Black Orchids (16 page)

But that was a mistake, not looking at her. For completely without warning she turned into a streak of lightning. It was so sudden and swift that I was still in my chair when she grabbed the sliver of glass from Wolfe’s desk, and by the time I got going she had whirled and gone through the air straight at Larry Huddleston, straight at his face with the piece of glass in her fingers. Everyone else moved too, but no one fast enough, not even Larry. Daniel got his arms around her, her left arm pinned against her, and I got her other arm, including the wrist, but there was a red streak across Larry’s cheek from beneath his eye nearly to his chin.

Everybody but Janet was making noises, some of which were words.

“Shut up!” Wolfe said gruffly. “Archie, if you’ve finished your nap-“

“Go to hell,” I told him. “I’m not a genius like you.” I gave Janet’s wrist a little pressure. “Drop it, girlie.”

She let the piece of glass fall to the floor and stood rigid, watching. Brady examined Larry’s cheek.

“Only skin deep,” Brady said, unfolding a handkerchief. “Here, hold this against it.”

“By God,” Larry blurted, “if it leaves a scar-“

“That was a lie,” Janet said. “You lied!”

“What?” Larry glared at her.

“She means,” Wolfe put in, “that you lied when you said you neither desired nor intended to marry her. I agree with her that the air was already bad enough in here without that. You fed her passion and her hope. She wanted you, God knows why. When your aunt intervened, she struck. For revenge? Yes. Or saying to your aunt, preparing to say, ‘Let me have him or I’ll ruin you?’ Probably. Or to ruin your aunt and then collect you from the debris? Possibly. Or all three, Miss Nichols?”

Janet, her back to him, still facing Larry, did not speak. I held onto her.

“But,” Wolfe said, “your aunt came to see me, and that frightened her. Also, when she herself came that evening and found that picture here, the picture you had carried in your watch, she was not only frightened but enraged. Being a very sentimental young woman-“

“Good God,” Brady muttered involuntarily. “Sentimental!”

A shudder ran over Janet from top to bottom. I pulled her around by the arm and steered her to the red leather chair and she dropped into it. Wolfe said brusquely:

“Archie, your notebook. No-first the camera-“

“I can’t stand it!” Maryella cried, standing up. She reached for something to hold onto, and as luck would have it, it was Brady’s arm. “I can’t!”

Wolfe frowned at them. “Take her up and show her the orchids, doctor. Three flights. And take that casualty along and patch it up. Fritz will get what you need. I advise you to smell the iodine.”

At six o’clock that evening I was at my desk. The office was quiet and peaceful. Wolfe had done it up brown. Cramer had come like a lion with a squad and a warrant, and had departed like a lamb with a flock of statements, a confession, a murderer, and apoplexy. Despite all of which, loving Cramer as I do, when I heard the elevator bringing Wolfe down from the plant rooms I got too busy with my desk work to turn around. Intending not even to acknowledge his presence. The excuse he had given for keeping Maryella there was that it was impossible for her to return to Riverdale as things stood, and there was no place else for her to go. Phooey.

But I got no chance to freeze them out, for they went right on by the office door, to the kitchen. I stuck to my desk. Time went by, but I was too irritated to get any work done. Towards seven o’clock the bell rang, and I went to the front door and found Doc Brady. He said he had been invited, so I took him to the kitchen.

The kitchen was warm, bright, and full of appetizing smells. Fritz was slicing a ripe pineapple. Wolfe was seated in the chair by the window, tasting out of a steaming saucepan. Maryella was perched on one end of the long table with her legs crossed, sipping a mint julep. She fluttered the fingers of her free hand at Brady for a greeting. He stopped in astonishment, and stood and blinked at her, at Wolfe and Fritz, and back at her.

“Well,” he said. “Really. I’m glad you can be so festive. Under the circumstances-“

“Nonsense!” Wolfe snapped. “There’s nothing festive about it; we’re merely preparing a meal. Miss Timms is much better occupied. Would you prefer hysterics? We had a discussion about spoon bread, and there are two batches in the oven. Two eggs, and three eggs. Milk at a hundred and fifty degrees, and boiling. Take that julep she’s offering you. Archie, a julep?”

Brady took the julep from her, set it down on the table without sampling it, wrapped his arms around her, and made it tighter. She showed no inclination to struggle or scratch. Wolfe pretended not to notice, and placidly took another taste from the saucepan. Fritz started trimming the slices of pineapple.

Maryella gasped, “Ah think, Ah’d bettah breathe.” Wolfe asked amiably, “A julep, Archie?” I turned without answering, went to the hall and got my hat, slammed the door from the outside, walked to the corner and into Sam’s place, and climbed onto a stool at the counter. I didn’t know I was muttering to myself, but I must have been, for Sam, behind the counter, demanded: “Spoon bread? What the hell is spoon bread?” “Don’t speak till you’re spoken to,” I told him, “and give me a ham sandwich and a glass of toxin. If you have no toxin, make it milk. Good old wholesome orangutan milk. I have been playing tag with an undressed murderess. Do you know how to tell a murderess when you see one? It’s a cinch. Soak her in iodine over night, drain through cheesecloth, add a pound of pig chitlins-what? Oh. Rye and no pickle. Ah think Ah’d bettah breathe.”

I have never mentioned it to him, and I don’t intend to. I’ve got a dozen theories about it. Here are a few for samples:

1. He knew I would go to the funeral, and he sent that bunch of orchids purely and simply to pester me.

2. Something from his past. When he was young and handsome, and Bess Huddleston was ditto, they might have been-uh, acquainted. As for her not recognizing him, I doubt if his own mother would, as is. And there’s no doubt he has fifteen or twenty pasts; I know that much about him.

3. He was paying a debt. He knew, or had an idea, that she was going to be murdered, from something someone said that first day, and was too damn lazy, or too interested in corned beef hash with chitlins, to do anything about it. Then when she was ready for burial he felt he owed her something, so he sent her what? Just some orchids, any old orchids? No, sir. Black ones. The first black orchids ever seen on a coffin anywhere on the globe since the dawn of history. Debt canceled. Paid in full. File receipted bills.

4. I’ll settle for number three.

5. But it’s still a mystery, and when he catches me looking at him a certain way he knows darned well what’s on my mind.

A.G.

THE END