“Noyes? Was he here?”
“Yes. I thought he came to see you.”
“No, I didn’t see him. Well, if there’s nothing else?”
We shook hands again, but with a little less feeling. Outside, I found Ed being escorted back to the hotel by Delia.
14
“There you are, our good Harry,” Delia greeted me. “I was just explaining our plan for this evening to Mr. Ketchum.”
“Which plan is that?”
“Let us amble toward yon shrubbery where we can avoid inquiring ears.”
She took us behind a hedge and had us sit down on the grass.
“I’ve told dear Ed all about my find. By the way, do you have it with you?”
“The notebook? I left it up in my room,” I told her.
“That was foolish. Anyone could have it now.”
“You may be right—locked doors don’t count for much at the Sea Cliff.”
“Don’t be churlish,” she told me. “Now, as I was explaining to Ed, I’ve looked into the names that lie beneath Mr. Bed, at least the ones I remembered—Mattie, Marie Louise, Ninetta whatever, and that playful duo, Damietta and Joanna. There are no guests at the hotel with those names, nor anyone here in service.”
“And you suspect Branscombe is meeting one tonight?” Ed asked.
“Marie Louise,” I told him.
“Yes, that is his plan. But what if we offer a willing alternative?” she asked.
“Which willing alternative?”
“Me, of course. I will seduce our innkeeper while you and Ed maintain vigil. Just when he’s about to get the goods, you enter and we have him in our power. He’ll have to tell us whatever we want to know. What do you think, gentlemen?”
It was just the sort of scheme Emmie would come up with—provided she was as supremely vain as Delia. I knew from experience there was only one way to respond to such a proposal: feed the beast, until safely away.
“A sound strategy,” I said. “Where is it you intend to spring the trap?”
“Yes, that is a problem. Not here at the hotel, certainly. We need a secluded hideaway.”
“How about a cabin at an abandoned farm?” I suggested.
“Sounds rum. How far away?”
“Not far.”
“Then let us reconnoiter.”
As we strolled down the shore road, she in the center—arms interlocked with me on one side and Ed on the other—she told us of various of her conquests. They included the current King, not a few of his entourage, and assorted literary figures, politicians, and other villains—along with most of their wives. She’d come to a Devonshire milkmaid named Saucy Sally when Naggie and Mr. Field approached us from the other direction. The chow ran to Delia and she disengaged herself to indulge it.
“I’ve warned you, you perfidious tart, stay away from my dog,” Naggie cried.
“You should have that one on a leash, my dear,” Delia told her husband.
They kept on their way until Naggie turned to summon the dog. When he didn’t come, she pulled out some sort of biscuit and called out little endearments until he trotted off toward her.
“Only way she can keep ’im at home. Bribes,” Delia told us.
We passed the casino and soon arrived at the farm. I led them back to the pond. This time, however, I located a path that led safely around the mire to the cabin.
“Oh, a perfect cote for our venture,” Delia decreed.
It was a single room of about twelve foot square, with two small windows and a roof with a gaping hole. But there was an old iron bed, and the lady thought with the addition of various accoutrements this would be sufficient.
When we arrived back at the hotel, I saw Peabbles waiting at the car stop. While Delia and Ed went in, I stopped to chat.
“Any developments?” I asked.
“Yes, of a sort.” He took me away from the queue at the stop. “Turns out the jewelry belonged to Mr. Noyes’s aunt.”
“The jewelry he gave May Goodwin?”
“That’s right. Found that out at breakfast. Then just now I went up to May Goodwin’s room. Just to see if anything else had gone missing.”
“Did you have anything in particular in mind?”
“No, just wanted to see if anyone else had anything in mind. And apparently someone did.”
“What?”
“That last postcard. From May’s brother, Lenny.”
“The one thanking her for the hundred dollars?” Then it dawned on me. “Noyes’s aunt’s name was Kate?”
“That’s right.”
“I saw Noyes leaving the hotel last night. He told me he’d been in seeing Branscombe. But when I asked Branscombe about it today, he said he hadn’t seen Noyes.”
“I suppose that’s when he did it. He must have gotten in to look for the jewelry, which she’d already hocked. Then he saw the card.”
“I don’t suppose it proves anything other than what he’d told you already,” I said.
“No, assuming he wasn’t looking for anything else.”
A car arrived and Peabbles went off to board it.
Upstairs, I found Bridget in cleaning the bath. I greeted her and then looked about my room for May’s book. It wasn’t there.
Bridget called out to me, “Looks like someone took a spill in here.”
I joined her and apologized for the mess she’d been left.
“I found this in the tub.” She held out a tie-pin with a green stone, reproachfully. “It’s Mrs. Field’s.”
Emmie, meanwhile, had arrived in her own room and was peering through the open door to the bath.
“Mrs. Field was in visiting my wife, eh, Miss Meegs, earlier this morning. Isn’t that right, Miss Meegs?”
She walked in and took the tie-pin Bridget was still holding.
“I’m afraid my recollection differs from yours, Mr. Reese. If you recall, when I came into the bath you had your door open and Mrs. Field in your bed.”
“On my bed. But it was you who shared your bath with her.”
“Oh, that one,” Bridget interjected. “How she gets around. No one in the hotel’s safe from her. She’s taken to calling me her “country wife.” In front of the other girls! Tongues are wagging…. You’d better take care. Don’t let her break you up.”
“Break us up?” Emmie asked.
“Tear your husband away from you, or you from Mr. Reese here.”
“You knew we were married?” Emmie asked.
“I think I let the cat out of the bag just now,” I confessed.
“Oh, we knew for sure this morning,” Bridget explained.
“We?”
“Sure. When I come in and stripped the beds. I knew then. I showed ’em to Sandy, across the hall, then took ’em down and showed the girls in the laundry. Just to prove you weren’t adulterers.”
“How did our dirty linen prove that?” I asked.
“Well, the first morning, your sheets weren’t slept in. And the lady’s were… sullied. That’s how we put it.” Her blush made clear her meaning. “Well, of course the others assumed the worst. A married lady pretending not to be married has a room connected to a man’s, a man who wears a band on his finger. But I said, Mr. Reese seemed like a gentleman. If you remember how we met….”
“Yes, you and Mrs. Field were…”
“Well, never mind that,” she interrupted. “But you were gentlemanly about it. So I put down two bits saying you were a gentleman, therefore Miss Meegs was really Mrs. Reese.”
“Did you get odds?”
“Seven to one!”
“But what about this morning?” Emmie asked.
“Well, suppose you were having a tryst. A few days of fun. We get plenty of that. Well, the sheets are always…”
“Sullied?” Emmie supplied.
“Yes. But not married people. Even young ones. They might be tired, or they had a squabble. I bet you had a squabble last night.”
Emmie and I looked at each other.
“Of course, sometimes the lady’s in flower…. We can always tell when the flag’s up,” Bridget added.
“Which flag?” I asked.
“Catamenia,” Emmie explained. “I suppose you learn a good many of the guests’ secrets.”
“Not that we go about looking into things. Just what we can’t help knowing. Like Mrs. Field sometimes not sleeping in her bed.”
“But her husband’s room…”
“Yes, but then why pay for the other room? And why aren’t his sheets ever…”
“Sullied?”
“Yes, and with a young wife, who seems so…”
“Enthusiastic?” Emmie suggested.
“Yes. Poor Mr. Field. Just like poor Mr. Ketchum.”
“Sheets never…?”
“No, never. And no flag up either,” she added. “I don’t think his wife cares a thing for him.”
“Well, you seem to be right about that,” I confirmed.
“Annie’s lost interest in Ed?” Emmie asked. “Poor man.”
“Yes, poor Mr. Ketchum,” Bridget agreed.
Before they could pity the fellow another round, I asked Bridget if she’d seen the notebook.
“No, sir.”
“I don’t suppose it left the room with you, Emmie?”
“Suppose it did? It certainly wasn’t yours by any right.”
“No. But we’d better hand it over to the constable. Can you give it to me now?”
“I’m afraid it’s no longer in my possession. But I’ll pass along the suggestion.”
“I don’t suppose you ever saw this notebook before, Bridget? A little black leather book. I believe it belonged to May Goodwin.”
“I did see her writing in a little book once. In her room. But she hid it as soon as I come in.”
“There were some names in it. Marie Louise was one. Mattie Alles was another….”
“And Ninetta Porcella, Maggie Ellen, Florence P., Ariadne…,” Emmie added.
“Mrs. Field asked me about them earlier. I told her there was a Maggie here when I first arrived, in April. Maggie Callahan. She married a fellow and went up north somewhere. I don’t know her married name.”
“But none of the others?”
“No, but I don’t remember all the guests’ names,” she said. “Well, I’d better be getting along, or they’ll be looking for me. Good-bye, Mrs. Reese. And don’t worry, I’ll keep your secret.”
She left and I followed Emmie into her room.
“Well, at least now we know why the linen is changed daily,” she said. “For the amusement of the help.”
“Let’s get back to the notebook, Emmie. You must realize it’s evidence in a murder investigation.”
“You were in no hurry to turn it over when it was in your hands. I take your change of mind to mean you’ve been stymied in your attempts to interpret the clues.”
“Not at all. My confidants and I have already set our plan in motion. With a little luck, we’ll have the solution by morning.”
“If Mrs. Field is among your confidants, you’ll need more than a little luck. Her sole concern seems to lie in making a spectacle of herself.”
Her words were more or less confirmed when I looked out the window and saw Delia leading Ed up the road in the direction of the old farm. I couldn’t see Ed, of course, but I surmised it was him. A fellow who stands six foot seven carrying a mattress on his head tends to be noticed.
There was a knock on Emmie’s door and a porter brought in various pieces of apparel and laid them on the bed. Then they both waited for me to tip him.
“What’s this?” I asked Emmie.
“We’re going golfing.”
“Who’s we in this context?”
“Naggie, Mr. Field, myself, and you, in your role as Mr. Mosher.”
“It’s out of the question, Emmie. I’m in the midst of an arson investigation.”
She expressed her skepticism in a single scornful note. “You should be thankful I’m allowing you this chance to redeem yourself. Now, put these on.”
She was holding up a pair of billowy knickers done in a plaid of green and beige. I’d always felt people looked decidedly ridiculous in golfing attire, but assumed that somehow by the mere donning of it they were rendered numb to the embarrassment. I was wrong. One look in the mirror was enough to frighten me from the game permanently.
“I look like a boob, Emmie. And I can’t help but notice you’ve chosen a rather flattering outfit for yourself.”
“Thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment. Try to remember, you’re playing a middle-aged man, so the more boob-like the better. Put on an extra collar—that will make it appear you have a thicker neck. Then we can put on the moustache.”
“Moustache?”
“Yes, I borrowed one from an actor down the road.”
Having pasted on the facial hair, she fetched Delia’s peach tie from my room and forced me to wear it—putting the final nail in the coffin of the green-eyed monster I’d nursed from birth. Then she removed the provided golf cap and plopped Mosher’s derby on my head.
The Sea Cliff Hotel in summer is a veritable asylum for the sartorially inept. Loud plaids and checks are the norm, and the bathing, tennis, and golf costumes would be regarded as too gaudy for a traveling tent show. Nonetheless, when we descended the front steps, all eyes were upon me.
A little station wagon took us down to the golf course, where we were given sets of clubs and assigned caddies. We found Naggie and Mr. Field waiting on the first tee. The lady managed to disguise her mirth in an effusive greeting. The gentleman didn’t bother trying.
“Good god, man. Is this some sort of strategy to throw us off our game?” Then he egged on the caddies, who until then had managed to put monetary concerns uppermost by looking away while they sneered. “Look at him, boys. Ever seen anything like it?”
Apparently, they hadn’t.
We teed off on what I’d been led to believe would be a game of nine holes taking about two hours. It was well past that when Naggie and I finished the fifth hole. In the meantime, Field’s caddie had traded duties with Emmie’s. I recognized him as her hired assassin, the kid who’d dunked Mosher. He’d been flirting with her from the second tee, and now, just to irritate me, she made a show of responding in kind. All in all, I’d had my fill of the game of golf and decided to make my escape on the next hole.
The first phase of my plan involved driving the ball well into the no-man’s-land aptly referred to as the rough. This was easily done, as every one of my previous drives had done precisely the same thing. Next, when we eventually found my ball, I confided in my caddie.
“How would you like to make an extra dollar?”
“You want me to play the ball for you?”
“Forget the damn ball. Here’s the plan—and you’ll need to follow it to the letter. I’m going to hit the ball even further off the course.”
“That’s the plan you’ve been following all day.”
“You know, it’s difficult to imagine how you survive in an occupation that depends on gratuities. Now, if you want the dollar, shut up and listen. I hit the ball off the course and go after it. You hide yourself here and wait five minutes, then go running toward the others and tell them I’ve been abducted.”
“Abducted?”
“Kidnapped.”
“Kidnapped? By who?”
“Some fellow with a gun. He’s led me away to god knows where. The key is that you wait five minutes before alerting the others. Do you think you can do that?”
“Sure. You have the dollar?”
I gave it to him and then hit the ball into the woods. As soon as I’d made it to the tree line, the little cretin went running off yelling, “Help! Help! Murder!” I broke into a trot and it wasn’t long before I made it to the shore road.
15
I saw Nan on the road ahead and trotted toward her.
“Ack! You frightened me near to death, Mr. Reese.”
“Sorry, I w
as in a hurry to escape a game of golf. What are you doing out this way?”
“I went to see the people Jack Taber lived with.”
“Learn anything interesting?”
“Only that his relationship with Miss Goodwin was a casual one. By the way, Mr. Reese. There’s a man over there observing us.”
I looked to where she indicated and saw no one.
“He’s slipped back into the woods. But he definitely seemed to be watching us.”
“What’d he look like?”
“No one I know. Wearing a light brown suit and a brown hat. I’m sure it was nothing,” she said. “I’m surprised you have time for golf. And why are you wearing that comic moustache?”
This necessitated my explaining Emmie’s reasoning behind my impersonation of Mosher. Explaining Emmie’s reasoning to non-initiates is always a tough slog, but especially so in this case because Nan knew nothing about Mosher’s impending assassination. So I told her all about the arrow, the bull, the previous incidents, and that Mosher was at the hotel under an assumed name. It was after my recounting of the arrow incident that I remembered seeing the name William Tell in May’s book. I gave voice to my thoughts and that necessitated telling her about the notebook, which led to my sharing Delia’s theory that Bed was Branscombe, and that the names listed beneath his were those of the women he had assignations with. I recited the ones I could remember.
“I don’t suppose you know any of them?”
“Florence P, you met. Flo, at the typewriter shop. She’s Florence Pearson.”
“Is she the type of girl who might be…”
“Led astray? Oh, yes. And Mattie Alles sounds vaguely familiar.”
“What about Marie Louise? That was the one with today’s date.”
“Well, I can think of one. But if I remember correctly, you characterized these women as virgins, or nearly so?”
“Yes, apparently that’s the gist of ‘fresh bit,’ at least according to Mrs. Field.” (I’d left out “quim” entirely, fearing an explanation would tax my powers of circumlocution.) “Is your Marie Louise not fresh?”
“No, I’m afraid her occupation precludes that possibility.”
“She’s a… chippie?”
Fair Play’s a Jewel (Harry Reese Mysteries Book 5) Page 12