Fair Play’s a Jewel (Harry Reese Mysteries Book 5)

by Robert Bruce Stewart

  Emmie then told her all about the arrow, the cornice, and her role in possibly preventing Mosher’s assassination. Naggie seemed impressed. But whether she believed any of it, or was just humoring Emmie as you would a (somewhat unhinged) story-telling child, I couldn’t say.

  “This afternoon,” Emmie continued, “Mr. Mosher is to remain in his room reading, while I go into town and look through his correspondence for clues. Perhaps I can take with me any letters from Miss Macleod and bring them to you before dinner.”

  “Oh, that would be stunning.”

  After some desultory conversation about London and New York, Emmie again brought up Michael Field and his wife.

  “If you met the Fields on the trip over, I don’t suppose you know Mrs. Field well. She sounds like an unusual woman.”

  “Not so unusual as she’d like, if you know what I mean. And if you take my advice, you’ll stay well away from that perisher—pure acid.”

  Our lunch over, I returned to the hotel for a short bath, leaving Emmie and Naggie on the beach discussing the shocking spectacle of Mrs. Field. An hour later, while drying myself vigorously, I reentered my room and was greeted by the shocking spectacle herself. She was playing with Naggie’s chow atop my bed. I quickly repositioned the towel.

  “I’d been hoping to see more of you,” she told me while tickling the dog.

  “Even the dogs aren’t safe from you.”

  “It’s he who assailed me. He seems to prefer me to his mistress. Which seems anomalous, given she is such a colossal bi—”

  “I’m sorry I missed your knock,” I interrupted, then reached over to pet the dog. It bared its teeth and ran into the bath.

  “No need to knock. I borrowed a pass-key from my country wife.”

  “Your country wife?”

  “The Teaguelander who makes your bed. Our dear Bridget.”

  “How accommodating of her.”

  “If you’re going to be shirty, I won’t tell you what it is I’ve learned about your arson.”

  “All right, I won’t be shirty, but perhaps you could wait in the bath while I dress.”

  She agreed. Only when I’d finished with the trousers did I realize she’d left the door ajar and been watching via the advantageously positioned mirror.

  “That’s proper enough,” she said as she came out.

  “What is it about the arson you’ve learned?”

  “Do you remember that Lady Sneerwell who expired in our sitting room?”

  “I remember the girl who called herself May Goodwin…. Have there been others?”

  “Just the one, as of yet. I was giving her a theatrical appellation. It is a part she would have excelled in.”

  She’d begun circling me, first one way and then the other, with some appendage always in contact.

  “What was it about Lady Sneerwell you wanted to share with me?” I asked.

  “Well, while we were chatting, about…”

  “About her part in your play?”

  “Yes, thank you. While we were chatting about her part in my play, she alluded to the arsonist.”

  “So you were discussing dramatic characterization and she suddenly happened to mention she knew who set the fire?”

  “She’d put down a good deal of your wine by then.”

  “Did her allusion come with any specifics?”

  “She referred to the arsonist as Jolly.”

  “So we can narrow our search to unusually cheerful suspects?”

  “I don’t believe she was using Jolly as an adjective, but as a moniker, which may or may not have been derived from his demeanor.”

  She now moved in close and removed the tie I’d just put on, then removed her own and carefully knotted it about my neck. It was the color of a ripe peach.

  Much like the girls you find hanging about the barrooms of Raine’s Law hotels, Mrs. Field had mastered the art of alternating flattery with titillation, and then withholding them both at the penultimate moment. She did, however, distinguish herself from her sisters by smelling a good deal better.

  Having completed the substitution of ties, she tossed mine so it draped on the mirror of the bureau.

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Yes?” I called.

  “Mr. Reese, it’s Nan Tway. I’ve come to repay you as we agreed.”

  Mrs. Field rushed to the door, opened it, and pulled a thoroughly disconcerted Nan into the room.

  “He’s only just finished with me, my dimber mab, but he’s always time for clicket.” She gave Nan a long kiss on the lips, then skittered out with the chow at her heels.

  Nan stood just inside the door, frozen. “I… I don’t know what to say….”

  “A common affliction after encountering Mrs. Field at close quarters. She seems to derive great pleasure from it.”

  While Nan recovered, I replaced my tie and put Mrs. Field’s in a drawer. Then it occurred to me that this might be a good opportunity to give Emmie something to ponder, and thereby provoke a visitation by the green-eyed monster. I draped the peach tie over the mirror, then turned back to Nan.

  “I was wondering if you know this beachcomber fellow well enough to introduce me.”

  “Stanley Chambers? Yes, of course. At least, I’ve spoken with him on occasion.”

  As we left the hotel, I asked how her story had been received.

  “I think it may have gone a little above the heads of my readers.”

  “Is that difficult?”

  “No, all too easy,” she smiled. “But I feel it’s important to give them something to exercise their minds.”

  Just as we passed the turnoff for the casino, we crossed paths with Emmie and Naggie. I introduced them by their respective pen names.

  “I read your work on eels and pirates, Miss Tway,” Emmie told her. “A fascinating piece of journalism.”

  “Thank you. But it was Mr. Reese who provided the narrative turn.”

  “How interesting,” was Emmie’s impassive reply.

  “Miss Meegs’ writing is equally fantastic,” I told Nan. “Provided your willingness to anthropomorphize extends to gastropods.”

  After a few more such pleasantries, we went on our way.

  “Is Miss Meegs your wife, then?” Nan asked.

  “How’d you guess that?”

  “Oh, the mark on her empty ring finger. The telltale sarcasm betraying familiarity….”

  We followed the path down to the same beach Emmie, Naggie, and I had picnicked on a short while before. At the far end, we found Stanley Chambers mending a net beside his shanty. He was a thin, dark-skinned man of at least forty, but perhaps a good deal older.

  “Good day, Mr. Chambers.”

  “Good day to ya, Miss Tway.”

  “This is Mr. Reese, Mr. Chambers. He’d like to talk to you about the fire.”

  “The fire I set?” he laughed.

  “I told him that was absurd.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. They build that hotel, I’ll lose my spot. And not many left. I suppose I’ve as good a cause as any to burn down their hotel.”

  “Noyes told me you’d put a hex on it,” I said.

  “Well, we from the islands know all about hexes,” he laughed again.

  “He also said he didn’t think you’d have the money for that much kerosene.”

  “Well, I’m not the vagrant they think. But if I burnt it, I wouldn’t need that much kerosene.”

  “Why do you think whoever did it used so much?”

  “Why, to make sure no one could put it out.”

  “Were you here that night?”

  “Sure. There was a full moon. I was out scavenging.”

  “Was it you who sounded the alarm?”

  “No, I didn’t sound the alarm. I just watched.”

  “Did you see anyone about earlier? It must have taken the arsonist some time to pour that much kerosene.”

  “Must’ve. But I wouldn’t have heard him down here.”

  “Do you have any i
dea who might have set it? A guess even?”

  “Oh, I have a guess all right. But I won’t be slinging mud I don’t know will stick.”

  “Did you know May Goodwin?”

  “The girl that died…. I knowed her.”

  “She told someone she knew who set the fire. Mentioned the name Jolly.”

  “Jolly? Must be someone else, I think. But she probably knowed, that being her business.”

  “What was her business?”

  “Knowing.” He laughed again. “But I hadn’t ought to speak ill of the dead.”

  “Do you think Jack Taber knew as much?” I asked.

  “No, no one knew as much. But I can tell you one man who might know something.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Mr. Libby. Miss Tway can take you.”

  “Nathan Libby? The lawyer?” she asked.

  “That’s right. You maybe talk to him. Tide’s going out, time for me to look about. Nice meeting you, Mr. Reese. Miss Tway.”

  We said good-bye and then retreated up to the path above. I recognized Nathan Libby as one of the names Noyes had given me earlier.

  “Interesting fellow,” I said.

  “Yes. He was a ship’s cook. There was a wreck, just off where his shack is. When he came ashore he vowed never to return to sea again. You see how unlikely a suspect he is?”

  “Sure,” I agreed. “But I wish he would have tossed a little mud about. I heard this Libby fellow is an investor in the other hotel being built up the road.”

  “Yes, I believe so. Does that make him a suspect?”

  “Not a likely one. All he would have accomplished was to delay the completion of the Ocean View. And if he was caught, it would mean a long stretch in prison and the end of his career. Is his law practice lucrative?”

  “Extremely. He’s a shrewd man.”

  10

  On reaching the shore road, Nan and I met Constable Peabbles walking toward the hotel.

  “Peabbles, you look happy as a clam knee deep in mud,” she told him.

  “I suppose I’ve a right to be. Solved my first murder.”

  “Have a confession?” I asked.

  “Not yet, need to catch the fellow first. When I left you this morning, I went out to the house where that Taber’s been staying. They say he left this morning. A farmer came by delivering their milk, told them a girl had died up at the hotel. Didn’t know the name, just said a girl. Taber packed a bag and made off to Portland. Now, why would he leave, unless he knew it was his May?”

  “Therefore, you assume he must have killed her?” Nan asked.

  “It’s the only way he could have known.”

  “Fosh! If he had poisoned her, you feeble-minded bumpkin, why would he wait ’til morning to make his escape?”

  “Because he needed to make sure it took,” Peabbles told her. “You hadn’t ought to talk to me like that, Nan. Not in front of these big bugs.”

  “You’re not a big bug, Mr. Reese, are you?”

  “Me? No, not big enough to notice.”

  “I was speaking of those bugs back at the hotel, the ’lustrious poet Michael Field,” he said. “How’m I to question them after you tell ’em, ‘I entertained his mother’s cow at breakfast’?”

  Peabbles was a small, unassuming fellow. He wore a little moustache and a suit with elbow patches and frayed sleeves. Every so often, he’d make a short-lived effort to present a dignified front, adjusting his manner, language, or tie. But he was otherwise inscrutable.

  “Where are you off to now?” I asked. “To hunt down Jack Taber?”

  “I left word at the depot and sent out wires. I’ll have to wait and see if he shows himself. Just now, I’m going to visit the doctor. Said he’d have a report by now.”

  “Mind if I tag along?” I asked.

  “No, I suppose not. You can come too, Nan. If you behave yourself.”

  “I represent the press, Peabbles. I need no one’s permission.”

  At the turnoff for the casino, we caught an empty car heading north.

  “How goes the arson investigation?” Peabbles asked me.

  “Well, we just spoke with Chambers.”

  “Won’t get much out of him.”

  “No, not much. Earlier my colleague and I met with Noyes, the builder. Didn’t get much out of him either. But there is something else I should tell you about, something I overheard last night. An Englishwoman named May was speaking with a fellow named Jack.” I recounted the conversation as I remembered it, but neglected to mention the crossbow’s communiqué earlier at Mosher’s office. Peabbles took careful notes throughout.

  “You’re sure she said Noyes?” he asked.

  “Sounded like it.”

  “Well, I heard something else about Mr. Noyes at lunch,” he said.

  Some others had boarded the car and Peabbles motioned for us to gather close so his gossip wouldn’t be overheard.

  “The woman that keeps house for Noyes is an old crony of my mother’s. She says she’s seen this May come by in the evening, several times over the last few weeks. And she thinks Noyes has been giving the girl some of his mother’s jewelry. His mother having passed on some time ago.”

  “Have you asked Noyes about it?” Nan asked.

  “Says he let her turn his head, but then realized what she was after and saw no more of her.”

  “Does that make him a suspect?” I asked.

  “Can’t see why he’d give the girl jewelry one week, then poison her the next. Besides, if it was him, why’d Taber run off the way he did?”

  “Good question.”

  “Are you thinking this murder ties in with your arson?” he asked.

  “Could be. Not that it matters much.”

  “Why do you say that?” Nan asked.

  “I only make money if I save the insurer from paying. And in this case, I think it’s a bit of a long shot trying to prove fraud. One of the owners of the corporation would need to have been in on the arson.”

  “Branscombe and the rest,” Peabbles said. “I looked into them when your Mr. Ketchum suggested the possibility, but couldn’t make anything out of it. Is that why he called you in?”

  “No, he called me in to help him with his wife.”

  Peabbles looked to Nan for enlightenment, but she just smiled, then asked if Annie had also come to spawn.

  Before I could answer, we arrived in South Portland and left the car, then made our way to a large house on a leafy street where Peabbles introduced me to Dr. Loring.

  “Is there any doubt she was poisoned?” Peabbles asked.

  “No, no doubt whatsoever. She’d been given digitalis. But I found nothing in the remnants of the wine or chowder.”

  “Digitalis is used to treat heart ailments, isn’t it?” Nan asked.

  “Yes, in small doses. But in larger doses it’s quite lethal.”

  “And Miss Goodwin was given a large dose?”

  “Large enough, apparently. From the amount remaining in her stomach, I wouldn’t have thought it was sufficient to prove fatal. But each of us has his own tolerances. And I suspect she’d taken it repeatedly.”

  “So it accumulates, like arsenic?” I asked.

  “It doesn’t appear to accumulate in the tissue like arsenic. Nonetheless, there is evidence that taking repeated, large doses can increase its lethality.”

  “So then it wouldn’t be murder at all?” Peabbles asked. “I mean, if she’d been taking it herself.”

  “No, but I don’t see why she would have been taking it. Her heart seemed fine. Have you searched her rooms?”

  “She had a room at the hotel,” Peabbles told him. “I didn’t see any medicines, just lots of fancy makeup.”

  “She was an actress,” Nan pointed out.

  “Well, she must have been seeing her own doctor,” Loring told us.

  “Because she was carrying a child?” Nan asked.

  “Yes, over three months along. I suspect that’s why she ignored the symptoms.”r />
  “Which symptoms?”

  “From the large doses of digitalis. Nausea, cramps, all similar to those of morning sickness. Do you know who the father is?”

  “I suspect it was Jack Taber, another actor,” Peabbles told him. “Left town this morning.”

  “Doctor,” I interrupted. “Could she have taken the digitalis to force a miscarriage?”

  “As an abortifacient? Women try all sorts of things, but I never heard of digitalis being used for that purpose. Nor can I imagine why it would work. Of course, most of the others don’t work any better. There was a woman in Brunswick tried nitric acid a short while ago. Killed the fetus all right—then her along with it. Still, I doubt that’s why Miss Goodwin was taking digitalis.”

  As we left the doctor, Nan announced she needed to go off to write her story.

  “You might do Mr. Reese a favor here, Nan, if you left out the bottle of wine. Might have been grape juice.”

  “Are you worried about Mr. Reese’s reputation, or that of the innkeeper who served it? Or that of the officers of the law who allow it to be sold under their noses?”

  “Enforcement of the prohibition law isn’t my concern, Nan. You know that’s Deputy Gaylord’s domain. But why create a problem for your friend here?”

  “Well, if Mr. Reese decides to purchase a typewriter to go with his ribbon….”

  She left before I could discern whether she was serious or not. A car came heading the other direction and Peabbles boarded with me.

  “I want to take another look at the girl’s room,” he said. “I wouldn’t mind if you came with me, an extra set of eyes.”

  “All right,” I agreed. “Do you know Nathan Libby, the lawyer?”

  “Sure, he has a big house up ahead.”

  “Any reason he’d know something about the arson?”

  “Not that I can think of. Who told you he did?” he asked.

  “Stanley Chambers thought he might.”

  “Oh, I don’t have time to listen to his ramblings.”

  A minute later he pointed out Libby’s home, the largest along the shore road. Then he asked me my opinion of Nan.

  “I like her, seems a good sort.”

  “You don’t think her a little… odd?”

  “Little odd? I suppose if I’d come across her three years ago, I might say she was a little odd. But since meeting my wife the scale has shifted.”