Death Comes Early

by William R. Cox

  He didn’t answer that. He said, “Darling, someone killed Ted. The police haven’t got anywhere with it. Also, someone killed Alvin, and Damon gave us a pitch about upstate, the lodge. I am going up there and look around.”

  “Damon is fishing. He can’t detect anything, so he throws you that line about the lodge.”

  “Twice. He called twice. Damon is a smart cop when he wants to be.”

  “What does he know about upstate?”

  “Nothing that he can put his finger on. But enough to make him tip me that upstate can stand a going over.”

  “You’ve already been beaten. How do you know what may happen up there?”

  “Maybe the men who beat me are up there.” He got out of bed. “Or maybe it’s my turn to beat up somebody. Damon has something on his mind. I’ve been lying around here hating, and feeling sorry for myself and doing nothing.”

  “I wouldn’t call it nothing.”

  “All right, it wasn’t nothing. But it isn’t helping me learn who killed Ted.”

  He went into the bathroom, trying to erase a picture from his mind. He attempted to rub out the vision of Ted in the bed he had just quit. It was something he could not yet manage and maybe he never would succeed.

  He got under the shower. There was no one quite like Lila in bed, he thought, at least no one in his experience. There was no one kinder, more thoughtful.

  Still, there had been Pete Cancelli and those others, who she had admitted she did not even like, and there had been Ted, a pal, but with whom she had not been in love. She was a repository of too many different phases of life. Maybe she was too much woman for him, maybe he couldn’t straighten it out, understand it.

  At any rate, his mind was clear again and he no longer hated the guys who had walloped him, he only wanted to get his hands on them, just for grabs. He wanted to come to grips with something tangible. Maybe Pete Cancelli, but he knew that was difficult, because of Simon and Katz Manning and other background figures who could come swiftly to the foreground if needed by Pete Cancelli.

  Maybe Damon was in it, maybe this upstate business was just a stall to keep him occupied. It was a complicated thing, and even the New York papers were mystified, although usually they took the attitude that they knew and if they wished they could blow the whistle and upset a lot of apple carts. It was a real mystery, who killed the Colyer brothers.

  The reason for Alvin’s murder was pretty well known. Nobody had yet come up with any possible reason why Ted was stabbed to death with a large, heavy instrument like a butcher’s big knife. And there was nothing at all to identify the murderer or murderers.

  Lila had brought him fresh clothing from the apartment long since. He was dressed in tweeds, light weight, with a pullover polo shirt of navy blue. She watched him from the bed. He went to the phone and called the cab company and asked for number 2012, saying that he wanted to go upstate and they told him he could have a sedan and that if Blatsky wanted to drive him they would permit it, and promised to let him know within the hour. Lila said, “You know what you’re doing, I suppose.”

  “Don’t be unhappy.”

  “I’m not.” There were shadows under her remarkable eyes. “I’ll worry, that’s all.”

  “What was the name of Alvin’s girl, again?”

  “Rose Marie Coole,” she said. “I’ll worry about that, too. A big, overstuffed blouse full of goodies.”

  “After you, nobody,” he said. He sat on the edge of the mattress and kissed her. She was still unhappy. “You watch yourself. I don’t trust Cancelli.”

  “Have you talked to Max since Tuesday?”

  He frowned. “I haven’t been able to get hold of him. I don’t know about Max. I’m beginning to wonder a little.”

  She said, “He’s all right. I think he’s a bit scared.”

  “Nothing scares him. He worries, but he’s got more guts than a Marine sergeant. He’s also tricky.”

  “He’s a good man to have on your side.”

  “If he’s on my side, I’m not worried about him.”

  “He’s on your side, and mine, too,” she said.

  The phone rang and it was Blatsky. He was delighted to get a trip out of town. He would be right over with a Chevy sedan. His wife had arthritis. He hoped Miss Lila was in good health. Yes, he would be right over, five minutes, he would wait.

  Jack braced himself. This was the longest he had ever been laid up. The malaise was hard to shake off. He kissed Lila again, on the cheek.

  She said, “Maybe you can get some details for Max while you’re up there.”

  He called Max. To his surprise, the little man answered the phone in person. Jack said, “Where the hell have you been?”

  “Looking into things. Are you going up to the lodge?”

  “Yes. Is it open?”

  “A man named Horgan is taking care of things. Check with him.”

  “Anything I can do for you?”

  “I’ve got all the figures I need. Strange thing. Ted lifted the mortgage on the place after he made that will.”

  “I see. He wanted to leave it free and clear.”

  “For Lila,” said Max. “It could be a good thing for her.”

  “All right. I’ll look at it from that angle.”

  “Do that.” Max paused, then said, “Pete Cancelli hasn’t made a move that I can figure. Damon is nowhere. The Colyer brothers case could be closed, no solution, in a little while. Maybe you ought to just take it easy.”

  “You know better than that.”

  Max drew an audible breath. “Yes. All right. Have a good trip.”

  Jack hung up, looked at his watch. He hesitated a moment. It was odd, but he sort of hated to leave the apartment. He looked carefully around at the now familiar objects, the furniture. Lila stared at him, unmoving.

  He said, “I’ll call you.”

  “Yes.”

  “Take it easy now.”

  “Yes.”

  “Uh—well, so long.”

  “Good-by, Jack.”

  He went out, closing the door softly, as though at a funeral, tiptoeing down the stairs. He was all mixed up.

  Izzy was sitting behind the wheel of a black sedan. Jack went across the walk and slid into the rear seat. He knew that he was being watched but it didn’t seem to matter. Izzy started the car, swung it around the corner, swung back, looking in the rear-view mirror.

  Jack said, “Nobody’s going to follow us to Hobartville. Take it easy.”

  “Cops,” said Izzy. “Nosy cops. I spotted ’em when I drove up. Staked out in a flivver. No official plates or nothin’. You want cops already?”

  “If they want to come along it’s fine with me.”

  Izzy looked back once more, then reluctantly turned toward the West Side ramp. “Cops make trouble like my wife’s relatives. I had to get her cousin to stay with her, such a female schlemiel you never saw. Where we goin’, did you say, Mr. Ware?”

  “Hobartville is the town. It’s on the map. You’ve got a map, haven’t you?”

  “Map?” Izzy was at a loss. “I need a map yet?”

  “Look in the glove compartment.”

  Driving with one hand, Izzy fumbled, triumphantly extracted folded maps, yelled out the window as he narrowly missed swerving into a truck, regained equilibrium and turned onto the elevated highway. “You tell me, Mr. Ware. I never been this way. Upstate I wouldn’t know. You tell me, I drive.”

  Hobartville was on the Hudson, above Bear Mountain. Jack traced down the highways, chose what seemed the quickest way. He sat back, sprawling. He was, he realized, very tired, bone tired. The time in bed had not helped. Not after Lila had joined him. On the contrary, it had frazzled his nerves. His mind was not clear, he was worried about Max Somerwell. Much of his business was in Max’s hands and the little man was extremely important to him.

  He dozed a bit, woke up on the highway when Izzy brought the car up to cruising speed. It was a lovely day. He should be enjoying the ride. He could onl
y think of Ted, dead and Max, acting mysterious.

  He deliberately did not think of Lila. He was not ready to accept the new relationship between himself and a woman he had suspected and disliked. He prided himself on his personal integrity and he felt dubious about his quick surrender to the flesh.

  Some flesh, he thought irreverently. The best he had ever had. The most imaginative and yet the most tender flesh in his considerable experience.

  Izzy talked. “Like this is the country. Always I knew it was around some place. Not the Catskills, not New Jersey already. Although my wife has got a brother-in-law, he says there is country in Jersey, like west of Newark. This I got to see some day.”

  Izzy went on and on and Jack dozed off again, waking when he was hungry. The car had come to a stop before a gas station behind which was a lunchroom. They ate and took to the road again. They made very good time, turned off and down a two-car lane which seemed terribly narrow after the highway, but was paved and smooth.

  They came to Hobartville in late afternoon, a town comprised of a store, a church, several houses, a town hall, all around a green square of grass which contained a Civil War monument of no artistic value. Now Jack remembered from his one previous trip to the lodge that there was a road leading toward the river. They found it and drove on lumpy macadam to a sylvan lane, no more, followed it about a mile and a half and came to Colyer Lodge.

  There was a gate, which was open. They drove another quarter mile to the main building. It was one-story, rambling, an eastern rendition of a western ranchero. It had cost too much.

  There were outlying cottages, shrouded now in twilight, there was a huge stable and several sheds. Everything for the convenience of Alvin and guests was included. The only trouble had been that upkeep was more than income.

  Izzy parked the car under a porte-cochere. They got out and stretched. There was a light in the reception room.

  “A Mr. Horgan, I believe,” said Jack.

  “What we here for, anyway?” asked Izzy.

  “I’m looking for something. Anything.”

  “Like about the killin’s?”

  “Like anything that would help solve them.”

  Izzy said, “You ain’t scared of buttin’ into it?”

  “What more can they do, except kill me?”

  “I ain’t exactly a hero,” said Izzy doubtfully. “You couldn’t call me a brave man. Inna war I was nothin’. Scared all the time.”

  “Nobody asked you to be noble. I just want company.”

  “When I’m scared I ain’t even good company.”

  “It’s too late, you’re here,” said Jack.

  Izzy looked around, sniffed loudly. “Well, so it shouldn’t be a total loss, I can smell the good air. My wife should smell such air.”

  “I wish she was here. Now, come on, gutless.”

  They mounted three steps, crossed a wide veranda filled with gaily striped outdoor furniture. The door opened and a woman stood limned in the light from within.

  She was taller than need be. She wore a loose print skirt and a tight sweater. The light shone through the skirt. She was what his grandfather would have called a fine figure of a woman. There was a compelling, tremendous lot of her, all well shaped. Her voice was strong, clear. “Who is it?”

  “Jack Ware, from New York.”

  There was a moment’s pause. She was not in the least discomposed, much less frightened. She said, “Jack Ware. Ted’s buddy. Come on in.”

  They went in. It was a long room, with beamed ceilings. There was a reception desk, knotty pine, and a lot of other furniture of various woods and leathers and Indian rugs and blankets on the walls and the floor. It had an air of being put together by an amateur with scant idea of western decor and too much money.

  “You must be Rose Marie Coole,” Jack said.

  “That’s right.” She had round, blue eyes and long, ash-blond hair caught in the back, pony-tail fashion. She was quite young. Her skin was tanned and healthy.

  “Is there someone named Horgan?”

  “Danny? He’s out back. He’ll be right in.”

  “He’s the caretaker?”

  She said, “He was. He doesn’t know what he is now. I’m not sure I want to keep him on.”

  Jack looked around. “Is there anything to eat? We’ve had a long drive.”

  “Why not?” She led them into the kitchen. It was also out-sized and contained every known modern electrical convenience. There was a self-sustaining power plant on the property, Jack knew. The place had to be valuable.

  Rose Marie bustled with precise efficiency, graceful and light-footed. She cut ham into slices, produced warmed-over biscuits from the oven, heated some vegetables and cooked eggs. Izzy stared at her every move.

  Rose Marie, Jack thought, was a woman and a half. He tried to imagine love passages between her and the diminutive Alvin and could only conjure up a collection of risqué midget jokes. She was more than beautiful, she was handsome, like the Greek statuary in the Metropolitan Museum.

  He asked, “Are you staying here?”

  “Well, I do own the place.” She slid the plates around, went to a cabinet and produced a bottle of Hennessy’s Three Star brandy, poured three generous drinks into wine glasses. She sat down, sprawling like a healthy animal, extending her long legs.

  Jack ate, paused to say, “I’m afraid I have bad news for you.”

  “All right. Let’s have it.” Her gaze did not falter. Her eyes were intelligent.

  “You’re not the new owner.”

  “Alvin left a will,” she said. “It’s on file at the courthouse.”

  “Sorry. The way things were going, Ted paid all those bills, then had to take over.”

  “You mean Alvin didn’t own this place?”

  “He never had more than a piece of it. Ted had to prevent him from running up any more expense. It looks like this is Ted’s entire estate.”

  “And he left it to you?”

  “He willed it to Lila Sharp.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Lila. Yes. I see.” She drank the brandy neat, refilled her glass. She twisted a diamond ring on the third finger of her left hand. She said, “I guess you know I was engaged to Alvin.”

  “So I heard.”

  “It was in the papers. That makes it official, you know. My family hated the idea, but once it’s in the papers, what can you do?”

  Izzy had finished eating. He could not take his eyes from the girl. He said, “How could a nice, pretty girl like you get engaged to Alvin Colyer?”

  She looked at him and smiled. “Because I didn’t meet his brother until too late.” She returned her attention to Jack. “He lied to me, you know. The dirty, rotten little sonofabitch couldn’t tell the truth if he tried, could he?”

  Izzy started, flushing. “Miss Rose Marie! You shouldn’t talk like that. It’s shameful, a girl like you.”

  She said to Jack, “He’s finished eating. Can’t he go to bed, or something?”

  Jack said, “Yes, I think so. We hadn’t planned to stay, but I expect we’d better.”

  She waved a sculptured arm toward the door to a hallway. “Pick a room. Any room but mine. And thanks, anyway, whoever you are, for thinking I’m a nice girl. Good night.”

  Izzy was bewildered, but willing to leave. He said, “You’ll excuse me, Mr. Ware? I got compunction. No woman should use curse words. You’ll excuse me saying something?”

  “Have a nice sleep,” said Jack.

  “The first door is my room. Take any of the others,” she called.

  Some country girl, Jack thought. She was calm as a clam. He said, “I gather you were out of love with Alvin.”

  “You knew him.”

  “I knew Ted.”

  She nodded, her face softening. She poured another brandy, refilling Jack’s glass. “Ted. He was grand. They were different as day and night.”

  “What about your people? What do they think?”

  “My family? Christians. They found out I wa
s sleeping with Alvin. Then he got killed. Now I’m a fallen woman. I’ve changed, because Alvin can’t marry me, you see.”

  He saw, all right. The girl was getting stoned on the brandy and maybe she had good reason.

  “I’m sorry about the Lodge. It belongs to Lila. Maybe it’s not worth much, maybe she’ll want to sell it. But she inherited it, all right.”

  “It’s worth plenty, if it’s run right,” she said. “Alvin just never would pay attention to it. He was too busy with the horses. Always the horses. He couldn’t ride them any more, but he couldn’t help betting them.”

  “Well, maybe you could work something out with Lila. She’s a pretty good person.”

  “Ted’s girl. But no Christian family. So she’s all right.”

  “I wouldn’t say she’s all right. Look, I’d like to search this place real good. There hasn’t been any law here, has there?”

  “What law?” She shrugged. “Nobody cares, except me. And Danny, of course.”

  “Horgan?”

  “Sure, Horgan. He was Alvin’s boy.” She went to a wall telephone, swaying a little. She pressed a button, spoke into the instrument. “You the caretaker? You are, huh? Then you better begin takin’ care. You got company wants to search the joint.”

  She hung up and came back to the table. “Danny lives in his own little nest. Cool, man. He never had it so good, that Horgan. He is going to be trouble, believe me.”

  “Trouble? How come?”

  She giggled. “I think Alvin promised him a share in the Lodge, too. Alvin was very large with promises.”

  “Yes. Alvin promised plenty.”

  “Got me in bed with his promises.” She drank, poured again. She was getting quite drunk now. “Little Alvin, like holdin’ hands with a boy. Only different. Hell, I thought I knew about the bees and the birds and the cows and the bulls and the horses and the mares, me a country girl. I thought I knew until Alvin got started.”

  Trying to get to her before she was too far gone in the brandy, Jack said sharply, “The New York police think there may be an angle on the killings up here.”

  “Why not?” She burlesqued a well-known television comic. “If it wasn’t for plain good luck, I mighta done it myself. I coulda. The dirty little bastard. If I woulda known he didn’t own the Lodge, I mighta killed him.”