by Holly Baxter
It was Bernice.
“Ellie! I’ve been waiting and waiting,” Bernice said, in a strangled whisper. In the light from the streetlamps Elodie could see she was wearing a dark blue coat and a matching cloche hat pulled well down over her ears, totally covering her red curls. Her face was very pale beneath its brim.
“Well, why on earth didn’t you ring the bell and go inside to wait?” Ellie asked, startled. “Are you all right?”
“No, I’m not.” Bernice glanced around. “I’m scared.”
“Why?” Involuntarily, Ellie looked around, too. Nothing seemed out of place. Windows were lit in the surrounding houses, there was music playing on someone’s radio—probably theirs—and she could hear cars passing on the main road a block away. A light breeze ruffled the budding branches overhead, and somewhere in the distance a dog barked. There was a haze around the moon—rain coming.
Bernice reached out and grabbed Elodie’s arm, her fingers digging in through the fabric of her jacket. “Somebody is trying to kill Mr. Lee,” she said dramatically. “Somebody put poison in his food this morning. He got very sick, we had to call the doctor, and the doctor said it was poison and we should call the police, but Mr. Lee wouldn’t let us. Mrs. Logie was very upset…”
Elodie was horrified. She had liked the fat Chinaman. “Is Mr. Lee all right?”
“No. Yes—he’s feeling better now. The doctor gave him something and he was throwing up all afternoon, poor man. When I left Mrs. Logie was looking after him. I think she’s scared, too.”
“But why should someone want to kill Mr. Lee?”
“Because of Suzy’s jade. They want it back. I think they’ll do anything to get it. Anything.” She drew a ragged breath, her hand clutching Elodie even more painfully. “What should I do? I don’t know what to do.”
Elodie did.
Chapter Ten
Elodie took Bernice inside, led her to the kitchen, and quickly made some hot chocolate. One by one the other members of the Browne family appeared. Alyce had been in bed, asleep. Her eyes were a little teary from the sudden bright light of the kitchen, but she would not be left out of any excitement that might be on offer. The others had been upstairs getting ready for bed. Maybelle had her hair wound so tight in metal curlers they pulled back the skin around her eyes. It looked painful. Marie and Mrs. Browne both had their long hair in a braid down their backs. Everyone was wearing the matching bathrobes Marie had made them from a bargain bolt of flannel cloth she had found somewhere. They stood around the kitchen table looking like a gathering of some strange religious cult dedicated to wearing plaid.
“What’s wrong?” Mrs. Browne demanded, viewing Bernice’s chattering teeth and white face. “Are you all right, Bernice?”
“She’s had a bad day,” Elodie explained. “Mr. Lee was poisoned.”
There were gasps all around.
“She thinks he was,” Elodie amended. “It could have been just a bad bit of octopus or something.”
“Octopus?” said Marie, amazed.
“No, the doctor said it was poison.” Bernice managed to get the words out from between her trembling lips. She accepted the cup of hot chocolate Elodie gave her and sipped gratefully. “We all ate the same thing, but only Mr. Lee got sick.” She sipped again. “He wanted to call the police.”
“Mr. Lee?” Alyce asked, eagerly.
Bernice shook her head. “The doctor. He said he was obligated to notify someone, but Mr. Lee talked him out of it. I think he paid him not to say anything.”
“Typical,” said Maybelle, pulling out a chair and settling down to listen. The others followed suit, except for Marie, who went over to wash out the pan Elodie had used to make the hot chocolate for Bernice.
Bernice shrugged but didn’t deny the bribe. Apparently Maybelle was right—money seemed to buy anything these days, Elodie thought. “Now, let’s get this straight.” She reached over and put her hand on Bernice’s sleeve. “Who is Suzy?”
“I don’t know,” Bernice wailed. “But she sure is causing a lot of trouble for Mr. Lee.” She looked around at their concerned faces. “Mr. Webster got it for him, you see.”
“Got what for him?” Alyce asked.
“Suzy’s jade,” Bernice said, a little impatiently. “That’s what he was going to show Miss Hutton and the others. It’s worth a fortune.”
“All right.” Elodie kept her voice steady. “And who wants it back?”
“I don’t know,” Bernice said.
“Did you ask Mr. Lee?”
“I’m only a secretary.” Bernice seemed a little shocked at the thought. “I can’t ask him things like that. I only know it’s somebody.”
“Mingdow?” asked Elodie.
Bernice looked at her with wide eyes. “That’s what Mr. Webster said, isn’t it? The word Mr. Lee didn’t want us to repeat.”
“Yes. What does it mean?”
“I have no idea,” Bernice said. “I don’t speak Chinese.”
“Are you sure it’s Chinese?” asked Mrs. Browne.
Elodie and Bernice looked at one another. “What else could it be?” Elodie asked.
“I have no idea,” said Mrs. Browne, echoing Bernice. “But without seeing it actually written down, it could be anything. Some kind of code, perhaps? Hearing a language is one thing, seeing it written down is quite another. It could be Russian or Eskimo for all we know.”
“I think it is Chinese,” Elodie said. “It frightened the Chinese waiter half to death.”
“What Chinese waiter?” they all chorused. For Elodie had arrived home too late the night before to tell them about her “date” with Lieutenant Deacon, and they had all left too quickly that morning to discuss it.
So Elodie had to explain about giving the statement and being taken to the funny little Chinese restaurant. “He only took me there to intimidate me. As soon as I sort of relaxed, he started questioning me again about Saturday night. I mean, I had already given my statement, but he didn’t seem to believe me. He just kept asking and asking.”
“He sounded very nice on the phone,” said Mrs. Browne.
“Is he handsome?” demanded Alyce, ever the romantic.
“Did he make a pass?” asked Maybelle, ever the cynic.
“What did you have to eat?” asked Marie, ever the cook.
“No, no, I have no idea,” Elodie said to each in turn.
“Is he old and horrible?” Alyce persisted. “Why did you go out with him if he isn’t handsome?”
“He’s not bad looking at all,” Bernice put in. She looked at Elodie. “If he’s the one who came to Mr. Lee’s house on Saturday.”
“He is,” Elodie said.
“You don’t like him.” Maybelle looked at her wisely.
“He’s very pushy.” Elodie looked toward the window at the end of the kitchen where they were reflected against the dark glass. They looked like some kind of bizarre jury, sat all around the table. The kitchen was normally her favorite room in the house, with its cheery red and white linoleum and the shining pans and shelves of dishes on the wall. Now it was eerie in the overhead light, and all their faces looked strangely shadowed. Marie must have been baking after dinner, for the stove was still giving off heat. She was surprised to see she still had her coat on, and began to shrug out of it.
“He winked at her on Saturday night,” Bernice announced. “I saw him. He never winked at me.” She sounded a little jealous.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” Elodie was exasperated. “Why are we talking about him all of a sudden?”
“Because he winked at you.” Alyce was loving this—she rarely got a chance to see any of her older sisters embarrassed, especially Elodie.
“Because he makes you cross.” Maybelle reached over to help her sister off with her coat. “That’s a bad sign, Ellie. I think you like him more than you know.”
“He sounded so nice on the telephone,” Mrs. Browne said again, rather dreamily. “H
e really did.”
Elodie stood up. “I think Bernice should stay here tonight,” she said, firmly. “She’s tired and scared.”
“Of what?” Alyce wanted to know. “That word you said, that Chinese word?”
“Maybe.” Elodie gathered up her coat and reached for Bernice’s as well. It was very warm in the kitchen, and Bernice’s previously pale face was now quite pink and there was a line of perspiration on her upper lip.
“I think you should call Lieutenant Deacon,” Mrs. Browne said.
“No, thank you.” Elodie added her own hat to Bernice’s and went toward the kitchen door to hang them up in the sitting room closet.
“But Ellie…” came the family chorus again.
“Maybe in the morning.” Elodie spoke over her shoulder, pushing against the kitchen door.
“Mr. Lee won’t like that,” Bernice protested. “I thought I could trust you, Ellie. I could lose my job if you tell the police about this.”
“Why did you come to me, then?” Elodie turned and looked at her friend, a little annoyed. She was tired, and all this teasing about Archie Deacon was not sitting well with her.
Bernice’s eyes filled with tears. “Because I didn’t know who else to tell,” she said. “And you’re so clever, I thought you could tell me what the best thing to do is. But not the police.”
“Oh, dear,” said Mrs. Browne, looking at Elodie in despair. She always wanted her daughters to do the right thing, but what was right in this situation? Why had all this come into their lives? Not for the first time she wished her husband was still alive. She could deal with most things, but all this about Chinamen and jade, murders and policemen was beyond her. She wanted to blame Bernice, but the girl’s evident distress brought out her protective instincts. And why was Elodie behaving like this? She used to be so compliant, but ever since she had been working in advertising, she had changed. And now this radio business. Mrs. Browne didn’t want things to change—life was difficult enough as it was. She knew her girls had to grow up and away from her, but did it have to happen like this?
“We’ll sleep on it.” Elodie was decisive—she wanted all this talk to stop, now. “We’re all too tired to think straight right now, especially you, Bernice. Call your mother and tell her where you are, and then we’re going to sleep. We can decide what to do at breakfast.”
“Not the police.” Bernice was very stubborn.
“We’ll see,” Elodie said, and went through into the dining room carrying the coats and hats before anybody could say anything else.
But later, as they were undressing for bed, Bernice again pleaded with Elodie not to go to the police. “If Mr. Lee paid the doctor not to tell, it must be really important for the police not to know. You remember he didn’t want any of us to tell the police about mingpow or whatever it was on Saturday night.”
“Yes, I wondered about that.” Elodie handed Bernice one of her old nightgowns. It was white cotton, with long sleeves, and she could see from Bernice’s expression it was probably not like the glamorous things she normally wore to bed. Nor was her bed likely to be like Elodie’s battered old oak one. “Mr. Lee didn’t actually say anything specific, but everybody there seemed to know automatically that they weren’t supposed to repeat that word. It was like they read his mind.”
“Maybe they knew what it meant,” Bernice said. “Maybe they were too scared to say it.”
“Mr. Webster said it,” Elodie pointed out as they got under the covers.
“Yes, but he was warning Mr. Lee…”
“Listen, about the guard shooting Mr. Webster.”
“What about it?”
“Had he worked for Mr. Lee for a long time?”
“No.” Bernice seemed rather surprised by the question, and as she spoke it was clear she hadn’t considered it before. She sat down and began to unroll her stockings. “He had only been hired a few weeks back. Normally the treasure house is kept locked but not with a guard. Come to think of it, he came after Suzy’s jade arrived. And because of the party, I guess, and all the extra people being around.”
“So that—what did you call it—that building at the back?”
“Mr. Lee’s treasure house? That’s what I call it, anyway. He just calls it the vault.” Bernice straightened out her stockings and hung them over the back of the chair where she was putting the rest of her clothes. She put her shoes neatly underneath. Bernice was a very tidy girl.
“Well, isn’t it normally guarded?” Ellie asked as they climbed into bed.
Bernice shook her head against the pillow. “No—it has all kinds of locks and alarms at both ends of the glass passage, and that glass is special, too. It’s really very modern—he had it built especially by some people from New York, I think. It was already there when I started working for him.”
“Have you ever been inside?”
“Oh, yes. Lots of times.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Well, what’s it like in there?”
“Full of junk.” Bernice was dismissive.
“What do you mean, ‘junk’?”
“Well, all that Chinese stuff—jade and embroideries and so on. Statues, some painted altar things, stuff like that. It’s all in glass cases, like at the office, but more…”
“More what?”
“More locked up,” Bernice said. “I guess it’s worth a lot of money but for me you could just throw it all in the lake. It’s so fussy and strange. Not like his house.”
“His house is very modern.”
“Exactly.” Bernice gave a little bounce and the mattress creaked. “I like his house, except maybe for those paintings on the walls. But at least they’re modern, not ancient and old and horrible. You should see some of the faces on those statues…”
“I thought the jade at the office was beautiful.”
“I was surprised Ling let you in. He’s a pain in the neck. Thinks he’s the big expert on everything.” Bernice dropped back down and stared up at the ceiling.
“What does he do for Mr. Lee? Is he a guard or something?”
Bernice laughed. “No. He’s just sort of an office boy. He’s always running errands for Mr. Lee. He’s in and out all the time. When he isn’t running errands he just sits in the corner and reads Chinese books or stares at the secretaries.”
“How many secretaries does Mr. Lee have?” Elodie was full of questions.
“Three,” Bernice said. “I’m the most important, because I work for Mr. Lee himself. Maisie does bills and office stuff like ordering stationery.”
“What if Mr. Lee wants to write a letter in Chinese?”
Bernice sounded sulky. “The other secretary does that, a little snip named Helen Chou. She’s American Chinese, she thinks she’s so smart because she talks to Mr. Lee in Chinese all the time. I think she tells him lies about us…”
“She came in while I was there. She was very rude. And very pretty.”
“And doesn’t she know it? I told you, she speaks in Chinese to Mr. Lee. Lord knows what she’s saying. I don’t know why Mr. Lee puts up with her, sometimes you would think she was the boss, not him.”
“So she takes care of all Mr. Lee’s Chinese business?”
“More or less. I deal with all the American museums and collectors and stuff. You wouldn’t believe what some people will pay for that junk.” Bernice obviously didn’t believe it herself. “In these days, when poor people are hungry, the rich spend thousands on a little piece of green stone. It’s disgusting.”
“Then why don’t you work for someone else if it upsets you so much?”
Bernice turned her head away. “Because I like Mr. Lee and he pays me really well. And I don’t want to talk about it any more. Good night.”
“Good night,” Elodie said. She fell asleep wondering if Helen Chou knew about Suzy’s jade, where it came from, and who wanted it so badly they were prepared to kill to get it.
&nbs
p; She dreamt that Lieutenant Deacon, dressed as a Chinaman, was staying at the Imperial Hotel and flirting with Molly the hotel receptionist. It was all very confusing.
***
The next morning, Bernice had made up her mind. “Forget it,” she said, briskly, pushing her empty breakfast plate away. “Just forget it. I was spooked, that’s all.”
“But Bernice—”
“No. Really, Ellie. I rang Mr. Lee this morning before you came down and he’s fine, absolutely fine. He’s sending his car for me, it should be here any minute.” The others had left for school and work, and Marie was again busy at the sink, washing up their breakfast things. She turned and exchanged a glance with Elodie. This was an entirely different Bernice from the night before. She seemed cold and distant, and much more in control of herself.
“Are you sure you’re being wise going back there?” asked Marie.
“It’s Mr. Lee who’s in danger, not me. If I’m there, maybe I can look after him. And I’m going to suggest that he gets some guards to patrol the grounds.”
“How about an official taster?” Elodie spoke with some irony. Bernice just looked stubborn.
“That’s silly. Anyway, Mrs. Logie will be looking after his food from now on, and she’s okay.”
“Are you sure?”
“She’s been with him for years.” Bernice stood up and pulled on her hat. It was covered all over in little felt flowers and there was a red silk ribbon around the brim. Another new outfit, then. No wonder Bernice stayed with Mr. Lee if he paid her enough to buy clothes like this. “If Mrs. Logie wanted to kill him she’s had plenty of time to do it.”
“What I don’t understand is why killing Mr. Lee would make any difference,” Elodie said. “These people only kidnapped Mr. Webster, it was that guard who killed him.”
“Maybe they only wanted to scare Mr. Lee,” Marie said.
“But why?” Elodie was puzzled.
“Because of his sons, I suppose,” Bernice said.
“Mr. Lee is married?”
“He was. She’s dead, but they had three sons. The first two are doctors in New York. Maybe she died giving birth to the last one—he’s only about twenty. He’s in China, now.” Bernice’s mouth twisted. “He thinks he’s so wonderful, like some little prince or something. If Mr. Lee died, he’d have to come back and take over the business, and that would be a disaster. He’s not at all like his father, believe me. He’s a Communist, and he hates Mr. Lee because Mr. Lee has all this money. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw a sofa.”