So Hester reversed directions and walked along. Senorita Fogarty trotted ahead. Crump seemed suddenly a little straighter, even his legs.
“Where are we going?’ said Hester.
“To the park,” said Crump.
“That’s nice. It will be pleasant sitting together on a park bench, won’t it? We can talk.”
“Senorita likes to play on the grass and watch the kids.”
“Surely you don’t let her off the leash.”
“Not much. On the leash she is, on the leash she stays.”
“That’s wise. She is much too valuable a dog to let loose.”
“She is that. I’m ever mindful of it.”
“I’ll hold the leash for a while if you want me to.”
“Holding it’s no trouble. I’ll do it myself.”
“Isn’t that the park down there?”
“It is. As you see, it’s only a short piece.”
“I used to play here once in a while when I was a little girl.”
“I know. I remember.”
“It seems a long time ago, doesn’t it?”
“Not long. Like yesterday. It probably seems long to you, young as you are.”
“You’re not so old yourself.”
“Old enough.”
They turned into the park, just a square city block reserved for kids and dogs and anyone else with time to kill. There were gravel walks and grass and green benches. There was even a tiny pond with a pair of ducks afloat on it. Hester and Crump sat on one of the benches, Crump securing Senorita’s leash to a front leg of it. Hester sat close, and Crump, after a start, sat fast. Experimentally, Hester touched his leg now and then with her near knee.
“Would Mrs. Crump object if she knew we were sitting here together?” she said.
“You can believe she would.”
“Why? Does she have a jealous disposition?”
“I’d say so.”
“I can’t understand why. She must feel uncertain of herself because you look so much younger than she does.”
“Oh, now. I’m no cause for jealousy.”
“Perhaps you just think you’re not. Was Mrs. Crump beautiful when you married her?”
“I can’t remember that she was. Then or any time since.”
“How surprising! I’d have sworn she probably was.”
“Why?”
“Because you must have been the kind of man who attracted beautiful women.”
“I never noticed it. If I ever had the knack, I’ve lost it.”
“That’s absurd. Don’t you think I’m beautiful?”
“I do. There’s no doubt about it.”
Crump was prespiring freely. He shot a look sidewise at Hester who was close enough for even his myopia, and tenaciously held his place on the bench. Hester gently nudged him with her knee.
“Well, then, you see? It’s absurd to say you’ve lost the knack. You’ve only grown more distinguished looking. It’s a shame, really, that Mrs. Crump has not been able to keep up with you.”
This clearly opened such gaudy prospects to Crump that he could contain himself no longer. He unfastened the end of Senorita Fogarty’s leash and stood up in a state approaching agitation.
“Speaking of Mrs. Crump,” he said, “I’d better go. She’ll be looking for me.”
“Must you? So soon?”
“I’d better. She doesn’t like me to keep Senorita out too long.”
“I’d walk back with you, but I’m afraid she might see us.”
“So she might You better hadn’t.”
“I’d like to sit here with you again, however. Do you come every morning?”
“If it’s fair.”
“I may make a practice of it myself. Would you like that?”
“It’s a public park. Everyone’s welcome.”
“Wouldn’t I be just a tiny bit more welcome than just anyone?”
“I won’t say you wouldn’t.”
“That’s better. Will you tell me your first name? If I ever knew it I must have forgotten.”
“It’s Chester.”
He said it over his shoulders, departing, and Hester walked across the small park and out the other side with the intention of returning home and taking a hot bath. She had made appreciable progress, she thought, at a considerable sacrifice.
13
THE HOT BATH, as it turned out, was delayed. Arriving home, Hester found her apartment in possession of an occupation force. It had been invaded, in fact, by every member of her family, including Aunt Madge. She felt that the tactics employed had been unfair, constituting a breach of privacy at least, and her first inclination, which she supressed, was to throw them out immediately.
“What are you doing here?” she said. “Why is it that I can’t come home after a hard morning without finding my apartment infested by practically everyone?”
“You mustn’t be rude, darling,” Flo said. “We only came to consult you because you are so clever and have the best ideas about what to do about things.”
“I’m beginning to wonder about that,” said Lester. “I have been abused from the beginning for my incompetence, but I haven’t noticed any better results from anyone else. Hester, what has happened to the cyanide peanuts? Surely it doesn’t take two days for a dog to die from a dose of cyanide.”
“Never mind the cyanide peanuts. I’m investigating that in my own way. Furthermore, Lester, I want to commend you for the way you keep a secret. I told you about the peanuts in confidence, and you have plainly blabbed to everyone.”
“I did not. No such thing. I only told Mother.”
“And I only told Homer,” Flo said.
“As for me,” said Uncle Homer, “I have no secrets from my wife.”
“Nor I,” said Aunt Madge, “from Junior.”
“When it comes to that,” Uncle Homer said, “I’m inclined to believe that Junior himself should be kept a secret.”
“Well,” said Hester, “I just hope that all this natural candor doesn’t impel someone to confide in old Brewster or the police or someone who might cause all kinds of trouble.”
“Speaking of peanuts,” Junior said, ‘I’m hungry. Hester, do you have anything around the place for lunch?”
“No, I don’t, unless you count gin.”
“I count it,” said Uncle Homer.
“Junior,” Hester said, ignoring Uncle Homer’s blatant hint, “why don’t you stand up? How the hell do you expect me to sit down when there is no place left to sit?”
“Darling,” said Flo, “there would be plenty of places if you didn’t leave things thrown everywhere. I’m bound to say that you are not a very good housekeeper. You should try to be a little more tidy.”
Junior stood up and cleared a place and sat down in it. Hester sat down where Junior had been.
“Now,” she said, “I would like to know exactly why everyone is here. I’m the only one who has done anything constructive so far about Grandfather’s will, and I’m still working at it, but I can’t accomplish anything if I’m expected to make reports constantly and get harassed at every turn.”
“I told you, darling,” Flo said. “We have come to consult you because you’re clever. We all admit it, and it was only pique on Lester’s part to even think of questioning it. We would like to know, however, why we have not been notified of Senorita Fogarty’s death. Homer called this morning to ask me if I’d heard anything, and I hadn’t, so we all decided to come here and discuss it with you. Who would have dreamed that you’d be up and gone at such an hour?”
“How the hell did you get in?”
“I let us in,” Lester said. “The last time you loaned me your key, I took the liberty of having a duplicate made. You never know when something like that will come in handy.”
“That’s true. You never know, either, when you may be shot for trespassing.”
“Don’t talk like that, Hester. I do wish you wouldn’t.”
“Yes, darling,” said Flo. “The poo
r dear is already being sufficiently threatened from certain quarters. It’s cruel of you to add to his worries.”
“I believe that the immediate problem is the elimination of Senorita Fogarty,” Uncle Homer said, “not of each other. Hester, the most distressing possibility has occurred to me. It has occurred to me that your ingenious little plan may have worked to perfection, and that Crump, the soundrel, is keeping the death from the proper authorities.”
“I’m way ahead of you. I thought of that first thing, but it isn’t so.”
“What makes you so sure? That Crump is a stealthy, conniving old devil who is capable of any chicanery.”
“I’m sure because I saw Senorita Fogarty only this morning. Crump had her on a leash. He took her to a park for fresh air and exercise.”
“Did she appear to be under the weather?”
“No, she didn’t, now that you mention it. She seemed to be in the best of health. Maybe she made such a rapid recovery that Mrs. Crump decided to suspend the oatmeal diet.”
“In that case, perhaps she has suspended sex, too.”
“It isn’t likely, unfortunately. Sex is not so easily suspended as oatmeal. We know that Crump laid out good money for a stud, and he will certainly try to realize something from his investment. At any rate, I can’t imagine Senorita Fogarty simply giving him up, now that he has been made available.”
“Say!” said Lester. “Maybe it was the stud you saw. Are you sure it wasn’t?”
“Oh, Lester, try not to be so obtuse. Don’t you think I can tell the difference between a bitch and a stud? I don’t mind admitting, if you want to know the truth, that I am losing patience with all of you. It is too early to give up on the oatmeal, for Senorita Fogarty may have a relapse yet, and in the meanwhile I am working on an alternative plan that will be put into effect if it becomes necessary.”
“What alternate plan?” said Lester.
“That’s for me to know. I have learned that it’s bad policy to confide in blabbermouths. In my opinion, you should all be doing something to help yourself instead of simply waiting for me to do everything for you. Mother, it was suggested some time ago that you cultivate old Brewster to see if anything could be done to corrupt him. Have you done the least thing about it?”
“No, I haven’t,” said Flo. “I just haven’t been able to bring myself to it.”
“Well, its all very well to be finicky, I suppose, especially if you can leave it to me to be otherwise. There are degrees of corruption, after all. It may not be necessary to reduce old Brewster to his underwear or less, but at least you could try to put him in a friendly state of mind so that he wouldn’t be suspicious of every little mishap that Senorita Fogarty encounters.”
“Flo, I agree,” Uncle Homer said. “It’s the least you could do.”
“Have you done anything yet, Homer?” said Flo. “If so, what?”
“As the senior member of the family,” Junior said, “Father drinks gin and devises ways to slaughter Brewster.”
“Junior,” said Aunt Madge, “you shouldn’t say things like that about your father, even when they’re true.”
“He’s an insolent whelp,” Uncle Homer said. “He shows absolutely no respect.”
“Worse than that,” Hester said, “he shows absolutely no brains or initiative. Junior, you are certainly the worst of the lot. So far as I know, you have done nothing about anything, and in my opinion it is high time you were doing something.”
“I can’t think of anything to do,” Junior said. “You always think of everything first.”
“That’s because I have something to think with.”
“Think of something for me, then. I’d be willing to do something if only someone would tell me what.”
“Well, it will have to be something relatively simple, and I think I know just the thing. It is extremely important now that we keep as close watch as possible on Senorita Fogarty, and you are the one to do it. In Grandfather’s back yard there is an old garden house which you can approach from the rear without being seen, if you are careful. From there, you can observe the back of the house and report what goes on in the back yard, especially between Senorita Fogarty and the stud.”
“Do you mean that I’m expected to hide in a garden house and spy on the orgies of two Chihuahuas?”
“You see? There you go first thing. I suggest something useful for you to do, and you immediately begin trying to get out of it.”
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it, but someone will have to bring me a hot lunch.”
“Oh, don’t be absurd. It isn’t necessary for you to be on duty all day long. Crump takes Senorita Fogarty to the park in the mornings, and so I would suggest an hour or two in the afternoon as being best for observation.”
“All right,” said Junior, “but I may not be able to make it every afternoon.”
“I don’t see why not,” Uncle Homer said. “You never do anything else.”
“That’s that, then. Junior will spy, and I will develop my alternate plan, and Mother can work on old Brewster, if she will, and for the rest of you, it must be a period of watchful waiting.” Hester stood up in what was clearly a movement of dismissal. “And now I am going to take a hot bath, as I intended to do before.”
“If you like,” said Junior, “I’ll come and scrub your back.”
“Control yourself, Junior,” Aunt Madge said. “Hester, it’s shameless of you to incite him so.”
“He’s a hopeless bounder,” said Uncle Homer. “He’s as insatiable as Crump’s stud.”
Hester walked into the bedroom and closed the door. Pretty soon there was the sound of water running into the tub. Flo sighed and stood up.
“Hester’s a brilliant girl, but obstinate,” she said. “I can tell you right now that she won’t come out until we are gone, and so we may as well go.”
“First,” said Uncle Homer, “I believe I’ll just look around and see if I can locate a drink of gin.”
14
AFTER A full month of devising ingenious schemes for slaughtering Brewster, who was hardly more guilty of any offense than Senorita Fogarty herself, Uncle Homer was full to his gills with furies and frustrations, as well as, most of the time, gin. During this time, he was posted sporadically on current events by Hester, who had apparently worked out a method of observing Crump and Senorita in the mornings, and by Junior, engaged in desultory espionage in the afternoons. It must be stated that there was, on the whole, very little to report, and practically nothing of an optimistic character.
According to Hester, Senorita Fogarty was, to all appearances, sustaining a state of disgusting health. The only cheerful note in this was the incidental intelligence that she was also sustaining an apparent state of maidenhood, if not chastity. Uncle Homer knew little about dogs in general and less about Chihuahuas in particular, but he supposed that Senorita’s temporary immunity to motherhood had something to do with periods of heat, which Senorita was presumably in and out of on a peculiar schedule of some sort. He also played hopefully with the idea of sterility, but he had no faith in it.
The afternoon espionage added little to Uncle Homer’s sum of knowledge. The period of Junior’s duty corresponded exactly to the time during which he had previously taken an after-lunch nap, and Uncle Homer soon began to suspect that he had merely transferred the practice from bedroom to garden house. The boy was as empty of pertinent intelligence as a bass drum.
Anyhow, fretting from ignorance and inactivity, a condition which did not ordinarily disturb him, Uncle Homer decided at last to do something on his own. After all, he was the head of the family, and it was his right, even his duty, to participate in family affairs. It was all well enough to put matters for the most part into the hands of clever youngsters like Hester, but they needed, in the long run, the stability and sagacity of age and experience. The only trouble was that Uncle Homer, like Junior, didn’t know what to do. On the basis of age and experience, supported by gin, he tried to decide, and the best
decision he could reach, after serious thought, was to call on the Crumps and observe personally whatever was to be observed.
Having reached the decision, he prepared himself, along about the cocktail hour one afternoon, and went. He was uncertain of his reception, inasmuch as he had made himself persona non grata by his rash threats against Crump’s life, but he depended upon his family status to gain him admission and perhaps a drink, although he doubted the latter concession seriously, and was resigned to a brief draught. At any rate, polished and primed, he was shortly prodding the bell at the front door of Grandfather Hunter’s hideous stack, and so it came to pass, as the old tales have it, that it was no one but he, Uncle Homer Hunter himself, who encountered the first big break in the trying case, and carried away, in due time, the first stupendous news.
The door was opened to him, not by Crump or Mrs. Crump, but by a seedy little man, somewhat resembling a spider covered with cobwebs, who had a stethoscope hanging from his ears. This was, Uncle Homer knew, Sigmund Quinn, M. D., Grandfather Hunter’s personal physician for about forty years, and he removed the stethoscope from his ears and peered at Uncle Homer, whose heart had leaped with sudden hope, forgetful of the fact that Dr. Quinn was not a veternarian.
“Well, Dr. Quinn,” Uncle Homer said, “what brings you here? Nothing critical, I trust.”
“It’s Homer, isn’t it? Come in, come in. Don’t just stand there ringing the infernal bell. Come in.”
Uncle Homer entered, removing his hat and discarding his stick in the hall.
“Is someone ill?” he said.
“No,” said Quinn.
“I see. You are merely making a social call on the Crumps.”
“Don’t be an ass. People who are making social calls don’t presume to answer doorbells. Why the devil should I make a social call on the Crumps?”
Uncle Homer didn’t know and was forced to admit it. Curiosity demanded an explanation of Quinn’s presence, however, and Uncle Homer tried to phrase a discreet question that remained unspoken, being anticipated.
“Someone’s dead,” Quinn said.
Uncle Homer nearly staggered. Dedicated to the elimination of Senorita Fogarty, he assumed rashly that it was she who had died, stoked at last with cyanide peanuts. It would be just like the Crumps, considering Senorita’s position and importance, to insist upon the best medical attendant, and just like them, moreover, to assume that old Quinn was it, or anything like it. Thus deluded by hope, he was deserted by sagacity.
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