Girl on the Best Seller List (21 page)

Louie Stewart sat on the bench in the detention room, head hanging, eyes glassy, looking at nothing, hands limp.

The chief of police shook his head. “Okay, Jay,” he said. “You might as well take over.”

“Before I do, I think someone ought to stop by at the Fultons’ later. It was a shock for the little girl.”

“Her mother, too,” said the chief of police. “I wouldn’t like to be Freddy Fulton tonight.”

“It’s not my business,” said the police surgeon. “Maybe their family doctor … maybe they’re just better left alone.”

“Maybe you’re right,” said Jay. “Anyway, I’ll give them a call before I leave here.”

The police surgeon went over to Louie Stewart and reached down to take his arm. “C’mon, fellow.”

Louie didn’t even look up.

“C’mon,” said the police surgeon. He pulled him up, and Louie did not resist. The pair left the room, Louie shuffling along with a dazed expression to his face while the police surgeon propelled him.

“I guess we have Louie’s mother to thank for solving this thing,” said Mannerheim.

“Do you want to start from the beginning?” said the police chief.

Mannerheim nodded. “The name of the poison is cantharidin,” he began. “The doctor explained that it’s derived from a species of beetle. In its crystallized form, it’s a very violent irritant. It causes blisters if you handle it.”

“Is that how she spotted it?”

“Yes. Min Stewart probably knows as much about pharmaceuticals as her husband did. You know how sharp she is.”

“A hawk.”

“Yes. Well, she was sitting beside Secora at the Wealdons’. His hands were bandaged, but one of the bandages was coming undone. She saw the blisters and she began to put two and two together.”

“When I got there,” said the police chief, “she thought her son did it.”

“I know. I guess she sensed Louie was cracking up, and she was afraid the kid would kill. I never thought he was a killer.”

“I wish I knew why everyone always calls him a kid.”

“He’s not a kid,” said Mannerheim, “that’s true. But you couldn’t call him a man. Anyway — ” “Yes, let’s get it over with.”

“Min noticed Secora’s hands. This was just after the phone call came about Louie being found. Min got me off in a corner and told me she was suspicious about Stanley’s burns. I didn’t pay much attention. He’d told me himself, earlier, that he’d burned his hands, and he’s so clumsy I just didn’t think there was much basis for her suspicions. Besides, she’d been telling me over and over that Louie poisoned Gloria Wealdon. So when she told me Stanley did it, I just figured Min was getting a little hysterical.”

“But you talked to Stanley then?”

“Yes. You were still questioning Virginia Fulton in the kitchen, and Sergeant Carrington, well — ”

“He wasn’t very happy,” said the chief of police. “He was supposed to have the afternoon off.”

“Yes,” Mannerheim nodded. “So I just casually got into conversation with Stanley. I went over and sat by him, and we just began talking. When I asked him how he hurt his hands, he began to blush. He said he’d burned them making candy for Mrs. Wealdon. Then
I
began to get suspicious, particularly when he told me he made only two pieces of candy for her.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“Oh, yes. There were only two.” Jay said. “One of them had only the very slightest amount of cantharidin. The medical examiner says Stanley told him there was no more than one two-hundredths of a grain in that piece. And that’s borne out by the vial he produced, and the emergency autopsy. Mrs. Wealdon got the second piece, the one Stanley really slugged. About three grains’ worth was in that piece.”

“Then the first piece is still missing?”

“She may or may not have eaten that one, too. That’s not important. It wouldn’t do any damage to anyone, not concrete damage. Stanley had intended to eat that piece himself.”

“But I still don’t get it!” said the chief of police. “What did Secora have against Gloria Wealdon?
He
wasn’t in her book, was he?”

“That’s the peculiar part,” Jay Mannerheim answered. “I didn’t read the book carefully, so I can’t say. But Secora claimed there was an odd-jobs character in the novel, one to whom the heroine was very attracted. He was a character named Will, I think. Secora used to help Milo around their place — cut lawns, plant things — you know what a jack-of-all-trades he is. Secora got the idea he was Will in her novel, and he reasoned that she must be attracted to him. Apparently the heroine was afraid to ‘let herself go’ with this Will character, but she was always day-dreaming about him. Well,” Jay shrugged and smiled sadly, “that’s who Secora thought he was: Will. He figured Gloria Wealdon was the heroine and he was Will.”

“That’s a reason to
kill?”
said the police officer.

“Stanley didn’t want to kill her, Dave. You see, he had an appointment with her. He thought he was going to spend the afternoon with her alone. Milo would be at the track meet, he thought, and he’d be alone with Mrs. Wealdon. Stanley wanted to make love to her.”

“He what?”

“And it
could
have worked — if she’d kept the appointment, and if she’d taken the candy with the small dose. Cantharidin, in a tiny dose, acts as an aphrodisiac.”

“Wait a minute — why the
two
pieces?”

“That’s the flaw, Dave. Stanley had no way of knowing, or let’s say no way of comprehending, that cantharidin is a deadly poison. He knew it was an aphrodisiac, and his plan was to give himself just a pinch for a push, and to really slug hers. He had the pieces marked. There was an almond on the piece he intended for himself. What would have happened, probably, would be very nearly the same as what did happen. Gloria Wealdon would have eaten the piece without the almond, and died right before his eyes.”

“But you said she didn’t keep her appointment.”

“She didn’t. But she accepted the candy from him, and he was too nervous and flustered to think what to do. So he simply decided that he would return to her house after she got back from lunch, and try again. The worst Stanley could imagine was that she might have eaten the candy before he got there, and by the time he got there, the effect he’d intended might have worn off.”

“Where the hell did he get the stuff?”

“He’s a loader for Fulton Pharmaceutical Supply. Apparently in the army he’d heard about this cantharidin. He told me all he knew was that it made women ‘hot.’ Even when he burned his hands, he didn’t figure out that it was poison. He said he thought he might be allergic to it, said his skin was sensitive to a lot of things. He had plenty of things wrong with him when he came back after the war, you know that. I don’t think he’s been right since.”

“So he just thought it was something else like that?”

“Yes. He said that was another reason he put so little in his own piece. He said he thought he might be sensitive to it, the way he is to Vitamin C.”

“Oh, Jesus!” said the chief of police.
“This
takes the cake!”

“I know. For a while there this afternoon I actually thought Freddy Fulton’s kid did it.”

“It could have been anybody,” said the officer, “there were so many people in town who hated her!”

“But love killed her,” Jay said, “and there weren’t that many in Cayuta who loved her.”

The police officer sighed. Then he said, “By the way, has anyone located Milo Wealdon yet?”

“Not that I know of.”

“I’ve got Lieutenant Kelly up at the Wealdons’ place in case Milo comes home, but it’s damn strange he can’t be located, wouldn’t you say?”

“It is,” said Jay. “I thought he might have done it, too, earlier.”

Jay picked up his suitcoat and his hat from the chair. “I have to run along now, Dave. I’ll give the Fultons a call, and if everything’s all right there I think I’ll go home.”

“I don’t see how everything could be all right there.”

“You’d be surprised,” said Jay. “People are funny. In a crisis, you can suddenly accept an awful lot you’d never be able to accept under normal circumstances. In a way, it’s a lucky thing Fern Fulton found out about her husband’s affair right at this time. On an ordinary day, she might have cracked up.”

“It’s tough about Min Stewart’s kid. I guess Gloria Wealdon can really chalk one up there.
Could
have, I mean.”

“She just triggered it. It was on its way; it would have happened eventually.”

The police officer said, “Well, I guess we can call it a day now. Some day, huh, Jay!”

“Some day!” Jay Mannerheim agreed.

As he turned to leave the detention room, the officer called him.

“Before you go, Jay, do you mind spelling the name of that poison for me?”

“C-a-n-t-h-a-r-i-d-i-n,” Jay Mannerheim said. “That’s the technical name. It’s in the report. Most people don’t call it that,” he added. “Most people call it Spanish-fly.”

P
ITTS RALEI
drove North on Route 2.

“I’m afraid you’ve made me very late,” he said. “Do you regret it?” “No, but …” “But what?”

“I have to stop and try Mrs. Wealdon’s number again.”

“Now she’s
Mrs.
Wealdon.”

“Well — ”

“Well, will I be
Miss
Dare one day?”

“Edwina — ”

“Will I?”

“You’re making me extremely nervous and I don’t know these roads.”

“I know them. Oh, how I know them!” “Do you have to bring it up?”

“Does it make you jealous, Pitts? I hope it does.”

“What’s that?”

“What?”

“That thing around your neck that keeps clinking.”

“It’s a medal.”

“Oh, are you religious?”

“I have my faith…. It’s a medal of St. John Port Latin. I got it for bravery.”

“I never should have had that last Martini. I never should have had the first one. Beer and Martinis!”

“Now you’re starting to regret everything. In a minute you’ll tell me to get out and walk.”

“No, I won’t tell you that. But remember, you’ll have to stay at the hotel while I dine with the Wealdons.”

“I don’t mind that. I don’t need her help now.”

“You can rest and sleep. I won’t stay there long.” “Then you’ll come back to me, won’t you?” “Yes.”

“You’ll have a horrible time anyway. Milo Wealdon is a terrible bore.” “So I’ve heard.”

“He made me so nervous. He called me Edwin. I felt like a man when he called me Edwin.”

“Did he know about you and Fulton?”

“Sometimes I think he guessed. I think so.”

“We have to stop while I call Gloria. You watch for a place.”

“Pitts.”

“What?”

“Do you think you can sell my book?”

“I’ve only read a few pages. I don’t know. It sounds good, but I don’t want to build your hopes up until I’m sure.”

“But you will let me drive to New York with you? You will help me?”

“Yes,” said Ralei. “Yes.”

“I’ll listen to any suggestions you make about the book. I’m not afraid to take criticism.” “They all say that.” “But I’m really not!”

“I remember how hard it was to get Gloria to make a change.” “Oh, her!”

“Her characters were really quite hard.” “I don’t wonder.”

“Do you remember the book well?” “Yes.”

“Do you remember Will?” “He was the sexiest man in it.” “He was my idea.” “That doesn’t surprise me.”

“No, seriously now. Listen to me, and sit back, for heaven’s sake! I mean it about these roads. They wind.” “All right, Pittsy. I’ll sit back.”

“I don’t know what it is about you upstate women, but you’re certainly a breed apart.” “Why do you say that?”

“Never mind. Let’s get back to Will.”

“Ah, Will, handsome, virile, wonderful Will, with the grass in the cuffs of his pants.”

“Yes. She fought it, you know. She didn’t want her heroine to be attracted to an odd-jobs man. Her heroine was a very cold character.”

“And you changed all that.”

“Yes, I did. The heroine needed softening. She needed some character about whom she felt something more than disgust, or pity, or hatred.”

“Desire!”

“Yes.”

“You’ll find plenty of desire in my book.” “It isn’t a bitter book, then?” “No. I’m not bitter about Freddy.” “Good.”

“There’s a place you can call from, Pitts, there on the right.”

Pitts swung the Sunbeam Talbot into the gasoline station, coming to an abrupt, noisy stop.

“I’ll wait for you,” she said, “but hurry.”

As he walked toward the phone booth, he had ample proof that he never should have had the last Martini. He was very definitely swaying.

Ten minutes later, when Pitts Ralei came out of the phone booth, his face was ashen. He got into the car and started the motor.

“Where’s the nearest bar and restaurant?” he said.

“What?”

“I said where’s the nearest bar and restaurant?” “About a mile before we reach Cayuta.” “You’re hungry, aren’t you?”

“Well, I can eat, if that’s what you mean. But what about Gloria Wealdon?”

“Something’s come up,” he said. “I’m not sure we want to barge in on Mrs. Wealdon just now.”

“I don’t understand you.”

“I know you don’t. Let’s just drop it. Let’s find somewhere we can get a drink.”

“Whatever you say,” Edwina Dare said uncertainly.

Over dinner, after a few drinks, Pitts would tell her. It would not matter much to her, probably. In a sense, it was himself he would have to tell and make believe. He let the woman beside him continue her long palaver about writing and her novel. He tried not to be irritated with the fact that a silly woman (she had become that suddenly) in his automobile was making small talk, while he sat there trying to comprehend that Gloria Wealdon was dead.

He tried to feel real remorse, but you never can right away. He felt just numb. He tried not to hope that this woman sitting beside him, by some miraculous and uncanny twist of fate, might be a crazy kind of godsend replacement for the client who had just died. (How had she died? He could not remember the strange man’s voice on the phone saying how she had died; just that he was a friend of the Wealdons’; just that Gloria was dead.)