by Q. Patrick
After Goody’s cynical, “She’ll never get Tony out of her blood,” Dennie’s passionate young loyalty to a dream was moving. Celia, who had given his compact to Tony, still loved him! It sounded nice. But that was all.
Steve watched Dennie’s pale, intense face. This was the important thing then. The kid thought that just by trying hard enough she could make everything be the way it used to be.
He thought again. What if Celia didn’t give Tony the compact? He said, “You love Celia, don’t you?”
“Of course I do.” Dennie’s lips were trembling. “I love her almost—“ She flushed. “I love her more than anyone in the world. And so do you.”
“Maybe. But that doesn’t make me kid myself.”
“I’m not kidding myself, Steve. I know what I say is true. Oh, if you only could—” She broke off with a little sob. “It’s all Tony’s fault. Oh, how I hate Tony.”
“Enough to kill him?” Steve said softly.
She looked up. Her eyes flickered. “Why did you say that?”
“No reason.”
“Steve.” She gripped his arm. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it? I thought so, ever since I first saw you. Steve, have you seen Tony?”
“I’ve seen him.”
“Where?”
“At his house.”
“Why did you go? You haven’t done anything? You didn’t— make a blunder?”
“Kill him, you mean?”
She was watching him with a growing sensation of horror.
He thought, Why not tell her? A murder’s a murder. Soon everyone will know. Something’s got to be done. Nothing’s been done yet.
Dennie loved Celia. Whatever happened, she’d be an ally, and he had an instinctive need for an ally.
Steve said, “Okay, baby. Drag out the smelling salts. Tony’s dead.”
He thought she’d be able to take it, and he was right. The horror was still in her eyes, but she kept a firm hold on her feelings. She glanced down the counter at the two men who were absorbed in some discussion of their own.
“You, Steve?” she breathed. “You went there and—did it?” Steve shook his head. “I might just as well have killed him, but I didn’t.”
“You found him dead?”
“Yeah. Shot.”
“And you called the police?”
“No.”
“Steve, why not?”
He couldn’t tell her about the compact. That was something to close to him, too tied up with his bride.
“Because—because I was afraid, maybe for Celia.”
“Celia!” Her fingers were clutching his. “When did it happen?”
“Between eight and eight-thirty tonight.”
“Thank God. It couldn’t have been Celia. She was on her way to meet Goody.” Dennie flushed again. “Not that it could be Celia anyway. Of course, it couldn’t. Steve, you know that.”
“I guess I do now. I was just scared, that’s all.”
“And you haven’t called the police.” Dennie stared at him fixedly. “What if someone saw you going here? Since you didn’t call the police, they’ll think you did it.”
“That’s a chance I took,” Steve said grimly.
“Maybe they’re after you already. What are you going to do?”
“Somehow I guess I’m going to find out who really killed him.”
He saw he was committed to that then. He was in too deep to let chance take its course. The first step would have to be Virginia. He’d have to find her and ask her about the compact.
The little voice nagged, What if she denies ever having had it? What if she says Celia’s lying? He tried to suppress the thought. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m going to do something about it right now. I’m going to Virginia.”
“Virginia, Tony’s wife? Why, has she—“ Dennie glanced at the door and broke off. “Roy,” she whispered. “Please, please don’t say anything in front of Roy. He’s so smart. He’ll suspect.” Roy Chappell came toward them and sat down on a stool beside Dennie. Steve had known Roy slightly for years, but he had always thought of him as Celia’s friend. For as long as he could remember, Roy had been around Celia. Some husbands might have resented this passionate obsession, but Steve hadn’t. Roy with his frail, humpbacked body and shock of gray hair was no serious rival. His adoration for Celia was as unphysical as the adoration for beauty which had made him the most famous jewel designer in New York.
“So young Lochinvar is back from the wars.” Roy’s brilliant eyes met Steve’s with a faintly sardonic smile. “That compact I made for you turned out to be love’s labor lost, didn’t it? Too bad. It was very beautiful.”
“It was,” said Steve.
“Poor lovely, lost Celia.” Roy’s lips tightened into a severe line. Then, with a sudden change of mood, he asked, “Well, what have you been doing with my ewe lamb here—whisking her off from me and buying her guilty orange-ades?”
“We were just talking, Roy,” Dennie said quickly.
“So I imagined.” Roy’s gaze shifted back to Steve. “About Celia? Don’t listen to Dennie about Celia, Steve. Dennie’s too young. The young have too much hope. If you want to talk about Celia, buy me an orange-ade and I’ll give you a speech.”
But Steve wasn’t listening. In his mind was a picture of Virginia Dort holding a gun, then carefully aiming it and firing it.
“Some other time, maybe, Roy. I’ve got to shove along now.” Steve rose.
“A date?” Roy asked quizzically. “You’re not wasting much time, soldier.”
“No,” Steve said, “I’m not wasting much time.” He patted Dennie’s soft, bare shoulder. “So long, baby.”
“I’ll see you later?” she asked anxiously.
He looked at her for a long moment, his face tight with weariness.
“Sure. When I’m through.”
“At the apartment. I’ll be waiting. I’ll have Roy take me home.”
“Okay.”
“Steve.” She clutched his hand. “Be careful. Promise?”
“Sure.”
“Careful?” Roy’s bright gaze fixed upon Steve’s face. “You’re not going to see Tony by any chance?” His voice rose sharply.
“Tony? No. Why?”
“I thought you might be just foolish enough to try it. That’s all.” Roy’s gaze did not flicker. “And it would be foolish, you know. Very foolish, indeed.”
VII
Steve found Virginia Dort’s address in a drugstore phone book and headed uptown. He knew he might be running into danger. The police might already be there. But he was still enough of a soldier to have certain contemptuous indifference towards civilian danger.
He was half-kidding himself that he had turned detective to help clear himself. It wasn’t really that. It was the little nagging voice that was sending him to Virginia. Until he actually heard Tony’s wife admitted Tony had given her the compact, he couldn’t be entirely sure that Celia was safe.
And if Celia wasn’t safe, life wasn’t worth living.
He had his plan worked out. Obviously he couldn’t confront Virginia with the compact. If she was guilty she’d know he must have found it at Tony’s and would lie. There was another way. Virginia was essentially conventional. The proprieties were important to her. That was once reason why she had never divorced Tony. He would go to her as Celia’s ex-husband, asking for the return of the last present he had given his wife. It would be rough on his pride, but his pride had been so battered already that a little more humiliation wouldn’t hurt it.
Virginia’s apartment house was like herself, discreetly correct in the discreetly correct East Seventies. A uniformed maid asked him to wait in the hall and took his name though a curtain into an inner room.
It was quiet. No police were around yet, that was certain. Virginia came out quickly. She was still handsome in a fine,
chiseled way, but she looked older, less amiable. Her thin arms drooped from an expens
ive sleeveless gown of dark red crepe.
“Hello, Steve.”
She held out a small hand, stiff with rings.
Steve was very conscious of hands that evening. He looked at hers and wondered.
“I wish I could whip up a brass band for the returning hero. All I can offer, I’m afraid, is a drink and some strictly hen bridge.”
“I can’t stay. I just thought I’d come up and say hello.”
Virginia’s green enamel eyes flickered. “How nice. And I’m dummy right now so I do have a minute. In fact, if need be, we’ll let the bridge fiends scream their heads off. After all, I’ve been at it with them since eight.”
Since eight. It was after eight when Tony was killed. Virginia smiled and put her small hand on his arm. “Okay, conquering hero, let’s go somewhere and sit.”
She led him into a formal library. She sat down on a gold brocade chair. She looked up at him clearly.
“You don’t have to be polite with me, Steve. You’ve come about Celia, haven’t you? I’m sorry. I think she and Tony behaved abominably. You were rather foolish, you know, letting Celia go ahead with the divorce. You ought to have realized Tony wouldn’t go through with his part of the bargain.”
“Because you’d always veto a divorce?”
“Oh, no, my dear. I’m not the villain of the piece.” Virginia laughed, tilting back her head. “I’m awfully useful to Tony. He uses that ‘I’m going to divorce Virginia’ line on all his girls and he knows he’s absolutely safe.” Her face softened. “Too bad it got into your life, though. I liked you. I liked Celia, too.” She paused. “Have you seen her?”
Steve nodded.
“That was silly of you, my dear,” Virginia fitted a cigarette into a red holder. “I know nobody likes advice on these subjects, but I’m going to give you some. Keep away from Celia, Steve. You’re a sweet guy. You’ve probably even got illusions and things. I had them once, before I married Tony. But illusions and ideals don’t thrive around people like Tony and Celia.”
He was trying to investigate a murder and everyone gave him advice for the lovelorn.
“Don’t kid yourself that there’s a chance to patch things up with Celia!” Virginia’s finely molded lips curled behind blue smoke. “Tony’s through with her, yes. But she’s no good for anyone else. No girl who’s been Tony’s girl is any good for human consumption afterwards.” She touched his sleeve. “Forget her, Steve.”
“The way you’ve forgotten Tony?”
Virginia laughed. “My dear, you think I’m still nurturing a hopeless passion for him? Tony and romance went out of my life, hand in hand, almost before the ink was dry on the wedding certificate.”
“But you still see him.” There was a line here.
“Tony? I haven’t seen him in weeks.” Virginia shrugged. “We communicate almost exclusively through lawyers and month separation checks. Of course, he occasionally puts in an appearance if he’s needed at a function. Sometimes, too, he sends me presents. If his conscience is particularly guilty at the time.”
She’d given him his opening.
“As a matter of fact, I’ve come to see you about presents.” He looked down at his hands. He didn’t have to see her face when he said this. “Before I went away, I gave Celia a sort of farewell present. Okay, so I’ve got illusions and things. I guess maybe I’m a hick by your standards. But I’d like that present back.”
“Present, Steve? Why should I know anything about any present you gave Celia? Ask her about it.”
“I did ask her.” Steve made himself look up then. Virginia was watching him in polite, apparently sincere bewilderment. “She gave it to Tony and Tony gave it to you.”
“To me?”
“It was a compact. A white gold compact set with emeralds. Roy Chappell designed it.”
If she denied having it, would it mean she was lying? Or would it mean Celia hadn’t told the truth? He cut the thought, staring at her. To his infinite relief, her face cleared.
“So that’s what it was. I happened to see that compact once in Tony’s apartment. I said I thought it was awfully good-looking. Tony offered it to me. A charming gesture, I knew perfectly well it belonged to one of his girlfriends. I refused it, of course. But a month or so later one exactly like it came through the mail for me. There was a note from Tony, explaining that he’d persuaded Roy Chappell to make a copy.”
“So it was a copy you received.”
“That’s what Tony said. It looked exactly the same as the other one.
Which was which? Had he picked up the copy at Tony’s? Or the original?
Steve said casually, “And you’ve got the copy?”
Virginia opened her small silver purse and held a compact out to Steve. He stared at it. It was identical to the one he had in his pocket. He hadn’t banked on this. If she was speaking the truth, she couldn’t have dropped the other compact at Tony’s tonight. But what if Tony had given her the original and she’d had it copied herself? What if she owned two copies of the compact?
Who could prove her story? Roy Chappell, of course. If he’d made a copy, he’d know who had ordered it.
“Take it, Steve.” Virginia was pressing the compact into his hands. “If I’d known the mess behind it, I’d have died rather than accept it in the first place.”
Steve shook his head. “Thanks Virginia, but a copy wouldn’t mean anything to me. I’m that corny.” He paused, and then brought out the sentence that mattered. “You don’t happen to know who has the original, do you?”
“If I know Tony, and if Celia gave it to him, I’d say he’d have kept it for a rainy day. One of those rainy days when a girlfriend has to be made to feel good in a hurry.” Virginia laughed shortly. “I understand his current girl is called Janice something. She probably has it.”
Eternally Janice, who had been stood up at Sardo’s. “Happen to know her name? Where she lives?”
“My dear, I’ve given up keeping track of my rivals years ago. I believe she lives in Scarsdale, Pelham, or some place drearily adequate like that. Married, I understand.” Her small hands suddenly clenched into fists. “Steve, baby, how can you take all this? You loved Celia. Probably you still love her. If I were you, I’d have killed Tony.”
Steve started. Virginia’s face was pale.
“I’d have killed him if I was Celia, too,” she went on. “Oh, I’ve warned you off Celia, but that doesn’t mean I hate her. Celia’s just another girl who got a raw deal. Better than the others, too. It is Tony who’s the rotter. I outsmarted him. I married him and now I’m in clover. But if he’d done to me what he’s done to Celia, I’d have felt just the way she does.”
“Celia feels—what way?” Steve asked quietly.
“My dear, I don’t know how she feels now. But right after the break up, she wrote him a letter.” Virginia paused and then went on, “It sounds filthy telling you these things, Steve, but you might as well have it straight on the jaw and be done with it. Tony showed me that letter. It amused him, letting me know how het-up his girlfriends could get about him. It was mad, hysterical.
“She said that he’d ruined her life, that she’d never be able to look you in the face again. All that. Tony said he was always going to keep it with him in his wallet so that if ever he was found dead in bed, they’d know what hit him.”
VIII
Hope, sudden, unexpected, surged through Steve. Celia had written Tony that he had ruined her life, ruined her for him, Steve. He remembered what Dennie had claimed about the way Celia felt. Maybe, insanely, in spite of everything, there was still a chance that things could be patched up. The thought was
engulfed by another, much stronger one.
Maybe Tony still had that letter in his wallet. Steve had removed the compact, fingerprints, but if the police found the letter it would lead them straight to Celia.
He said. “And Tony’s still got the letter?”
“I imagine so.” Virginia
was watching him anxiously. “Steve, dear, did I talk out of turn?”
He looked up, trying to grin. “It’s okay, Virginia. I can take it.”
“Darling.” She leaned forward, running her hand lightly over his hair. “My heart bleeds for you. You’ve had the rottenest deal in the world.” She rose then, tall and slender in her clinging red gown. “Will you think I’m a heartless heel if I remind you that I do have guests and I do have a bridge game? I really should go back, you know.”
“Sure,” said Steve. “Sure, Virginia. I understand.”
She went with him to the door. Impulsively she slipped her arms around him and kissed him on the mouth.
“Why is it the nicest people always take the worst beating? You are an attractive guy, Steve. Know that? I’d give my teeth— which I still have, thank God—to be able to solace you right now. But you wouldn’t have any part of me, would you? I’m just a dried-up old hag with my neck gone. It’s too late.”
“Everything seems to be too late,” said Steve.
“Not for you, my dear. A couple of years from now when you’re walking down the aisle with some ravishing new thing on your arm, think of me, baby. I’ll still be here playing bridge with a bunch of old crones. Oh hell! Good night, Steve.”
“Good night, Virginia,” he said, and left…
What he had to do now was really dangerous. He knew that, but the exhilaration that had come at Virginia’s kept him from giving it much thought.
Who owned the compact—Virginia, Janice, or some other girl? None of that mattered now. All that mattered was Celia’s letter. If he didn’t get Celia’s letter before the police got it, the pack would be howling at her heels.
There was only one way to get the letter.
He hailed a taxi. As it rattled downtown, he thought what he would do if he found the police already at Tony’s apartment. He’d try to get in and retrieve the letters anyhow. It would be a terrible risk of course. As soon as they knew he was Celia’s ex-husband, he’d be Suspect Number One. Why not be Suspect Number One?