Figure Away

by Phoebe Atwood Taylor

  Asey sat down. “I don’t think you need have any fears about tomorrow. Or tomorrow night. I got as much endurance as the next, but he done me up. He done Kay up. I sort of hope he’ll rest tomorrow. B’sides, he’s done a number of things he ought to sit down an’ take stock of. On our side, we’ll take stock, too. I’d say that Friday night, he ought to bounce back, bigger an’ better than ever. By that time, maybe we can have doped out what he was after at the hollow tonight. Probably aimin’ to plant somethin’ else.”

  “Plant something else?”

  “Yes, he’s been plantin’, but don’t ask me to go into it now. Maybe if he’d keep on plantin’, we might get some place. Honest, I can’t move. I like to think of our friend somewhere, soakin’ his feet in Epsom salts. You know, someone’s got to cut my shoes off, the way I feel. Tell Brinley to bring Jane in here, will you? An’ you two go in the dinin’ room.” Jeff sighed as he got up. “You may feel that way, but Wes and I are feeling worse. Our adventures in that meadow – Sara hasn’t had a chance to notice this suit yet. That’s the real disadvantage of having a wife, they’re so fussy about clean clothes. You and Wes, Asey, can hang your suits on the line when you want, and send them to the cleaner’s—”

  “Is that so?” Sara appeared in the doorway. “Jeff Leach, you march up this minute, and Weston, you run along and change, too. Neither of you can catch cold till after Sunday. Asey, before – I don’t care if you do have to talk with Jane. Before you do another thing, you go upstairs and take those things off!”

  “Ma’am,” Asey said, “I haven’t anything to change into.”

  “Yes, you have!” Sara said. “I phoned Syl’s wife this evening, and told her to go to your house and get some clothes and have someone bring them over. Those corduroys and jacket and flannel shirt are all right for local color, but that’s no reason why they should grow on you.”

  “I r’sent that,” Asey said. “I been borrowin’ Zeb’s things, an’ I ain’t in no condition to grow anything—”

  “That’s what you think. Don’t you laugh, Weston, you’re worse. Have you any clean flannels? Well, then, go up with Jeff and take those off, and put on some pants of his. I’ll see those get cleaned before tomorrow. All of you, move!” They protested, but they went. Sara watched them go upstairs, and then marched into the dining room to interview J. Arthur.

  “You’re dazzlingly clean,” she said, “but you go along home, before Bessie takes to worrying and coming after you. Sometimes, I think men have no sense.” She saw him out the front door, and then returned to Jane.

  “Now as for you,” she said, “you’ve indulged in enough self-pity. Go up and apologize to Eloise, and answer any questions Asey wants to ask you, and then go to bed. Eloise is irritating, I’ll admit. She irritates me profoundly most of the time. But that doesn’t in the least justify your actions or your words. In your way, you’re quite as irritating, and you’d know it if you weren’t so sure that you were the only pebble on the beach.”

  “Why, Aunt Sara!”

  “I mean it. You’re so occupied with your problems, and your life, and your misfortunes, and particularly your misfortunes – and your two beaus, and your trials and your tribulations – for heaven’s sakes, if you want Mike Slade, take him. He’ll doubtless beat you daily, but he may beat in some sense.”

  “I – why – no one ever talked to me like that in—”

  “That’s the trouble with you. Now you’ve heard the truth, run along.” Sara turned out the lights and walked briskly into the hallway.

  “You’ve been very kind, Dr. Cummings,” she said brightly. “But now we’re going to bed. Zeb, go to bed. You’ve got to be at the store early, I heard you say so. Good night, doctor.”

  “Upon my word, Sara, you’re certainly speeding the departing—”

  “Good night.”

  Sara closed the door behind him, turned the key and shot the bolt above, just as Asey came out of his room.

  “Jeff will lock the door so I’ll be restrained,” she said. “Lord knows I’ve provocation to sleepwalk tonight! And now, good night to you. If you want anyone, they’re where they should be, in bed.”

  Asey was grinning when he went back to his room.

  “Aunt Sara,” he said, “is on the warpath. She’s a great old mopper-upper!”

  “She gave Jane hers,” Zeb said. “Did my heart good to listen.”

  “I’m sorry about this Jane business,” Asey said. “I s’pose, now, your little flurry with the grocery business is all over an’ done with?”

  “Funny thing,” Zeb said, “but I began because of Jane, really. Wanted a nice excuse to stay here, and dad was sore at his listless heir. And now, d’you know, I’ve got quite worked up over – well, Jane’s one thing, but baked beans are another.”

  Asey agreed gravely that there was much truth in what he said.

  “You know,” Zeb went on, “I think I’ll buy a half interest in Matt’s store. Great possibilities. And besides – well, there’s a lot to beans. That sounds like dad, but it’s true. I’m going to get into this end of the business first, and then I want to see what I can do with dad. You know, the family used to be in the spice business – caravans and things. Now as I see the bean situation—”

  He was still running on about the romance of the bean business when Asey fell asleep. Apparently Jane’s stand in defense of Mike Slade hadn’t begun to touch Zeb anywhere near as much as she or anyone else anticipated.

  Tag Day went off smoothly, as Weston had hoped.

  Asey spent the morning with Lane, and in the afternoon he dressed himself up according to Sara’s rigid specifications and took Win Billings’ place on the radio program.

  After the broadcast the golden-voiced Vincent Tripp came over and congratulated him.

  “And you have another accent, don’t you?” he said. “Quite different from your usual – er – speech.”

  “It’s knowin’ so many Boston folks,” Asey explained. “That does it. An’ honest, if a New England native spoke natural on the air, the listeners’d faint. Some day I’m goin’ to take time off an’ teach some of your broadcast actors how we talk up here in the chill provinces. Through the mouth, not half a nostril. So long.”

  Madame Meaux waited at the door for him.

  “Pretty hot,” she said. “Tomorrow you’ll get sixty-one offers of marriage and a thousand letters about how to quadruple your capital. Say,” she lowered her voice, “if you really want to know’ where Honeyboy was Monday night—”

  “J. Arthur? I do. How’d you find out?”

  “Pinky.” Madame Meaux pointed to the orchestra leader. “He dated the girl up last night, and boy, did he walk into a jam! The knife thrower got wise and followed’em, with knives. But before all that happened, Pinky found out from the girl, and he told me today. And say, that dog tag stuff was on the level. The license on his collar is last year’s. What happened last night?”

  “How do you know anything did?”

  “It took Arthur two hours to explain where he’d been,” Madame Meaux said. “The partition’s thin. I couldn’t get to sleep till they finished hashing over old man Billings. What else was there besides him? Arthur gulped a lot.”

  Asey caught her up with the events of the night. As he finished, outside the Town Hall, Slade came rushing up.

  “I got to see you, Asey, right away. Mind if I snatch him, Em? And look. About that money. I’ll pay you Saturday.”

  “Getting religion, Mike?”

  “Getting married,” Slade said. “Okay, Em. Come on, Asey – got your car here? Well, let’s drive somewhere out of the mob and get this settled.”

  On a hill overlooking the bay, Asey stopped the car.

  “Whatever it is you want to settle, let’s have it.”

  “I’ve just seen Jane,” Slade said. “At least, I saw her this noon. She’s terribly ashamed of herself, and so am I. She’s acted badly, and I’ve acted badly, and I’m sorry and so is she.”

 
“What’s come over you?” Asey asked curiously.

  “Well, two things,” Slade said. “Jane and I are going to get married, and I – well, I hadn’t realized the enormity of this until today. I went off half cocked the other night. I knew that the Randalls wanted Jane to marry Chase, and I suppose from their point of view, you can’t blame’em. Not that I think that money is any – well, they don’t know any better. Today, and yesterday, and since I’ve been working and helping with things, I’ve just begun to realize what this means to the town. Prosperity, publicity, no debt – I see why you kept the murder quiet. I’ve just realized what a thing this town undertook – and d’you know, it’s going over?”

  “I’m glad to know it,” Asey said. “I’d forgotten to ask, with everythin’ goin’ on.

  “This week’s going over with a bang,” Slade said. “I forget how much we had this noon, but we’re going to get our hospital. It’ll be small, but we can support it, and we can get the local doctors to – honestly, I’m proud of this damned town! We’ve got enough already this week to pay off our debt, and already we can plan to—”

  Asey let him talk on and work off his enthusiasm.

  “But there’s just one thing that bothers me,” Slade said finally. “What’ll happen when this story does break?”

  “I was sort of hopin’ to clean it up by the end of the week,” Asey told him, “so’s Billingsgate’d have a nice happy climax. But I dunno, Mike.”

  “I’ve an idea, Asey. It’s crazy, but have you ever thought that someone either in the town, or someone who came from here originally, might be sore at it? Suppose they’d been failures, and blame the town. Perhaps among the tourists or the old settlers, there’s one with that type of grudge.”

  “P’raps,” Asey said, “but the feller I chased knew around that region like a book. That lets out tourists – say, that r’minds me. There’s one thing I wanted to ask Jane an’ Eloise, about that path Kay found—”

  “And hasn’t Eloise crashed through, about that sock Jane gave her? She’s been swell. Jane says she’s working like a Trojan and being an old sport.”

  Asey nodded. “Sort of person like her does crash through, when you least expect it. Slade, where was you last night, around fireworks time?”

  “Didn’t you know? I was on the evening radio program,” Slade answered with a touch of pride. “When? Oh, it began half an hour before the fireworks, and ended up as the real town fireworks began. They use a record for the program fireworks, did you know? I didn’t. Tripp said I was pretty good. And you know, a lot of people must listen to that program.”

  “Got fan mail, did you?”

  “No, but a dealer I used to know came down from Boston. He heard me and he – well, he bought four pictures, and wants more.”

  “Fine!” Asey said. “So you can pay off your debts an’ get married, huh?”

  “These white flannels,” Slade said bitterly. “These, and that radio talk, that’s what got him. He thinks I’ve been making a pile of money, so he wants a cut. My stuffs no better or worse than it was, but he thinks – what are you laughing about?”

  “A crack of Aunt Sara’s,” Asey told him. “I wonder if you won’t die a Republican – don’t start anything, I’m jokin’. An’ thank goodness you was on that program. It’s got you an alibi as well as money.”

  “You mean you thought I was the man in the woods? Now see here,” Slade began angrily.

  “Cool off,” Asey advised. “An’ when you an’ Jane get a house, I’m goin’ to get a sampler worked to put over your fireplace. ‘God Bless Our Happy Home And Count Ten.’ In red. Now, let’s go see Jane an’ Eloise about that path.”

  At the hollow they found Lane pretending to weed the lawn. A hospital tag dangled from one of his shirt buttons.

  “Eloise,” he indicated the tag. “Can’t you squelch her? And the tourists, Asey. I don’t like it. They’ve been here in herds. I wish we could shut the place up, but I suppose we can’t. I’ve got two men around, but I don’t like this at all – and by God, here come more people!”

  “Do your best,” Asey said. “I guess we won’t bother to ask questions now. Looks like they had their hands full with customers. We’ll run along, Slade.”

  The rest of the day passed off quietly, although as Kay said the next morning, it was rather worse sitting and waiting for something to happen than actually having it.

  There was only a small bandage on the side of her head to record her encounter in the woods. She explained it, when she had to, by saying that she had taken a tumble.

  “What’s today?” she asked at breakfast. “Where’s the program?”

  “Historical tours,” Zeb said. “Very instructive. Sites of the first church, first store, first graveyard, first schoolhouse. Where the Pilgrims didn’t land. Where it is thought they did, although I personally think they’re all wet. Where the British were repulsed by embattled farmers, once in seventeen-seventy something, and again in eighteen-twelve. Very repulsive folk, these Billingsgaters. Also where Mr. Thoreau stayed, and where Mr. Webster and Mr. Coolidge fished—”

  “Now there’s a thought,” Kay said. “Fishing. My boss is a fisherman. I wonder if – mm. Famous Folk Who Fished in Bottomless Pond – got a bottomless pond? There usually is one. Asey, how’s for taking me fishing? I can do a fish story and please the boss and work in local color to beat anything.”

  “I can’t,” Asey said. “I’ve got to see Lane, and Weston’s rung me in for some judgin’ at the hall. What makes him think I know a better tomato or jar of jam than anyone else, I don’t know—”

  “Your cousin’s made you a judge?” Bertha interrupted as she took away his plate. “Oh. You’re a judge?”

  “Yup, an’ I ain’t forgot your stuff, either,” Asey told her. “Seems it’s all numbered an’ not named, but don’t you worry – I’ll know your jelly!”

  “I would like to fish,” Kay said. “Oh, dear—”

  “I’ll take you,” Zeb said unexpectedly. “It’s probably going to rain, but – well, let’s go.”

  Asey and Sara exchanged amused glances.

  “Huh,” Asey said to her later after Zeb and Kay had gone, and Eloise and Jane had started for the hollow, “huh. So that’s what he meant by the romance of baked beans!”

  “It’s the resiliency of youth,” Sara said. “What was that, Jeff?”

  “I said, ‘Off again, on again, gone again, Finnegan,’ ” Jeff told her. “Come on, we’re late, and our driver’s blowing the horn.”

  It was mid-afternoon before Asey remembered that he had failed to ask Jane and Eloise about the path Kay had found. Turning in his last judge’s slip, he drove up to Hell Hollow.

  The fine drizzle had not curtailed the tourists’ enthusiasm. The Randalls’ house and barn were surrounded by customers.

  “I wish,” Lane said, “all the historical spots weren’t on this road. They see those figures, and stop, and – there. There goes one drove, and another. That helps. Jane? She’s up to her ears. Eloise just went indoors, into the house. At least I think she did. There’s Jane now – yell and ask her.”

  Asey called to her.

  “Eloise?” Jane said. “She went for heavy cord and boxes to pack some stuff in before some man gets back from viewing the wishing well. In the house cellar, she is. I’ve got to dash – tell her to hurry, will you?”

  Asey went into the house and walked out to the kitchen. The cellar steps, steep and protected only by a swinging railing, were in the corner.

  “Eloise!” he bent over the rail and called. “Miss Randall! I wonder if—”

  At his hand was the electric light. He flicked it on and peered down into the tiny circular cellar.

  Eloise lay in a heap at the foot of the steps.

  As Asey mounted the stairs a few minutes later, Lane hurried into the kitchen.

  “Say, Asey,” he began. “Jane wants you to tell Eloise she must hurry, that man is back—”

  “You go tell Jane,” Ase
y said, “to carry on without Eloise. Say I’m busy with her. Then you lock the doors an’ come back here.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Look down there.”

  Lane stared down at the figure in the cellar.

  “Is she badly hurt? Fell, did she?”

  “She’s dead,” Asey said. “Fell, or was pushed. Probably the last, if you want the bitter truth.”

  Chapter 16

  “I’ll go clear these people out,” Lane said, starting for the door.

  “You’ll do nothin’ of the kind,” Asey told him. “Look, this business can’t be made public any more than the other. You can’t send’em off – you’re the gardener. You can’t say who you are without givin’ everything away. Go find Jane, like I said, an’ tell her I’m busy with – no, change it. Say that Eloise has had a sick spell, an’ we’ve called the doc, but not to come in an’ excite her. Just to carry on with the customers. Now, hurry. Before she comes in.”

  He managed, by a miracle, to get Cummings at his office phone.

  “Hollow,” he said briefly. “Cellar stairs this trip. No, not Jane. Look, can you get someone to help Jane – your wife? Good. Tell her all you have to. I want her.”

  An hour later, Cummings, Asey, Lane and Hamilton sat in the kitchen. The shades were drawn. On the table were Cummings’ open bags, and Lane’s camera, and a suitcase with more of his paraphernalia.

  “All right,” Cummings said, “we’ve hashed enough. Now, Asey, why not suicide?”

  “She fell backwards an’ landed on her back. You say her head hit the cement floor, an’ she died in a second?”

  “True, but couldn’t she trip up the stairs as well as down’em? When I first got my bifocals, I tripped upstairs for a week.”

  “She went downstairs,” Asey said, “for heavy cord an’ boxes. Neither’s been touched. Therefore she never got downstairs to get what she was after. Never had a chance to.”

  “Wait,” Lane said. “There was that pair of shears on the floor. Suppose she got halfway down, remembered she’d left the shears, and started back, and then tripped?”