Something blue

by Charlotte Armstrong; Internet Archive

  So Johnny turned upon the old lady. "Then you are the one to ask, I guess," he smiled. "You'll tell me, won't you?"

  ''Tell you what?^' She was munching the last bite. For the first time in all the dinner time, she looked at him.

  "The names of your servants, seventeen yeai-s ago?"

  Nothing seemed to occur to the old lady. Her face was blank. Bart said gently, "Mother forgets. Perhaps there are some records in my father's papers. Is there anything else?"

  The tone of the question betrayed no sarcasm. But Johnny wasn't sure it held none. He thought, O.K. I'll be charming.

  So he leaned back and he said pleasantly, "I'm sorry to talk my shop. But I wonder whether you understand. My job, you see, is to pick up descriptive bits, atmosphere, trifles that make a story more vivid and interesting. And it is a story. None of you, I suppose are, in any sense, writers? If you were, you'd understand. The sort of thing that Grimes turns out, you know, is closely alUed to fiction. I am a picker-up of color."

  "The servants could give you color?" asked Dick.

  "I would think so. Perhaps you don't realize," said Johnny, "what an unusual old house this is, for instance. Or how romantic your very business sounds to the ordinary reader. Or what a glamorous figure the old gentleman must have been."

  They were listening. One pair of eyes disapproved of his blarney. Dorothy Padgett's blue eyes.

  But Johnny went on, "Or how interesting a character you still are, Mrs. Baitee."

  The old lady bridled. "I've had a life," she said. "I sit in the comer, nowadays. But I've had a life."

  "I would tliink so," purred Johnny.

  "Two husbands. Dead now. My daughter Nelly, dead. Nathaniel—all gone. Christy, too."

  "Christy," said Johnny softly, "dead the way she died. The murder of a beautiful young woman in such a house as this. I wish I could make you see how fascinating . . ."

  "You're not Hkely to do that," said Bart dryly.

  "I don't think we should talk your shop any more, Mr. Sims," said Blanche. "Can't we discuss more cheerful . . . ?"

  The old lady said, "Bart gone. Nathaniel, too."

  Bart, Jr., said to his wife, "On the contrary, my dear.'' (She looked white.) Bart turned courteously. "Mr. Sims, you were asked tonight so that we could talk your shop, as you put it. We are interested in your project to the extent that we would like to put you straight. Isn't that what you said, Dick?"

  "'Right," said Dick smiling.

  "I wish for noting better," said Johnny promptly.

  "Then, tell me," said Dick easily, "do you conclude that, in my youth, I killed Christy?"

  "Clinton McCauley killed Christy," the old lady said promptly.

  "To whom had you spoken, Sims?" asked Bart," ignoring his mother, 'l^esides Kate Callahan?"

  "I had a very nice chat with your father, Mrs. Bartee," said Johnny to Blanche.

  "How is Dad?"

  "I stumble on things," said Johnny. "Forgive me. But you and Dick used to date?"

  "Once or twice," she said. Her eyes were not focused on anything.

  "I never stumbled on that," said Bart Bartee mildly.

  Nan sat still and looked at the dishes. The disapproval had gone from Dorothy's eyes. They were alert.

  "That's right, we did date once or twice," said Dick.

  "A million years ago?" said Johnny genially. "As Miss Callahan would say. Fact is, this roommate of yours, Dick, told me you dated practically everybody."

  "Roommate? Oh, yes. Old George. That's a trifle, all right." Dick laughed.

  "He got out nights from that school," said Johmiy. "Fact, he was out that night. As you said you knew."

  Blanche leaned back and hit the chairback with a thump. Bart said, "Mr. Sims, you want to make out that Mc-^ Cauley is innocent?"

  "I beHeve that McCauley is innocent," said Johnny. Dick spoke. "Too bad that so many people are dead and gone and can't be talked to. You think McCauley is innocent?' But you didn't answer my question. Am I guilty?"

  Bart said, "Dick's alibi won't hold? What about that, Dick?"

  "Ah, well," sighed Dick, "George didn't want to admit being out. No more did I."

  Nan looked as if she didn't know what anyone was talking about.

  Bart said sharply, "Where were you, then?" Dick said, "We were young. It mattered, we thought. Nobody wanted to be expelled from school or get into trouble with our elders." He looked at Blanche who had no color supporting her make-up. "Fact is, I had a better ahbi."

  "I asked you not to rake this up," said Blanche to her husband in a flat voice. "But you wouldn't stop. Dick was with me that night, while Christy was being killed." "Where?" Bart said icily. "At my house."

  "Midnight?" Husband and wife spoke down the table's length.

  "Yes. He threw sand at my window and I went downstairs. We talked on the side porch. He wanted me to sneak out and go dancing. It was too late, I told him. It was midnight."

  Dick sighed. "A crazy kid. Old George got out and I . . . Well, seemed to be a point of pride there. Bartee wasn't going to stay in like a good httle boy, if the Ukes of George Rush had gone out."

  This rang perfectly true to Johnny's ear. "But I'd made no plans, no date." Dick shrugged. "WeU, I tried to talk Blanche into a date. And no luck." He smiled at her.

  "Why didn't all this come out at the time?" Bart spoke

  to his wife alone. "A murder easel Your own father was counsel for the defense."

  "Dad had forbidden me to see Dick any more," Blanche said. "I'd promised. Dad was in bed and the house dark— and I took care not to wake him." She ktoked angry. "The school gave Dick an alibi. Why should I?"

  "Not to tell the whole truth," said Bart coldly, "is the same as lying."

  Blanche winced. The old lady was eyeing her. Johnny turned suddenly upon the old lady. 'TDid you pick the pin off the floor of the study and give it to Nathaniel?" he said boldly.

  Bart's eyes flashed anger.

  But the old lady answered quickly, pulhng in her chin, "Of course not. That woman had it."

  "What woman? Kate Callahan?" Bart stared at his mother. ''You knew that, Mother? But you swore , . ."

  "Nathaniel didn't realize it was an heirloom," said the old lady. "I understood, I wasn't angry. I simply told him he had better get it back before his father found out. His father never understood Nathaniel. Nathaniel is gone," she added. ^

  "Got it backl" Bart's voice was edgy. "How and when did Nathaniel get the pin back?"

  Blanche said, "Oh, we got it back for him. Dick and I." Her face was bitter. "We broke the law. I've been afraid of that old fooHshness for too long. I may as Well stop 'lying' altogether."

  The old lady giggled.

  "You broke into Kate's?" said Johnny alertly.

  "I have always known," said Blanche drearily, ''that Dick could never have done that thing, because he was with me. And I have always known that McCauley did do it. Because he was lying about the pin. I could have proved it. I asked you not to rake this up."

  'Will you prove it, now, please?" asked Johnny.

  'Why, the pin wasn't in McCauley's pocket. It was in Kate Callahan's dresser drawer."

  'My father," said Dick, "wasn't made of the stuff for

  i^l intrigue. He was in a panic. Grandfather would have been

  rough on him. He begged me. Well, at the time, it was

  nS quite a challenge. Nothing loathe, Blanche and I did a

  spot of burglary. In a good cause." He was smiling. "Crazy kids."

  "You found that pin in Kate Callahan's room after the killing?'' Johnny was brisk. "On the Sunday night?"

  Dick's eyes shifted to his face. Dick said softly, "Yes, the Sunday night. You do get around." "I foimd it," Blanche said. "Took it?"

  "Of course," said Dick. "Saved my father's life, you might say." Now, he sounded amused.

  Bart said, "Blanche, you let your father go to court to defend this man, while you had this kind of knowledge secretly?"

  "I was young,"
she stammered. "I'd disobeyed to go with Dick at all. And what we did was illegal. And anyhow I had gone away to school before the trial. I wasn't here." She raised her head. "And what diflFerence would it have made?" she cried, "It simply proved that Kate Callahan was lying. That McCauley had tajken Christy's pin. Everything I knew only proved what the jury beUeved, anyhow."

  "You weren't the jury," said Dorothy Padgett intensely. "You weren't the judge , . ."

  "Kids," said Dick sighing. "Kids don't snitch on each other. We had an adventure. And of course, it was for my father."

  Nan said, "He did it for his father's sake . . .'' Johnny felt the hole in his mind, the sinking again. "FooHsh," said Dick. "Oh, well, at least everything is clear, now. Not so?" Johnny said, "Clear?"

  Dorothy said, "Lies and secrets and the poor man in prison ..."

  Blanche said to her pityingly, "But he did the killing, Dorothy. There was no injustice."

  Bait said, "You come with me, Sims." He rose. .1

  "Bart?" Blanche's voice trembled after him, but her hus- i| band did not stop or turn.

  Johnny followed him into the wide hall, past the stairs, into the study. Johnny's thoughts whirled.

  In the dark, he was thinking. A young girl, sneaking downstairs in a dark house. A young girl, breaking and entering, excited—thrilled as they say—in a strange room

  and smely almost in the dark. Whatever Blanche thought she knew, Johnny did not know it. Did not know it, at alll

  The square study was dark. Bait turned up a light.

  He began to rummage in a low drawer under one of the glass-doored bookcases. "I've kept a lot of stuff," he muttered. He pulled out manila folders. He rose from the squat-ing position. "The servants' names, maybe."

  "It was so long ago," said Johrmy slowly. "I didn't know the people."

  "Neither did I, it seems," snapped Bart.

  "Tell me about Nathaniel," Johnny said. "An artist, was he?"

  "He used to paint," Bart said dryly.

  "I don't know what to think," said Johnny rubbing his head. "Do you?"

  Bart stood still. "No, I don't. My mx)ther was fantastically devoted to Nathaniel. He took shelter in her, and that 'flattered her, I suppose. Whereas I struck away on my own. But I am the son who takes care of her, as my father did." Johnny suddenly saw this to be a tenet of his pride.

  Bart had paused. Then he said, "Nathaniel was a liar. He hed when he claimed he'd had nothing to do with Kate Callahan. My mother knew that much. But he got 'Ay mother to cover for him—and lie." Bart's mouth was a little bitter. "He got his son to cover for him—and steal. I am as anxious as you are to get to the bottom of this, now." Then he was blimt. "You want to think Dick had done it?"

  Johnny said, "What I want is outside this matter, I hope. Did Dick get your wife to cover for him, too?"

  Bart said, "In the dark?"

  "Who told her what time it was?" Johnny said gently.

  Nervously, Bart opened a folder. "What about this money?" He raised his head. "Dick claims not to have knovwi that Nan was any kind of an heiress. But did he know?"

  "He may have," said Johnny cautiously. "I've thought of that, too."

  "The reason I ask—" Bart said. "Has it ever struck you that Dick is attracted to Miss Dorothy?"

  "No," said Johnny with shock.

  "Watch him," said Bart grimly. "She is a beautiful girl and a most magnetic one. A plum, that Dorothy I Why is a man hke Dick attracted to the Httler one? Littler, in every sense."

  Johnny said stiffly, "Nan was always shy."

  "I'd like you to understand about the business," Bart said, verring. "There are replacements to be made. We need bot-thng machines, crushers, tractors. I'm into the bank already. Now my mother will give her interests to Dick. I have no right to stop her. They amount to a small percentage. Now, if Dick produces a hunk of capital immediately, I ought to take his money, count him a full partner. My mother expects it." Bart's face was hard. "I have been in this business for years. Dick has been what they call 'around.' He's done the so-called adventuresome stuff. He is tough, you'd tliink?"

  Johnny murmured, "Hadn't thought . . ."

  "Dick is the weak one," Bart said. "He never, in his life, stuck to a thing and pulled it tlirough. Z am tlie stronger man."

  "I believe you," said Johnny softly.

  Bart turned his eyes. "I am committed, of course," he said. "Now, let's see. Account book. Household. Yes, here's the year."

  Johnny copied names in his notebook. Bart had no idea where the cook was nor the upstaiis maid or tlie weekly cleaning woman. The yardman's name was Delevan.

  "But would he have been here at night?" asked Johnny.

  "As a matter of fact, he was here that night. I know the poHce heard his testimony. But he was never called."

  "What was his testimony?"

  "That I don't know."

  "How come he was here?"

  "Why he—There used to be a hammock slung between two trees in the grove out at the front. It seems when he had worked late, and wanted to be here early the next day, he'd sometimes beg a meal in the kitchen and sleep in the hammock. My father discharged him when this came out. The hammock was supposed to be exclusively for the family." Bart seemed to stand, with the family's pride falling raggedly across his shoulders.

  "He was never put on the stand at the trial?"

  "No."

  "I wonder why not."

  "Must be that he saw absolutely nothing," said Bart Bartee.

  "Is there any kind of address? Wait . . ." Jolinny snapped

  his fingers. "I know where he is. Somebody told me he lives in some little settlement. Twomey? His testimony alibied Nathaniel!"

  "Nathaniel," said Bart contempuously, "couldn't kill spiders. My mother used to do it for himi."

  CHAPTER 14

  Johnny followed Bart along the red carpet. In the parlor, Nan was tucked close to Dick on a pale yellow sofa. Dorothy and Blanche were seated apart. The old lady had vanished.

  As Bart strode in, Blanche sent him a begging smile. Her thin face, upon which the high-bridged nose seemed so prominent, became pathetic.

  "Any luck?" asked Dick.

  "Not much," said Johnny, when Bart did not answer, ^t^am-had gone out^f Bart. Whatever he had intended to do or say, he now hesitated.

  "Well, do you give up?" Dick said impudently.

  Dorothy said, as if she could hold this in no longer, "It's just incredible to me! People mustn't do that!"

  "Do what?" asked Dick alertly.

  "Conceal things. Make private judgments about the truth in a—in a public matter. A matter of murderl I'm sorry, but I think it's frightening."

  No Bartee spoke. Nan said, "But, Dotty, when Dick's father asked for help, Dick wanted to protect him."

  "You mustn't protect," cried Dorothy fiercely. "You must have the faith not to protect. I think there has been a terrible wrong done somewhere."

  Dick said, "Kids, Dotty." His eyes rested on her.

  "I understand," said Dorothy. "But that doesn't excuse. You can understand all you want to and all you ought to, but that doesn't mean you approve. Or that WTong is not wrong."

  "She is right," said Bart firmly. "Too many people didn't tell all they knew. Mother. Nathaniel. You, Dick. Blanche."

  "Oh, Bart, please," Blanche began to cry.

  Dick said to Johnny with an air of anger suppressed, "Now that you've got Blanche in tears and the whole house unhappy, do you think you have proved McCauley innocent? Or me guilty?"

  "No," said Johnny.

  Nan raised her lashes. Her brown eyes were somber. "Johnny, you have done enough damage, really you have. Now, that you understand it all, please, will you just stop?" He didn't speak and the eyes began to glisten with tears. "Do you like making me unhappy? The past is past. I thought you . . ."

  Johnny looked at her. Doubt was not for Nan. To tell her who she was would make no difference. It would only be unkind.

  "I had better go," he said.

&
nbsp; His hostess in tears, his host distracted, Dick unanswerable. Nan unhappy. And Christy McCauley dead these seventeen years. Yes, he had better go.

  Dorothy went with him to the door. Johnny had nothing for her but a sad shake of his head. No proof. Nothing, in all that had come out, proved McCauley innocent. Must Nan, then, ever know who she was?

  Dorothy, of course, did not know who Nan was. Dorothy said furiously, "There is too dam much that never was told straight. Johnny, what is the meaning of it? Who did kill Chi-istyr

  "How do I know?" said Johnny gloomily. "How can I find out who killed Christy? It was seventeen years ago."

  In the parlor, Dick said into Nan's ear, "You are right, love. Past is past. If we were only married, we could go away—go somewhere and just be happy."

  "—just be happy," she echoed in a whisper.

  "Let's," he breathed. "Those tests should be ready on Friday, at the latest. Maybe even on Thursday. I can put some Bartee pressure on."

  "How long must we wait, then?"

  "Why, not at all."

  "Tomorrow is Thursday."

  "Let's not wait at all. Friday?"

  "I haven't anything to wear," Nan said foolishly.

  "Wear red," he said. "My darling, you look so beautiful in red."

  "A bride doesn't wear red, sillyl"

  "Wear white," he said, "Wear blue."

  "Dotty has a white dress. We could turn up the hem."

  "Turn up the hem," he whispered, "love, if you love me."

  Johnny said to Dorothy, by the door, "Good night. Dotty. Be kind to Nan. She needs somebody—" He went out and the night air was chilly. The fields were dark. What must I do for Nan's sake, he kept asking himself. He kept seeing Dorothy's eyes.

  In the big back bedroom at the Bartee house, the cousins quarreled that night. Nan did not think Dorothy was kind.

  Dorothy began it by another spirited denunciation of people who withheld information for any reason.

  "But Dick didn't do anything really wrong," flamed Nan. "He just wasn't a tattler. And he helped his father. What's wrong wdth that? Everybody doesn't have to start telling all about absolutely everything he ever knew, just because somebody gets murdered." Nan was trembling. "Dick had absolutely nothing to do with the killing, no matter what anybody else ever said or did. And we are just tired. We are going to be mairied as soon as those tests are ready. Any day"