grandfather’s house, Hester?” Lester said. “I can’t see any sense in it.”

“Of course you can’t,” said Hester. “You can’t see any sense in anything, however sensible it may be. It remains with me, as always, to see the sense in things.”

“Perhaps we could see the sense in it,” Junior said, “if we knew what we were going to do, now that we are here.”

“Wait a minute,” said Bones. “As the only official representative, it is time I took charge of this matter. Does your grandfather live here?”

“Not exactly,” Hester said. “Grandfather’s dead.”

“Then who
does
live here?”

“The house is temporarily occupied by a scoundrel named Crump.”

“Scoundrel or not, you needn’t expect me to help you break into his house.”

“Why, that’s fantastic! Do you think, if I were going to break into the house, that I would do it in the company of a policeman? No such thing is intended.”

“Precisely what, then,
is
intended?”

“We are merely going over the fence and up to the garden house.”

“I don’t know about that,” Junior said. “I recently had a bad experience in that garden house, and I’m in no hurry to go back.”

“Try not to be such a coward, Junior,” Hester said. “There is absolutely no danger. Crump is certainly sound asleep in the house, and besides, you will have a policeman with you for protection.”

“It is by no means certain that he will have a policeman with him,” Bones said. “In fact, I can state right now that he won’t. Trepassing isn’t as serious as breaking and entering, but it is serious enough and policemen can’t afford to engage in it.”

“That settles it,” said Junior. “If Bones won’t go, I won’t. Courage is all right when it’s safe, but it’s no compensation for being called a son of a bitch and run through with a dog stake. I tell you, that Crump is a wild man when he finds anyone in the garden house.”

“Exactly,” said Hester. “He is far wilder than is justified. The garden house is apparently significant to Crump for some reason, and that’s why I want to go there.”

“Just the very reason that I don’t,” Junior said. “We have no problem that can’t be easily solved, Hester. You go and I’ll stay.”

“So will I,” said Lester.

“Unless there’s compelling reason to the contrary,” Bones said, “you will all stay, and that’s that. What’s in the garden house, anyhow? What do you expect to find?”

“I can see that I must tell you to convince you,” Hester said. “What I expect to find is a body.”

“A body!” Bones felt his hair stand on end beneath his hat. “Whose body?”

“You will see soon enough if you will only come and look.”

“Who put it there?”

“Crump did, that’s who.”

“Have a little care, young lady. You are making a grave charge. All I can say is, you had better know what you’re talking about.”

“I can tell you immediately that she doesn’t,” Junior said. “I have spent a great deal of time in the garden house recently, and I can assure you that there’s no body there. If there was, I’d have seen it.”

“Well, Junior, you are an absolute imbecile at best. Do you think Crump stood the body in a corner or something? He must have buried it under the floor, and I’ll risk my reputation that it’s there right now.”

“You will risk more than your reputation,” said Bones, “whatever it’s worth.”

“In any event,” Junior said, “a new light has been shed on the matter, and I am more determined than ever not to go.”

“You’ll go,” said Bones. “We’ll all go. Too much has been said to be followed by nothing. Bring the crowbar and the shovel, and let’s move.”

“I don’t have to go if I don’t want to,” Junior said.

“You’ll go if I have to put you under arrest.”

“Under arrest? I haven’t done anything. What will you arrest me for?”

“Considering your mental age, I can make a case for violating the curfew.”

“Oh, come on, Junior,” said Hester. “There’s no use in dragging your heels. Who has a flashlight?”

“I don’t,” Lester said.

“Not I,” Junior said.

“Well, if that’s not the limit!” Hester said. “Am I required to think of everything? If I could specify the shovel and the crowbar, it looks like someone else could have remembered to bring a flashlight.”

“That’s all right,” said Bones. “I have one.”

“A grave charge!” said Lester suddenly. “You know, Bones, that’s rather clever. Did you say it deliberately, or was it an accident?”

But Bones, skinning over the fence, didn’t answer. He was followed in order by Hester, Junior and Lester, who tagged behind to make sure that Junior skinned over at all. In file, they trailed across the yard to the garden house, where Bones employed his flashlight to reveal a circle of floor.

“Now what?” he said. “Do we have to rip up the whole damn floor?”

“That won’t be necessary,” said Hester. “The floor is old and worn and will show the signs of tampering. If my theory is correct, as I believe, we will have no difficulty in finding the exact spot. Move the light around a little, if you please.”

Bones moved the light, and it was less than a minute before Hester found the spot.

“There,” she said. “What did I tell you?”

“The boards have clearly been taken up and nailed down again,” said Junior. “I wonder why I didn’t notice it before?”

“As to that,” Hester said, “it is difficult to notice anything when your eyes are shut. Lester, use the crowbar, and then Junior can use the shovel.”

“I’d rather use the crowbar,” Junior said.

“As representative of the police,” said Bones, “I think I had better use them both.”

While the others watched, he prised and dug, and after awhile, sure enough, he uncovered a body as Hester had predicted.

“There it is,” said Hester. “You will have to admit that I was right as usual.”

Bones straightened up slowly. His breath whistled shrilly through his nose, which was twitching violently.

“That,” he said, “is the body of a dog!”

“Certainly,” said Hester. “It’s Senorita Fogarty.”

“Do you mean to tell me,” said Bones with a massive effort at restraint, “that you called me out in the middle of the night to dig up the body of a dog? By God, I must be losing my mind. I simply can’t understand what’s happened to me. I was assigned to find the murderer of Willis Brewster, which was reasonable and acceptable, and now I suddenly find myself in someone’s garden house digging up the body of a
dog!
“

“It is apparent that I must continue to explain what is now as obvious as the nose on your face,” said Hester. “Lester and Junior, don’t just stand there doing nothing. Return the crowbar and the shovel to the MG, and take charge of Senorita’s remains. We may need it as evidence in the matter of Grandfather’s will. In the meanwhile, I’ll instruct Lieutenant Bones as clearly as possible in what he must now do.”