A Pint of Murder (8 page)

“Come to think of it, yes I can, a great ball of flame that died right down. I thought it must be the gas tank on the car, but that went later, just before Gilly spoke to me. I remember the bang well enough. So the bush couldn’t have had anything to do with it. The fire was already going great guns when we spotted it from the Owls’ meeting room.”

“Then I don’t know what to tell you,” said Gilly. “All I know is that it started in the front part of the house, because if it hadn’t we wouldn’t be standing here now.”

“You didn’t leave a cigarette burning in the parlor?”

“I couldn’t afford to smoke even if I wanted to, which I don’t. Anyhow, I was always careful about fire. The place was such a cracker box.”

Her voice shook. “I don’t think anybody set foot in the front room all evening. Bobby went to bed right after supper, and as I told you, I was over to Ben’s with Mama.”

“How come your mother never showed up at the fire? I never seen her, an’ neither did anybody else I’ve asked.”

“No, that was my one lucky break. She told me over the phone this morning that she’d taken three aspirins as soon as she got home, and slept like a log till I woke her up saying Bobby and I were here with Marion. If she’d known about the fire, she’d have dragged me off to the family tomb while I was still too numb to fight back. Now all she can say is, ‘Well, dear, maybe it’s worked out for the best.’”

“Maybe it has,” said Janet.

That aspect of the matter didn’t interest Olson.

“Does the boy smoke?” he barked.

“Not in front of me, he doesn’t. I expect he’s tried it once or twice, like any boy his age.”

“Bobby, was you smokin’ or playin’ with matches in the house last night after your mother left?”

The boy shook his head.

“I told you he was asleep the whole time,” Gilly protested.

The marshal grunted. “You didn’t have none o’ your chums in?”

“No. I was asleep,” the boy repeated doggedly.

“Gilly, you said folks started droppin’ in. Anybody come to the house before you left?”

“Only Mama, to make sure I was ready.”

“How long did she stay?”

“Only a couple of minutes.”

“What did she do?”

“Stood and jawed at me to go wipe off the makeup, and hurry.”

“You didn’t see nobody hangin’ around outside?”

“Not that I can recall. I suppose there must have been somebody or other, there always is. But most of the usuals were over at the Owls’ meeting, weren’t they?”

“Had close to a 100 per cent turnout,” Olson answered with pride in his voice. “How come you never joined the Owls, Elmer?”

“Nobody ever asked me to.”

The marshal reddened a little. “Didn’t realize you was waitin’ for a hand-engraved copperplate invitation. Where was you last evenin’, since we’re on the subject?”

“Bowlin’.”

“Whereabouts?”

“Over to the Fort.”

“Who with?”

“Nobody.”

“See anyone you knew?”

“Nope. Bunch o’ Yanks.”

“What time did you get there?”

“Half-past eight, thereabouts.”

“How long did you stay?”

“Long enough to bowl four strings an’ drink a can o’ that bellywash they call beer over there. About eleven, I guess.”

“Where was you before that?”

“Home paintin’ the house.”

“Can you prove it?”

“Go look at the house.”

Janet had begun to feel sorry for Fred. What was a country marshal who knew nothing about sophisticated police work supposed to do in a situation like this? Fred knew Gilly’s house hadn’t burned by accident. Either she’d set it herself, which would have been flirting with suicide and child murder, or else somebody else had, quite likely with the intention of killing both her and Bobby. It was only by the grace of God and the barking of two little dachshunds that they hadn’t gone to join Dr. Druffitt.

“Fred,” she blurted out, “you’ve absolutely got to—”

“Thanks,” he interrupted loudly, “but I can’t stay. Molly’s got my dinner all ready an’ waitin’ on the table, like as not.”

The fat old fool! A cold-blooded murderer and arsonist running loose, and all he could think of was his own paunch. Now why was he making faces at her behind everybody else’s back? Casually, like any proper hostess, Janet followed him out to the doorstep.

“Janet,” he hissed, “can you get down to the shop this afternoon? We got to talk private.”

That would teach her to judge not. “That’s sweet of Molly,” she said aloud. “And tell her how much Annabelle enjoyed all those lovely cards from the Sunshine Circle. She’s going to drop a note to the minister’s wife when she feels a little more like sitting up. By the way, I might be down to see you myself. The handle on one of our old iron skillets is working loose and I thought maybe you could rivet it or something.”

“Why don’t you give it to him now, eh, and save yourself a trip?” Bert called out like a typical older brother.

“Because I stuck it away somewhere so I wouldn’t make the mistake of using it and dumping your supper on the floor,” she lied, “and can’t recall offhand where I’ve put it. What’s the sense of keeping Fred standing here missing his dinner while I go hunting? Sit down and eat your own, can’t you? It must be ice cold by now.”

Gilly took the hint and shepherded her party back to the Mansion. They made a cute trio, Janet thought, the woman so little and the man so big and the elflike Bobby skipping beside them. She only hoped none of the three had got into the habit of killing people, or was related to someone who had. A person could be guiltless as a newborn babe and still be used as an accomplice, and be charged as one when the case came to trial.

But what if the case did not come to trial? What if the killer was never found? What if he or she or possibly they simply went on living in Pitcherville with nobody the wiser? Would anybody in town be safe then? Wouldn’t the murderer feel confident that he could do away with anyone he chose, any time he took the notion?

Janet gave the tea kettle a nervous jerk at the wrong moment, and sent a stream of boiling water coursing across her hand.

“For God’s sake, watch what you’re doing!”

Bert grabbed his sister’s arm, gazing in horror at the rising blisters.

“Let go, Bert. That hurts.”

It did more than hurt. The pain was making her sick. Her knees felt wobbly. Janet walked very carefully to the rocking chair by the window and sat down.

“There’s some salve in the medicine chest.”

That was what she meant to say, but she had trouble forming the words. The next thing she knew, Bert was sloshing at her face with a wet dishrag. She tried to push his hand away.

“Stop it! What are you doing that for?”

“You almost passed out on me. Jesus, what a time for the doctor to die!”

“I’m all right. It was just the shock of it.”

It was too many shocks in too short a time, but how was she to explain all that now? Bert was rummaging in the first-aid supplies, bringing ointment and bandage, trying to cover up the burn and making a ham fist of it.

“I’d better get Gilly back here.”

“What could she do?”

“How do I know?” He was sweating and yelling, angry at his own helplessness. “She’s a doctor’s daughter, isn’t she? She must know what to do in an emergency.”

“Simmer down, Bert. I’m not going to die of a scalded hand. Eat your dinner so you can get back to work.”

“You don’t expect me to leave you here alone all afternoon? What if you should faint again? You could fall and crack your skull like Doc Druffitt.”

That was definitely the wrong thing to say. Janet felt the wave of nausea again, then that wet dishrag slopping her face. Bert scooped her out of the rocking chair, carried her into the front room and plunked her down on the chesterfield.

“Now stay there and don’t try to move. I’m going next door and get Gilly or Marion.”

“Please don’t. They’ve got more on their hands than they can cope with already, between Gilly’s troubles and Elmer’s father making all that foofaraw over the patent.”

“Then I’ll send Sam down for that Fewter woman we had when Annabelle was laid up. She’ll be better than nobody.”

“Not much,” sniffed his sister. “All right, do that if it’ll make you feel any better. Tell Dot to plan on staying the night. I’ll need help getting my clothes off and on with this bunged-up hand. And be sure to phone Fred Olson and explain why I can’t come this afternoon.”

“Hell, what difference does that make?”

“Bert, I want Fred told!”

“Well, all right, don’t get het up over it. For Christ’s sake take it easy till that hand heals over. One sick woman in the family’s enough for me.”

After he’d gone and it was safe to close her eyes without getting resuscitated, Janet lay still on the couch, trying to rest and think. In a way, she, too, was a victim. If she hadn’t been so upset over the murders, she wouldn’t have had the accident. That was the way these things went, like weeds getting a foothold in a garden. If they weren’t rooted out, they’d spread until they choked out all the good plants and you had nothing left but weeds.

Dot came. Janet got her to help her up to her room and get her clothes off. In a loose nightgown between clean sheets and dosed with aspirin, she felt easier. Having lost so much sleep the night before, she managed to drop off and sleep away the better part of the afternoon. At suppertime she struggled into a housecoat and came down, over Bert’s protests.

“For Pete’s sake, stop mother-henning me, Bert!” she retorted. “I never got to eat my dinner, and I’m starved.”

“Dot could bring you something on a tray.”

“No, thanks.” She’d already had one of Dot’s trays at teatime, and a sloppier mess she never wanted to face.

“Well, then, if you feel up to it.” He even went so far as to pull out her chair for her. “Maybe a hot meal would do you good.”

Luckily she’d put together a casserole before she hurt herself. Dot had only to warm it up and fix some vegetables for salad. Bert had to rush through supper again since the Owls were to perform some esoteric ritual at the funeral parlor. Thanks to Janet’s clumsiness, he’d have to make do with his feathered helmet and his good gray suit instead of his full regalia.

“I hope I can get Elmer Bain to drive over to the cleaner’s tomorrow morning and pick up Bert’s Owl tunic so he’ll have it for the funeral,” Janet remarked to Dot after her brother had left. “Elmer’s a pretty decent sort, isn’t he? I never really got a chance to know him till now.”

“Elmer ain’t a bad scout, far’s I know,” Dot agreed with her mouth full. “Kind o’ quiet. Them Bains don’t waste nothin’, not even words. Say, that’s a hot one! I got to tell Sam.”

“Yes, why don’t you?” said Janet. “Elmer doesn’t seem to take after his father much, does he?”

“Favors his ma. Miz Bain was a nice enough woman for all she was a McDermott. Gee, no, thanks. If I take one more bite, I’ll bust wide open.” Dot laid down her fork with obvious regret. “Sam always says you folks set the best table in town. If I was at Miz Druffitt’s now, I’d be lucky to get a fried-egg samwitch, an’ she’d be countin’ how many grains o’ sugar I put in my tea.”

It would take her a while to count them, Janet thought, the way Dot was ladling it in. How that woman managed to stay so thin on what she ate was another unsolved mystery. Dot was built a good deal like both Elizabeth Druffitt and Marion Emery, now that Janet happened to notice. If the woman would go a little easier on the makeup and do something about her clothes and hair, she might almost pass for another cousin.

Dot rambled on. “Miz Treadway, now, she’d give you all you was o’ mind to eat, such as it was. But Miz Druffitt, boy, I can tell you an ant would starve to death in that woman’s garbage can. She’s got stuff in that house from the year 1, boxes piled up in the attic right to the eaves, and closets full o’ clothes she must o’ bought thirty years ago, just hangin’ there.”

It did seem a pity, Janet had to agree, that good stuff should be let go to waste like that when some poor soul—Dot, for instance, no doubt—could be getting the wear out of it. Still she wasn’t keen on the idea of sitting here with the hired help gossiping about a woman whose husband was to be buried the next day. She found, though, that Dot was a lot easier to turn on than to shut off.

“She sure is a caution to work for! She’ll put on white cotton gloves an’ run her fingers over the furniture lookin’ for dust.” Dot shrugged. “It’s no skin off my nose if she wants to ruin a perfectly good pair o’ gloves. The doctor wanted to send for one o’ them foreign maids once, but Miz Druffitt wouldn’t hear of it. They’d have had to board her, see. ‘An’ besides,’ she says, ‘she might be pretty and it would cause talk.’”

“Naturally Mrs. Druffitt wouldn’t want to cause talk,” said Janet. Nobody ever wanted to in Pitcherville, but somehow a lot of people did.

“Oh no, Miz Druffitt’s dead set against talk,” Dot replied, not recognizing the irony, as Janet hadn’t really expected her to. “That’s why she’s always at Gilly to move back home. ‘What do you think people are saying,’ is how she goes on, ‘you living like a pauper when you have a lovely home to come back to?’ Gilly always gets sore an’ says, ‘Who the hell cares what anybody says?’ so her ma might as well save ’er breath. They’ve had some rare ol’ hairtangles, I c’n tell you.”

Dot decided she could manage one more cookie. “Soon as Miz Treadway died, Miz Druffitt started on Gilly to live up here at the Mansion but Gilly wouldn’t go for that one, neither. Can’t say as I blame ’er there. Ain’t it kind of lonesome, bein’ stuck up here where there’s nothin’ to see an’ nobody to talk to? At least down in the village there’s somethin’ doin’ all the time, even if it’s only Fred Olson fixin’ somebody’s flat tire.”

That reminded Janet of the appointment she’d wanted so desperately to keep. “I hope Sam gave Fred my message,” she fretted. “I was going to see him this afternoon.”

Dot pounced. “What about?”

Good grief, what had she used for an excuse? Janet racked her brain. “Oh just an old pan I was hoping he could fix. It belonged to my sister-in-law’s grandmother.”

Dot chewed the last bite of cookie. “You got a fat chance of gettin’ any work out o’ Fred till after the funeral. He’ll be ‘owlin’ all day tomorrow. They’re marchin’ in solemn procession all the way to the graveyard.”