The Red Carnelian

by Phyllis A. Whitney

  “Now listen to me,” I said. “I’m beginning to feel practically like an encyclopedia of what the police department doesn’t know. About every fifteen minutes someone new comes up and asks me please not to say anything to the police about such-and-such because, of course, it hasn’t anything to do with the murder.”

  Tears began to well up in Chris’s eyes. “Oh, Linell, how can you be so unkind? Of course father and Susan won’t say anything. And I’ve already stopped by to speak to Helena and Carla and they won’t tell either. Keith just promised me he wouldn’t so there’s only Sondo, Bill Thorne and you left. If you’d promise, then I could just go over to see Sondo and—”

  “If you can find her,” I said. “Just at the moment she’s disappeared.”

  The flush drained out of Chris’s cheeks.

  “Oh, no!” she whispered. “Oh, no—it couldn’t be!”

  “Couldn’t be what?” I snapped.

  She looked around toward Keith, but he was watching me in wide-eyed horror and didn’t see her.

  “I didn’t say she’d been murdered,” I told them. “I only said she’d disappeared. Probably not even that. She came to the store this morning, so she may be around somewhere.”

  Chris was not reassured. She jumped up. “I’m going over to window display. I’ve got to find out! I’ve got to know!”

  “Maybe you’d better stay away,” Keith warned her. “After what Sondo did to you last night, they might go tying you in. Or they might tie—”

  Chris whirled on him. “Don’t you say it! Don’t you dare say it!”

  The glimmer of a most unpleasant suspicion began to stir in my mind. What was it Keith had been so uneasy about having said last night? It had been after Chris had gone. He’d accounted for her strange behavior in the window by suggesting that there might be someone else she’d loved as well as Monty.

  For the first time that idea began to take hold in my mind. I’d thought from the beginning that she had never shown a natural hatred toward the murderer, even though he’d taken the life of the man she’d loved. And she’d been so frightened and hysterical from the beginning. There were two people Chris had loved besides Monty; two who loved her devotedly. Owen and Susan Gardner.

  I leaned my elbows on the desk and put my face in my hands. My confusion of mind was so great that I couldn’t seem to think in a straight line for two minutes consecutively. Sooner or later I’d have to go to McPhail with everything I knew. Everything. Which meant my own part in finding Monty’s body, the part Bill had played, Helena’s visit to Monty’s apartment, the letters we’d found there, Sondo’s suspicions of a possible explanation concerning the ring—anything and everything. But before I did that I wanted to have one last thorough talk with Bill.

  “Chris,” I said more gently than I’d spoken before, “I think you’d better go home and stay there. Don’t talk to anyone else in the store. Probably Sondo is all right and will show up at any minute. But—but if she isn’t all right—we’ll all have to tell the truth. There’s nothing else for it. Go home, Chris and rest. And I’ll call you the moment I know anything.”

  She said, “All right, Linell,” in a voice that was hardly more than a whisper and went out of the office as if she were walking in her sleep.

  The moment she was gone, I sent Keith off on an errand and then phoned window display. One of Tony’s helpers answered. No. Sondo hadn’t shown up as yet. Hering was still there. Sure, he’d tell him I wanted to see him.

  I sat back and waited. There were a number of things I couldn’t tell Hering yet, but there was one thing I could. Until I made up my mind to confess the part I’d played, I simply couldn’t go giving any of my friends away, but there was one person concerned who was no friend of mine.

  “I want you to find out something for me,” I said when Hering came in. “It’s just possible there was another person near the window at the time Mr. Montgomery was murdered. I mean someone who hasn’t figured very strongly yet.”

  He looked all ears and interest and I went on.

  “Last week Carla Drake bought a pin down at the costume jewelry section. It didn’t suit her and she went down Tuesday to exchange it. Helena Farnham waited on her on both occasions, but for some reason neither Miss Farnham nor Miss Drake can recall exactly what time of the day that exchange was made. Do you have access to the salesbooks?”

  “I’ll find out, Miss Wynn,” Hering said.

  “Of course there may not be anything to it,” I told him. “I’m just curious, that’s all. But there’s one other thing. Yesterday a clipping came into my hands and it may have some significance. I wonder if you could look up the case referred to?”

  “Well,” he said, “I guess so. That Miss Drake sure is some baby, ain’t she?”

  “Et tu, Brute?” I said and smiled at his blank look. “I mean it would certainly be a shame if she turned out to be a murderess, wouldn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” Hering said. “Tough to get a conviction. What’s that clipping you were talking about?”

  “I have it in my handbag,” I said, and then wondered if I did. I’d read it over again on the way to work that morning, but what with the queer things that went on these days I couldn’t be sure how long I’d keep anything.

  I opened a drawer in my desk. I must have done it absently, because it wasn’t the drawer in which I kept my bag and gloves. And then I sat quite motionless.

  Hering must have noted the peculiar expression on my face because he came around the desk and looked at the contents of the drawer.

  “Pull it out,” he said. “Go ahead, pull it out.”

  I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to because suddenly and unreasonably I was afraid. I knew what was in that drawer and so did Hering. When I still hesitated, he reached in and pulled out the wrinkled green folds and shook them into shape.

  The thing was Sondo’s paint-smeared smock and out of it dropped the knotted yellow kerchief she so often wore about her head.

  Hering regarded me darkly. “Where’d you get this?”

  “I don’t know,” I said in bewilderment. “I mean I didn’t get it anywhere. Sondo must have put them there herself. But I can’t imagine what for.”

  Hering looked increasingly mournful. “Maybe she did and maybe she didn’t. You sure you don’t know anything about this, Miss Wynn?”

  I began to feel a little indignant. “I’ve told you I don’t. What do you think—that I’ve murdered Sondo and—and—”

  He shook his head at me reproachfully. “Don’t get excited now. I didn’t say nothing of the kind.”

  “But you thought it!” I cried. “I saw it there in your face. But why you should mind, I’m sure I don’t know. I’d be a lot easier to get a conviction on than Carla Drake.”

  Hering said, “Aw, Miss Wynn!” and I began to feel a bit foolish. I hadn’t meant to pull a Chris on him, but it just seemed as if so many things were piling up and that smock stuffed in the drawer of my desk was the last straw.

  “It’s all right,” I said. “I’m sorry. I’m sure there’s some simple explanation and as soon as Sondo shows up we’ll hear about it.”

  “I’ll have to take this over to show McPhail,” he told me. “And now that clipping.”

  I found it and gave it to him. “It’s about a fur coat theft at a style show run by the store where Monty used to work before he came here. Maybe there’s a connection.”

  “I’ll check on it,” he assured me. “And don’t you worry about this smock business.”

  Keith came back shortly after Hering had left and I told him what had happened. He looked sicker than ever and dropped limply into his chair.

  “That means she’s dead,” he said in a hollow voice. “That’s what it means!”

  “It doesn’t mean anything of the kind,” I told him, but he shook his head at me.

  “If she’s
dead I’m going to tell,” he whispered. “I have to tell. I can’t let it go on.”

  I was tempted to get up and shake Keith, the way Bill and I took turns at shaking Chris.

  “Just what have you got on your mind?” I asked.

  He only shook his head and I knew from experience that when Keith developed a mood there wasn’t much chance of doing anything with him. He denied all knowledge of the smock and I believed him.

  It wasn’t until after lunch that we found out Bill had disappeared too, and that in all probability he’d been the last to talk to Sondo.

  17

  But before that a few other things happened. McPhail arrived in a highly indignant state. He wanted to see Sondo about the wrong steer she’d given him in the Tony business, and he wasn’t any too pleased over Dolores’ broken head, or the smock stuffed in my drawer.

  After a futile questioning session in which nothing new came out, he ordered a description of Sondo broadcast and set the whole police force watching for her. By that time he’d come to a satisfactory conclusion in his own mind. He’d been fooled by Sondo once and he didn’t mean to be fooled again. Obviously she was our murderer and had done a neat getaway under the cover of Tony’s arrest. Everything else—the smashed mannequin, the smock in my drawer—were merely blinds by which he had no intention of being confused.

  Tony was delighted with this idea and lost no time in revenging himself upon Sondo by telling McPhail everything he could think of against her.

  Miss Babcock was called in and questioned about the red dress. She explained that it was a frock Mr. Gardner had particularly wanted shown in the window and that one of the display boys had taken it upstairs the day before. But where, demanded Miss Babcock indignantly, was the belt? In her eyes, I’m sure, the belt’s disappearance was far more serious than Sondo’s. In spite of the rumpus she raised, the belt wasn’t found. Not then.

  It was immediately after lunch that I had my odd encounter on the stairs.

  All the stairways in the newer part of the store are enclosed and shut off from each floor. Since there are plenty of elevators and a wide escalator, they are seldom used. I’d been taking care of some matters pertaining to signs on the third floor and then I had to go down to the second to see the buyer of yard goods. As the stairs were handiest, I went through the door and out onto the third floor landing.

  As I started down, I heard voices just below and one of them I recognized as Helena Farnham’s. I paused and looked down over the rail. Carla Drake was with her and they were talking earnestly.

  “I appreciate what you’ve done for me,” Carla was saying. “I won’t forget it. This way neither of us needs to be involved.”

  Carla’s back was toward me so that I couldn’t watch her expression. Of Helena I could see just the profile as she looked intently at Carla.

  “He caused enough suffering while he was alive,” Helena said. “There’s no need for him to cause more, now that he’s dead.”

  Carla held out her hand and Helena took it. It was like the signing of a pact. Then Helena started downstairs toward the main floor and Carla came up in my direction. I didn’t linger to be discovered, but whirled and ran back onto the third floor, making my way to the escalator.

  So there was something between Helena and Carla. Helena knew something about the model, something she was being quiet about. And I thought I knew what it was, in part.

  My signal light went up before I’d finished what I had to do and I learned I was wanted in window display where McPhail was holding temporary court. Hering was with him and on Monty’s desk lay the carbon of a sales slip.

  “We’ve sent for Miss Drake and Miss Farnham about this pin business,” McPhail said. “But first you can tell me what you know.”

  I explained that I’d had an uneasy feeling that the two women were being evasive about the time Carla had gone down to exchange the pin.

  McPhail shoved the slip out of sight and nodded. “We’ve got the record here in carbons. The number stamped by the cash register shows that the pin exchange was made within an hour of closing time last Tuesday.”

  But he didn’t get anywhere with them. Carla recalled vaguely that she must have made the exchange some time in the afternoon. Helena said she’d been too busy and there were too many exchanges for her to remember any particular one. When McPhail confronted them with the record, neither turned a hair. They’d expected something of the kind, of course, and both were schooled in self-control.

  I didn’t want to go too far until I was ready to go all the way, so I refrained from mentioning the meeting on the stairs. First I wanted to talk to Bill.

  McPhail let Helena go, but he kept Carla for a while. Somebody had told him she’d spent the night at Sondo’s and he was interested in getting an account of that. I was interested too and glad he didn’t send me away.

  Carla did a nice job of skimming the truth. Sondo had had a few friends over last night, she explained serenely, and when they’d gone home Sondo had invited her to stay. It was late and she’d been glad of the opportunity.

  No, Sondo hadn’t seemed any different than usual. They hadn’t talked much. Sondo wanted to write a letter, so Carla had gone to bed on the studio couch in the living room. In the morning Bill Thorne had turned up bright and early on their doorstep and invited them to breakfast.

  My interest quickened. Breakfast? Mm.

  “But Sondo was in a hurry to get to the store,” Carla explained. “She seemed to want to get down especially early. So Bill just took me to breakfast.”

  That made it still more interesting. I wanted to know all about that breakfast—where they’d gone and who’d said what. But McPhail didn’t follow it up.

  He said, “After Sondo left you to go to work, you didn’t see her again?”

  Carla shook her head. “I didn’t. But maybe Bill did. He seemed curious about what she was up to and he said he thought he might as well run down to Cunningham’s and have a talk with her before he went out to Universal. So he drove me to work.”

  Hering picked up the phone on Monty’s desk. “Want me to call Universal?”

  McPhail nodded and he put through the call. Bill hadn’t been at Universal all day. But he’d phoned. He’d phoned from Cunningham’s and said he had some things to do and might take some time off. So nobody had been concerned.

  Hering checked with a Cunningham operator who remembered a man’s voice on the window display connection, asking for an outside wire early that morning. It looked very much as if Bill had had his interview with Sondo and then both of them had disappeared into thin air. Whether together or separately was anybody’s guess.

  I was beginning to get really scared. I didn’t like the sound of any of it, and I didn’t wait any longer to put in a few ideas of my own.

  “I think something’s happened to him,” I told McPhail, while my stomach did back flip-flops at the very hint of anything happening to Bill. If he’d just show up quickly and all in one piece, I’d even forgive him for taking Carla to breakfast.

  McPhail was unimpressed by my contribution. “I suppose you think maybe the Norgaard woman murdered him too? And I suppose a little half-pint squirt like her could just tuck the body under her arm and cart it out of the store?”

  It was awful to hear Bill referred to as “the body.”

  “Maybe not,” I said. “But she could have persuaded him to go out of the store with her and then—and then—” I couldn’t go on.

  Somebody had carried that pine spray of Tony’s into Monty’s office, and Hering had picked it up to test experimentally. He put it down now and turned to me.

  “Look, Miss Wynn. What makes you think he didn’t just go off alone on some hook of his own?”

  I laid down my ace. “Because he wouldn’t have come to Cunningham’s and gone away again without stopping in to see me. Even if it was just to say ‘hello,’ h
e’d have stopped in my office.”

  McPhail looked me over in a way I didn’t much like.

  “He had breakfast with the Drake woman, didn’t he?” he said, and the inference wasn’t to be missed.

  In McPhail’s eyes I evidently wouldn’t stand a chance against Carla, and probably Bill wouldn’t have been interested in looking into my office.

  I said, “If you’re through with me, I’ll get back to work,” and went haughtily to the door.

  Keith was waiting outside for me.

  “I didn’t know if I should interrupt or not,” he said. “There’s about twelve people waiting for you to call them up, and there’s some trouble about the signs for the style show and—”

  My heart wasn’t in my work at the moment. All I wanted to know was whether Bill Thorne had called. Keith said he hadn’t and, when my chin went down another notch, asked what was the matter.

  “Bill’s gone too,” I said. “Sondo and Bill. They can’t find either of them.”

  Keith looked so awful that I had to make an effort to take him in hand, instead of indulging in my own fears.

  “Nothing’s happened to Bill. He phoned Universal and told them he had some things to attend to. And McPhail thinks Sondo is the one who killed Monty and that she’s tried to get away. He’s sent out a description of her and they’ll be sure to pick her up before long.”

  My words had a hollow sound because I didn’t believe them myself, and Keith shook his head darkly all the way back to the office.

  “I don’t think so,” he kept saying. “I don’t think so.”

  Once during the afternoon I called Chris to see how she was and to ask if she’d heard from Bill. Susan answered the phone and said Chris was asleep, so I told her not to bother. But she was sure Bill hadn’t been heard from there.

  And then around four o’clock Owen Gardner sent for me.

  There had been no news of either Sondo or Bill and I was on edge with anxiety, and in no mood to look after the interests of Cunningham’s. Though one good thing about a job is that it has to be done, and you can’t give up even if you want to.