Invitation to Murder

by Zenith Brown

  Fish jolted himself back to life. I’ll stay put till you call me. Thank God, he thought.

  “Sure.” He moved back, glancing hastily at the sofa. She’d taken her raincoat and tennis shoes with her. “Sit down.”

  The two of them had been up a long time. Neither was shaved. Bestoso’s black beard and B. Meggs’s sandy one gave the first a disreputable and the second a raffish character that the streaks of smut across their faces and on their clothes did not help.

  “What’s up?”

  Bestoso sat down, dead-beat. B. Meggs propped himself against the fireplace as before and got out a cigarette, very quiet, not looking anywhere except at the cigarette.

  “This is B.’s idea,” Bestoso said. “He thought you could brief us before we barge in on ’em over at the house. It’s about a blue convertible, Virginia license.”

  There is a point below which the human heart cannot sink, and Fish Finlay had thought his was already there. He sat down on the arm of the sofa and reached in his pocket for a cigarette. His lighter was on his bedside table, so he reached for a match, lighted the cigarette and flicked the match into the fireplace, his eyes resting for an instant on the black ashes of the papers there, less than a yard from B. Meggs’s mud-stained feet.

  “What about the blue convertible?”

  “It’s a wreck,” Bestoso said shortly.

  Fish had already heard the movement in the kitchen. B. Meggs had heard it too. There was nothing to do. Fish was beyond the point of doing anything, when Jenny Linton pushed the door open and flashed into the room.

  “What’s a wreck? Not my . . . Peter didn’t wreck my new car?”

  CHAPTER : 21

  Fish Finlay put his cigarette in the ash tray. She was barefooted, his rumpled striped pajamas rolled around her ankles, his bathrobe hitched up around her waist, one corner dragging, one sleeve rolled up and the other hanging, her head tousled, face pale, eyes wide with alarm. Bestoso’s black bearded jaw had dropped, so even had the sandy stubbled jaw of B. Meggs, for whatever hollow satisfaction Fish Finlay could get from that as he pulled himself together once more and got to his feet.

  “This is Miss Jennifer Linton, gentlemen,” he said calmly. “Miss Linton, Lieutenant Bestoso of the Newport Police, and Mr. B. Meggs of the New York Courier Graphic.”

  Her eyes widened and she swallowed. Then for a fragment of an instant, Fish could have leaped across the intervening space and kissed her. He was proud of her. She straightened her shoulders just a little and moved her tousled head, looking from one to the other of them with simple dignity.

  “How do you do, Lieutenant Bestoso . . . Mr. Meggs.” She looked down at her bare feet and over at Fish. “I’m sorry I haven’t any shoes on. They’re too wet.” She looked quickly back at Bestoso. “What about the blue convertible? And Peter? He . . . he wasn’t hurt, was he?”

  She came over to the sofa and sat down, putting her feet up under her, her face paler. Fish sat down. It took Bestoso a moment. He rubbed his hand over his eyes. B. Meggs relaxed his spine back against the fireplace, looked intently at the ash that had lengthened on his cigarette, moved his hand down and knocked it off into the fireplace.

  “It’s your car, Miss Linton?” He took a slip of paper from his pocket. “Virginia tags.” He read the license number.

  She nodded. “What’s happened to it?” Her voice was taut. Fish saw her hands gripped tightly in his bathrobe sleeves.

  “We traced it through the people serviced it for you yesterday morning,” Bestoso said gravely. “This Peter you mentioned. Who is he?”

  Jenny looked at Fish, her lips dry.

  “Peter de Gradoff,” Fish said. “We assumed it was he who took Miss Linton’s car out this morning, round three-thirty or so. He’s a cousin of Miss Linton’s stepfather, staying here at Enniskerry.”

  “Tall? Dark-haired?” B. Meggs asked. Fish nodded.

  “He’s dead, isn’t he . . . ?” Jenny whispered. She looked from one to the other of them.

  Bestoso nodded. He seemed reluctant to go on.

  “Tell her, Art,” B. Meggs said quietly. “She can take it.”

  “You tell her then. You saw it.”

  B. Meggs nodded. “He had a date with a girl roomed across the hall from me, lodginghouse on Thames Street. Picked her up round three-thirty. Went out the West Road. Going fast. Raining. Road’s wet. Made a sharp right turn. Next thing I saw, burst of flame. I got there, minute later, thing was a mess. Couldn’t get near it. Hit a stone fence. Jar must’ve released top, it was back, girl thrown out, over in the field. He was caught, didn’t have a prayer.”

  Jenny’s lips were ash-white. “Poor Mrs. Emlyn,” she whispered.

  Bestoso looked at Fish.

  “His aunt. She’s visiting at Enniskerry too. She’s the one you’ll have to tell.”

  He looked from one to the other of them himself. There was more than this. They weren’t saying it because Jenny was there. There was an uneasy gap between things. Why B. Meggs had been on the road behind them, for example. He glanced at Jenny, uneasy about her too, she was sitting there so white and silent.

  “You knew he had your car, Miss Linton?” Bestoso asked.

  She shook her head. “I just assumed he did, because I thought he’d taken it the night before. There were some bobby pins between the seats and thirty-five miles extra on the speedometer. I knew, because I was—well, it was my first car, and I was watching for the one thousand miles, for the checkup. That’s how I noticed somebody had used it after the Randolphs’ party. And I didn’t mind him using it, so much, except he made fun of my driving . . . not fast enough for him.”

  “He’s not making fun of it now.” Bestoso hesitated, rubbing his hand over his beard. “If it’s okay with you, Finlay,” he said abruptly, “B. and I’ll wash up before we go over to the house.”

  B. Meggs unwound himself from his espaliered position against the mantelpiece and followed them through the kitchen into Fish’s room.

  “There’s the bath,” Fish said. He nodded toward it and closed Jenny’s door.

  “Come on in,” Bestoso said. He went into the bathroom, B. Meggs and Fish filing in after him, closed the door, went over to the washbowl mirror and looked at himself. B. Meggs sat on the edge of the tub, Fish straddled the bathroom chair, waiting.

  “I didn’t want to say too much in front of the kid in there. There’s damn near nothing left of the car.”

  He pulled off his coat and tie and turned his shirt collar under.

  “Or Peter. The girl’s in the hospital. May pull through, may not. They’re going over what’s left of the car now. It’s B. here that—”

  “I admit you’ve got a beef, Art,” B. Meggs said. “If it’d worked, been swell.”

  “No beef.” Bestoso turned on the hot water and changed the blade in Fish’s razor. “You bastards just make it harder, that’s all. It’s my job. I don’t expect you to do it for me.”

  “Told you about the strawberry blonde across the hall.” B. Meggs turned to Fish. “Seems the Frenchman gives her an envelope, sealed and stamped, mail if anything happens to him. Had some reason think he could trust her. Anyway, she was willing to sell. Landlady told her I was a reporter. From way she described it, got the idea was addressed to Sûreté. She wanted cash on barrelhead, I said no dice.”

  “I use a straightedge at home,” Bestoso said, swearing quietly from the washbowl.

  “She said okay, if I didn’t want it, society fella did,” B. Meggs went on. “I’d have called Art but phone’s down front hall, didn’t want society fella to show up while I’m gone, figured if I tagged him Art could pick him up with the goods. He came in the blue convertible, she was waiting in the hall, popped out with envelope, popped in car, I tagged along in mine, rest you know. Hadn’t been for car burning, I’d been Art’s white-haired boy.”

  “No trace of any envelope left,” Bestoso said through the towel. “If B.’s telling the truth.”

  “It’s the truth
, Art. If I’d found it, I’d put in anonymous call for ambulance and left. Wouldn’t hung around.”

  “Okay, it’s burned up then.” Bestoso swore again. He moved away from the bowl. “Your turn, B.” He put on his tie and coat and took B. Meggs’s place on the side of the bathtub. “What I’m getting at is something else.” He looked intently at Fish. “Say the society fella is this de Gradoff. It’s the first tie-in I’ve had with anybody interested in the frog dick. That’s a help. So I come here and find Miss Linton’s spent the night here when her own house is just across the yard. She doesn’t look to me like she’s been here for fun, Finlay. So who’s she scared of? Or did she have a row with her family? What’s this de Gradoff’s interest?”

  He got up, looking over at B. Meggs. “You look better. Make it snappy if you’re coming with me. I’m not asking you for an answer yet, Finlay. What I want you to do is keep Miss Linton here till I get back. That’s a police order. I want her here till I check on a couple of things. And I could hold the two of you as material witnesses. I’ll let it ride if you’ll give me your word. . . .”

  “Sure.” Fish opened the door in the bedroom passage to let them out into the clock tower hall.

  “Wouldn’t like to hold everything till I get a camera man, would you, Finlay?” B. Meggs asked.

  “You go to hell,” Fish said. He said to Bestoso, “I don’t think her mother knows she’s here, yet.”

  “She’s had plenty time to get here since breakfast,” Bestoso said calmly. “I don’t have to mention the rig she’s wearing. If you’re smart, you’ll get her out of it. I’ll have to say I’ve seen her.”

  He went down the stairs, B. Meggs trailing. Fish turned and went back into the kitchen. Jenny was at the counter heating up the coffee. She stopped, her back to him, her head down a little.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “Just terribly sorry. I didn’t want to go to the Reeves’s because it would be all over Newport, and now . . . now it’ll be all over everywhere. Another Maloney gone to the dogs, all over the front page. I’m . . . I’m awfully sorry. But I’m sorrier for Peter, and that girl. That’s a horrible thing to happen.”

  Fish nodded. His impulse to give her unshirted hell for not staying in her room had died quietly as she spoke. He went over to put his arms around her and caught himself just in time. He cleared his throat.

  “The present point is to get you some clothes.”

  She stiffened a little. “It’s perfectly simple. Just call Enniskerry and ask Elsa to bring me some. There’s no use trying to lie about it now. What’s done is done. If you don’t want to do it, I will.”

  He went in to the telephone and gave a number. She came to the kitchen door. “That isn’t Enniskerry.”

  “Mr. Reeves, please,” Fish said, and saw her eyes widen. She went to the sofa and put her coffee cup down, watching him miserably.

  “Fish Finlay, sir. I’ve got a problem here. Could you come right over? To the stable, not the house.”

  “Five minutes,” Reeves said without a pause, and Fish heard the foggy buzz of the line in his ear. He waited a moment and gave the operator the Enniskerry number. It was Moulton who answered, for what temporary relief that was.

  “Mr. Finlay, Moulton.” He tried to make his voice sound as matter-of-fact as Reeves’s “Five minutes” had been. “Miss Linton would like Elsa to bring over some clothes. From scratch.”

  There was a pause. He was about to repeat it when he heard Moulton’s voice.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” he said. “Miss Linton is not in. She left half an hour ago. She’s having breakfast with Mr. Finlay at the stable. But the maid is going over in a few minutes to straighten the apartment, if you’d care to leave a message, sir.”

  “Heaven bless you, Moulton,” Fish said.

  “Thank you, sir. I’ll ask the maid to tell Miss Linton you called.”

  He put the phone down. “Moulton says you left half an hour ago to have breakfast here, and Elsa’s coming. So what about an egg, Miss Linton?”

  He expected her to smile back at him, at least, but her face, blank at first, went slowly paler, her eyes wider.

  “Jenny . . . what is it? He’s just trying to help. Nobody knows you weren’t at home.”

  “I know.” She had to moisten her lips before she spoke. “That . . . that’s the trouble.”

  “I don’t understand, Jenny.”

  She got up, hitching his robe to keep from falling over it, went quickly to the phone and asked for a number. He waited blankly.

  “Oh, Mr. Vranek . . . this is Jennifer. How are you people this morning? Oh . . . good. I just . . . wanted to know. There was an accident last night. Peter de Gradoff had my car out. It skidded on the wet road. Yes, it’s terrible. The police are here now. I’m at the stable. With Mr. Finlay. Thanks . . . goodbye.”

  She put the phone down, swallowed hard, and pushed her hair back from her forehead. “I was afraid something could have happened to my grandfather. Because Nikki was out, Fish. I didn’t make that up. He . . . he mustn’t have seen me, after all. He’d tell my mother if he had, just to make trouble for you. But I know he was out . . . and he must have been doing something.”

  He looked at her, troubled. “Did you see him, Jenny?”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t see him. But I knew it was him. It was so dark, and it was raining. But I heard him, Fish. I knew it was—”

  She broke off and looked at the hall door, then turned and looked back through the kitchen. “Thank you, Elsa,” she said steadily. “Just leave them in the second bedroom. Thanks ever so much. You can do Mr. Finlay’s room. I’ll do mine if you’re in a hurry.”

  “You’d better go and put them on.”

  She shook her head. “No. I’ll wait till Mr. Reeves comes. He might as well know the worst before he sees it in the papers.”

  “I don’t think B. Meggs is a swine.”

  “No. He’s a reporter and the Maloneys are news. My mother always has been and I’m her daughter. I don’t expect him not to do his job because of me.”

  A car stopped in front. Jenny waited with her eyes on the door. Caxson Reeves knocked and came in. He was dressed for church, and shockproof as Fish had always known him to be, he was not impossibly so. He stopped dead in the doorway.

  “Well, bless my soul.”

  Jenny’s pale cheeks flushed. She sat down and pulled Fish’s robe around her. “I’ve got clothes,” she said. “But this is the way the newspaper reporter saw me. I thought you’d better know.”

  Reeves looked at Fish. His hooded lids that had opened wide for a moment drooped back. He came on into the room.

  “I can see what your problem is.” He cleared his throat. “Hippolytus,” he added dryly.

  Fish Finlay flushed.

  “Hippolytus? That’s Nikki’s middle name,” Jenny said.

  “The wrong man has it then.” Reeves sat down in the wing chair where Bestoso had sat.

  Jenny looked blankly at Fish.

  “It’s the name of a Greek play,” he said curtly.

  “I’ve never had any Greek plays.”

  “He was a young man whose exalted opinion of his own virtue offended the gods,” said Caxson Reeves. “And got everybody in a great deal of trouble, including himself.”

  “But . . . it’s me that’s got Fish in trouble,” said Jenny calmly. “It’s my fault. My mother’s making him leave the stable, and I wanted him to take me with him, because I’m afraid to stay over there.”

  “And he refused,” Reeves said quietly. “That’s what I meant by ‘Hippolytus.’ “ He ignored Fish Finlay, uncomfortably hot under the collar. “It would have been a very simple matter for him to tell the reporter you were going to be married, and make a romantic story instead of an unpleasant one.” His voice was even crustier than usual.

  “I asked him to marry me,” Jenny said, also as if Finlay were anywhere else. “But it was a mistake. He doesn’t want to.”

  “He wants to,” Reeves said. �
�It’s his pride. Because he’s lost part of a leg. Because you’re very young. Chiefly, because you’re very rich.”

  “Rich?” Jenny’s eyes opened wider. “I’ve never had money enough to do anything any of the other girls at school did. Yesterday I didn’t have money enough to buy gas for my car. I had to ask the man to let me pay him when I get my allowance next month. And I won’t get it unless I go abroad with my mother and Nikki. She didn’t say so right out, but that’s what she meant. I know that tone of voice. And now everybody knows I won’t have anything for a long time. At the Randolphs’ dance they thought I was rich. Last night at the Chalet what I told Nikki at the restaurant had got around and I didn’t have more than two or three beaux left. Except Peter. I don’t know whether he and Mrs. Emlyn knew mother was supposed to be killed. Maybe it was because I’d said I’d have the whole Trust in a year or two and they figured the wait would be worth it. But I’ve . . . I’ve got to get a job next week, because I won’t go abroad with mother and Nikki. Maybe I could stay with you people, Mr. Reeves, till Anne comes home or I get some place to live.”

  “You’re welcome to, Jennifer.”

  Caxson Reeves looked at Fish, aridly inscrutable.

  “And as for being young,” Jenny said soberly, “even my mother said she thought I’d marry somebody older, because I’ve been . . . dispossessed, is what she said.”

  She got up, hitched the robe higher and went to the kitchen door. “I’ll go get my clothes on. And I don’t want him to marry me if he doesn’t like the idea.” Her face was a pale heart-shaped blank. “I didn’t mean to try to . . . to force him. I didn’t think about the money, because it’s never meant anything but trouble to me, and I didn’t think about my age. I just thought it was because of his leg he wouldn’t ask me, and I had to ask him. Because Rusty Red, he’s a horse at Dawn Hill, he tore his leg on the barbed wire and we thought we’d have to shoot him, but we didn’t. He can’t run but his foals are the only one’s we’ve ever sold for anything like a decent price.”

  Fish saw Caxson Reeves start, and he himself started practically off the arm of the sofa before he managed to steady himself enough to speak.