Hildegarde Withers Makes the Scene (17 page)

“Far from it. A superb subject and a genuine talent save it from that. Last night on the yacht there was a young artist named Leslie Fitzgerald. She said that she had painted two murals for this restaurant.”

“Was Leslie aboard last night? I didn’t realize it. The mural is hers. The other is in the dining room.”

“I saw it as we came in. It, too, is exceptional.”

“Yes. Leslie has rare talent. Perhaps genius.” Alura turned abruptly toward Captain Kelso. “What did you want to see me about, Captain?”

The captain, his attention directed, was caught in the act of admiring Alura in the altogether. A dull red stain suffused his face and crept upstairs into his scalp. “We’re just after verification. Your sister told us a rather incredible story.”

“No doubt you are aware, Captain, that Aletha is given to telling incredible stories. She lives, indeed, in a kind of fantasy world where one believes what one desires, and it is often difficult to separate imagination from reality. However, you are referring, I suppose, to the episode of the Latter Day Vigilantes. Unfortunately, I fear, that is substantially true.”

“Did you know about all this when it was going on?”

“No. The first I knew about it was when this man who called himself Bruno Wagner showed up at my house several nights ago. There was a dreadful scene. It was all I could do to force him to leave. Aletha’s husband was thoroughly terrified. Captain Westering, as he was calling himself, was something of a coward. An imposing coward, I grant you. He had a magnificent façade.”

“I get the impression that you didn’t like your brother-in-law.”

“That didn’t matter. Aletha was completely deluded by him. She saw him as a glamorous and extraordinary man. As, in a way, he was. That’s why she followed him about for over a decade from one escapade to another. If she had ever seen through him, the husk that he was, it would have destroyed her, I’m sure. I didn’t want that to happen. Do you think she shows strangely little grief at his death? That’s because of the way he died. In her eyes, he’s a martyr. He died, you see, in a great cause.”

“Is that why you agreed to invest money in this lunatic voyage?”

“It is. But I never thought that my investment would be considerable. I was convinced that the
Karma
would never sail.”

“I see. You seem to be devoted to your sister.”

“I suppose I am. At least, I’m committed to her, although I had not seen her for many years before she and her husband showed up here. Maybe I feel guilty for having neglected her so long. It might help you to understand if I were to tell you something about our background.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

“Very well. We were born in New Orleans. Our mother was an entertainer. Our father was an Irish adventurer who always seemed to have a finger in some South American or Central American pie. I am five years older than Aletha. Our mother died when Aletha was born. We were farmed out for several years, and saw our father infrequently. Eventually we were placed by him in a convent. When I was old enough, or rather
long
before I was old enough, I escaped and came to San Francisco. I managed to do well for myself, but never mind that. I learned after quite a long time that Aletha had also escaped from the convent. She’d run away with a man. The man you know as Captain Westering. For the next decade I didn’t see them, but I had word from Aletha now and again. Sometimes I sent her money. Then the two of them suddenly appeared here, and Captain Westering cooked up this fantastic scheme for a peace pilgrimage. You know the rest.”

“Not quite. Where did Captain Westering get the money to buy the
Karma
?”

“I don’t know. He obviously had some source of money. When I asked Aletha, she would only say that the means were provided.”

“What did you think after the scene with Bruno Wagner?”

“He accused the captain of being a thief. He may have been.”

“Your sister’s description of this Wagner was vague. Can you do better?”

“He was medium height. Stocky build. Pale blond hair. Otherwise, nothing distinctive.”

“Accent?”

“Not noticeably. Nothing Teutonic or guttural, as the name suggests, if that’s what you mean.”

“Scars?”

“None visible.”

“Do you have any idea where he is now?”

“No. I haven’t seen him since that night.”

“All right. Thanks very much.” Captain Kelso shoved back his chair and stood up, Miss Withers following suit. “I’ll see you again if necessary.”

“If I am not here or at home, there’s always someone who will know where.”

The captain and Miss Withers went out together. The eyes of Alura, larger than life in the mural behind the bar, seemed to follow them as they went.

They were on the bridge above the Gate before Captain Kelso spoke again. “The sisters O’Higgins,” he said, “are something.”

“So,” said Miss Withers, “they are.”

“In my mind,” he said, “Alura no less than Aletha.”

“Nor less,” Miss Withers said, “in mine.”

“Fancy home. Fancy restaurant. Quite a climb for a runaway from a convent. I wonder how she managed it?”

“I’d be interested to know.”

“After I find out, I may tell you. I’ll get on it. On the mysterious Mr. Wagner, too. First I’ll drop you off.”

He did, in front of the Canterbury, and left while she was still on the curb, without promising or threatening to see her again, soon or late. Inside, crossing the lobby to the elevators, Miss Withers was hailed by a familiar voice. Stopping and turning toward it, she saw Al Fister standing in front of a sofa against the exotic background of a potted palm, with an imperious index finger curled in a come-hither gesture. Beside him, still seated on the sofa and looking as if she had never seen a dead body or been suspected of making it dead, was Lenore Gregory. Miss Withers went over and sat down on the sofa, leaving room between herself and Lenore for Al, who promptly claimed the space.

“You are looking remarkably recovered, I must say,” said Miss Withers to Lenore, removing her gorgeous hat and placing it in her lap.

“I feel fine,” said Lenore.

“Is that so? Well, one mustn’t get too confident too soon.” Miss Withers looked suspiciously at Al. “Aloysius, what are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to report,” Al said cheerfully. “Unless, that is, I’ve been fired.”

“Nothing of the sort, young man. You have merely been superseded. Private-eyes must retire when the official police take over.”

“In that case, I guess you wouldn’t be interested in hearing what I have to report.”

“Don’t be difficult. If you have anything of consequence to report, let’s have it.”

“Well, when I got to my buddy’s room this morning, I hit the sack, but I couldn’t sleep very well, and so after three hours or so I got up and started thinking about last night, the murder and all, and I decided to go back down to where the
Karma
’s docked, and I went. The old tub’s all tied up by the fuzz, of course, and I couldn’t get aboard, so I just hung around to see what I could see. I had been there about an hour, I guess, just hanging around, when I saw something. Guess what.”

“Young man, this is no guessing game. Tell me what you saw and be done with it.”

“Well, not what. Who. I saw the guy that I saw sneaking off the yacht last night. At least, I’m pretty sure it was him. Long hair. Dark glasses. And he moved about the same. Sort of erect and quick, if you know what I mean.”

“What did you do?”

“Just what any good private-eye would have done. I tailed him.”

“Heaven help us! Well, never mind. You lost him, of course?”

“That’s a funny thing. I thought I hadn’t, but then I guess I did.”

“Run that past again, if you don’t mind.”

“What I mean is, I followed him to where he was going, but when I checked where he went he wasn’t there.”

“Young man, are you trying deliberately to befuddle me?”

“No, ma’am. Look, Miss Withers. Let me tell you how it was.”

“I’d be delighted.”

“All right. I was standing there on the dock, just watching, and after quite a while this hippie-type suddenly appeared and walked across the dock toward the yacht, but there was a cop there who stopped him. They talked for a minute, the cop probably explaining why he couldn’t go aboard, and then this cat turned and walked away, like I said, sort of erect and quick.”

“If the policeman had had his wits about him, or had been properly informed, he’d have detained this person. Apparently the lines of communication in the Homicide Bureau are not as open as they should be. But go on with your story. Subject departed. Marlowe tailed him.”

“Right. He was afoot, and so I left the Hog and followed likewise. To make a long story short, he went to a kind of flophouse, I guess it was, in the North Beach section where the beatniks started. Actually, the ground floor is a second-hand shop, mostly clothes, but in the window there’s a sign advertising rooms for rent upstairs, and there’s an inside stairway leading directly up to the rooms from the street. The cat I was following went up these stairs, and after a couple of minutes I went up after him. The hall up there makes a jog, across the front of the building, and then runs straight back through the center to the rear. I didn’t know what to do, but pretty soon I decided I’d just knock on doors until I hit the one this cat had gone through, and at least I could get a close look at him and then decide later what else to do. There were only four doors, two on each side of the hall. There wasn’t any answer at the first. There were answers at the other three, all right, but not by the cat I’d followed.”

“Perhaps he was in the room where you got no answer.”

“No. I asked at the next door if anyone was in there, and the man said the room wasn’t rented.”

“Was there a rear stairway?”

“No stairway. There was a bathroom at the end of the hall and a window in the bathroom with a fire escape outside. I checked.”

“Was the window locked?”

“Closed but not locked. He could have gone out that way, all right.”

“If he did, it means that he was familiar with the building. He must have detected you following him and chosen that way to shake you. What did you do when you realized he was gone?”

“What
could
I do? I went back and picked up the Hog and came on here, that’s what I did. You were out with Captain Kelso, but Lenore was here, and we’ve been together here in the lobby waiting for you.”

Saying this, Al looked at Lenore with an expression that Miss Withers considered extremely silly. The ex-schoolma’am, thoroughly acquainted by her experience among the small fry with the sick-calf look, had the distinct impression that her absence had not been especially lamented, nor her return especially welcomed. She stood up and clapped her hat on her head.

“You did well, Al. At least, I suppose, as well as could be expected. I’m going upstairs to bathe and change. If you two will wait until I come down again, I’ll treat you to an early dinner.”

Upstairs, fortunately before she was in the tub, the phone began to ring. Answering it, she was greeted by the distant bark of Inspector Oscar Piper.

“Hildy?”

“How are you, Oscar?”

“
I’m
all right. There’s nothing wrong with
me
. What’s going on out there? What the devil kind of mess have you got yourself into now?”

“Well, of all the abominable Irish ingrates! If I’m in a mess, Oscar, as you put it, it was you, as I recall, who got me into it.”

“I asked you to find a girl for me. Just to do me the simple favor of finding one runaway girl for me. I didn’t ask you to brew up a murder on the side.”

“Don’t be absurd, Oscar. If someone decided to murder someone, I can hardly be held responsible.”

“Well, get out of it. Do you hear? Get right out of it and stay out.”

“Inasmuch as I was on the scene, that’s easier said than done.”

“Is Kelso close to a solution?”

“My dear Oscar, do you expect miracles? The murder was committed only last night. We are working on it.”

“
We
!”

“Captain Kelso and I. He has been most cooperative.”

“Judas Priest! I think I’d better get out there fast.”

“That is unnecessary, I assure you. We are doing quite well without you.”

“What’s the situation of the Gregory girl?”

“It was precarious at first. I’m certain that it’s now improved.”

“Papa wants to know if she needs a lawyer.”

“A lawyer at this stage would be premature. Probably there will be no need for one at all.”

“I still think maybe I’d better fly out.”

“Nonsense. You had better stay at home and attend to your own affairs.”

“Well, you take care of yourself, Hildy. Understand me? Don’t go rocking the boat.”

“As always, Oscar, I’ll practice the utmost discretion.”

She hung up in the middle of his derisive snort. At the end of it, Inspector Piper hung up too.

Miss Withers returned to the business of bathing. Inspector Piper, after a minute’s reflection with corrugated brow, picked up the phone again and called the airport.

T
HE NEXT DAY MISS
Withers was up early, while Lenore still slept, and went down alone to breakfast. Later, stoked with sausage and eggs, she returned to her room. The second twin was empty, and from the bathroom, to which the door was half open in healthy indifference to persnickety propriety, came the sound of luxurious wallowing threaded with the thin silver sound of a young voice, slightly off-key, singing words incomprehensible and gay. Miss Withers sat down with her feet together and her hands folded, a picture of primness that was far from expressing the warmth of her feelings, and waited. In due time, rubbed rosy from head to foot, Lenore popped out of the bathroom and with a mild exclamation stopped short at the sight of Miss Withers. Out of deference to Miss Withers’ refined sensibilities, strictly assumed, she wrapped the bath towel, trailing from one hand, inadequately around her approximate middle third.

“I didn’t know you’d come back,” she said. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Miss Withers said.