“Found them outside her room. I reckon they didn’t fit the girl who took them. But luckily she put back what was hiding inside.” Reaching in the left shoe, he pulled out a written receipt from Mr. Baker’s feed store for six barrels of kerosene.
“So she was definitely blackmailing the arsonist. Anything in the other?”
“Yes, but I’m not ready to divulge that just yet.”
“Well, let me ask about something else. When I brought up the notebook earlier, you said you’d been able to figure out some of it. What in particular?”
“Some of those names… Mattie Alles, and so on.”
“You know Mattie Alles?”
“Well, I suppose you could put it like that. But I shouldn’t say any more. The sheriff’s office has pretty much taken over this case now.”
“I saw Deputy Gaylord at Mosher’s earlier this afternoon.”
“Yes, the Big Injun. If I’d’ve solved May Goodwin’s murder quick, it would have stayed mine. But then we had to go after that McGee fellow. And then this business with Mosher, and the fact it all seems tied up together. I’m sort of helping the deputy now. And I don’t think he’d appreciate my telling you too much. By the way, did you mention the notebook when you spoke with him?”
“No, I don’t think it came up.”
“Well, I should be on my way.”
It had become increasingly obvious he wasn’t the bumbling rustic Nan made out. Constable Peabbles had something up his sleeve.
Upstairs, I found Ed sitting on my bed.
“It’s over, Harry.”
“What’s over?”
“My marriage. Annie somehow found out Taber was McGee. She went off to Biddeford, spoke with him through the window of his cell. It’s her Jimmy McGee, all right. What I don’t understand is how she found out about it.”
“I have a guess. But don’t take it so hard. After all, it was a sham marriage.”
“That’s easy for you to say, Harry. Those two kids back in New Jersey are real enough.”
Just then, Delia—assuming that much of her name was genuine—entered the room.
“I’ve heard my chum Cod Ketchum is in a predicament.”
“Oh, hello,” he said glumly.
She sat beside him and began petting his head in a sort of mock-comforting way.
“We must come to the aid of our comrade, Harry. And I have the solution to his problem. What we need to do is remove this McGee from the picture entirely.”
“You’re suggesting we kill McGee?” Ed didn’t sound altogether averse to the idea.
“Only if necessary. But I’m sure that won’t be the case. No, we simply need to break McGee out of jail. He’ll waste no time in fleeing and your problem will be solved.”
“Break him out of jail?” I asked.
“It’s the obvious course. Don’t you think, Ed?”
“Well…”
“Good, then the game is on. Tonight.”
“But how do I know Annie won’t just go after him? You should have seen her this afternoon.”
“Annie won’t know we’re breaking him out.”
“But what if he comes after her?”
“He left her once, didn’t he? There might have been an ephemeral rekindling of feeling, but soon he’ll start thinking of all the reasons he left her before. Isn’t that true, Harry?”
“I don’t think there’s much doubt about that.”
“Then it’s settled,” she said. “Tonight at midnight. I’ve hired a carriage.”
Ed assented, then went off to order himself a blue pig.
“You shouldn’t tease him like that,” I told her. “Once he gets a few blue pigs in him, he’s liable to be a little unpredictable.”
“Oh, I wasn’t teasing.”
“How do you plan to break McGee out of jail? Shoot it out with the police?”
“We overcome the bandogs with intrigues, my bene cove.”
She came up close and patted my cheek. “The Teaguelander has revealed the truth about Miss Meegs. Why is it your wife’s taken a separate room under an assumed name?”
“She was afraid being married interfered with her literary efforts. Besides, we thought it a requisite of the hotel.”
She smiled, then gave my cheek a light slap. There was a noise in the bath and she took that as her cue to exit.
21
Emmie entered my sanctum wrapped in a towel.
“You just frightened off the fictional Mrs. Field.”
“So sorry. Are you doing your entertaining out of bed now?”
“Standing up works just as well. Who do you think she is? The niece Mosher spoke of?”
“Edith Cooper, the younger half of Michael Field. I suppose there’s a good chance of it.”
“And what’s that make the fictional Field?”
“I have a theory as to his identity, but I’ll say no more for now.”
“Do you recognize him from somewhere?”
“No, nothing like that. You’ll find out when I’m ready.”
“I hope he’s not another of your creations, Emmie. Life with you is confusing enough without your conjuring up fictional characters.”
“He’s not of my making, just traveling under a false name.”
“I took that as a given. Ed’s is about the only name I can be sure of.”
“Don’t forget Mrs. McGee.”
“Yes, dear Annie. Ed tells me she spoke with McGee today. He’s sure they’re planning to elope. Can you elope with your husband?” I asked.
“I can’t imagine why anyone would.”
“Mrs. Field, or Miss Cooper, if you prefer, has a plan to save Ed’s sham marriage.”
“What sort of plan?”
“Frankly, it reminded me of your sort of plan. She proposes breaking McGee out of jail and abetting his escape. On the premise he’ll leave without telling Annie. That’s the one part of the plan based on a sound assumption.”
“How in the world does she expect to break him out of jail?”
“That’s the part that seems a little wobbly. It depends heavily on intrigues, the exact nature of which she’s kept to herself. But I don’t intend to let things get that far.”
“You’re going along?”
“I have to, to foil the scheme. What if McGee’s running off wasn’t because May Goodwin was killed, but because he knew there was something about himself revealed in the notebook? Remember Baker’s description of the man who bought the kerosene? Grey hair, and eyeglasses… Suppose an actor wanted to hide his identity?”
“You think he set the fire? But why?”
“Well, he’d done some work for the builder and then been let go, suspected of pilfering. Maybe he was feeling resentful. Or maybe he was paid to set the fire. On the other hand, suppose I’m wrong and McGee is innocent. Then there’s a good chance Annie will want to go off with him when this is all over. And she being his wife, he won’t have much choice. I owe it to Ed to free him from that plague called woman. He did the same for me once.”
“He did the same for you? What are you talking about?”
“An episode from my murky past, Emmie. It would be better not to go into it now.”
“I insist we do go into it now.”
“Well, since you insist. It was a few years before I met you…. I was given a case that involved a large life insurance claim—$80,000. A fellow died under suspicious circumstances. Quackenbush was his name. Lived up in Ogdensburg. The beneficiaries were his seven comely daughters, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. Well, I had to look into each of them, so I came to town under an assumed name and seduced them, one by one.”
“Seduced them—one by one?”
“Had to, no other way to get to the bottom. Well, by the time I got to the bottom of Wednesday, Monday was pretty sore.”
“Worn out?” she asked.
“Jealous. Madly so. She came after her sister with a meat cleaver. So I dismissed her as a suspect.”
“Yes, never could have engineered the bizarre murder of her father.”
“Bizarre?”
“Sawed perfectly in half at his own mill….”
“Sounds gruesome.”
“It was. But getting back to the daughters, I was about to start in on Saturday, when Sunday, the comeliest of them all, jumped the line. Said she wasn’t so much Sunday as the Sabbath, and they being Seventh Day Adventists….”
“For whom the Sabbath comes on Saturday….”
“Exactly. And she did.”
“How cunning.”
“Yes, she was cunning to a fault. But after a week of close examination, she confessed.”
“I see.” There were hints of disbelief in her tone. “And how was it you became indebted to Ed?”
“Ed?” By then I had the image of a sultry Sabbath fixed firmly in my mind and had forgotten all about Ed.
Emmie concocted a new noise to express her exasperation, then went off to dress for dinner.
About ten, I found Ed in the billiard room. He’d been hitting the blue pigs hard and they’d taken a toll. Evidently, iodine and old coffee taken in great enough quantities trigger consequences of their own. His pupils were dilated and there was a vague look about him. I suggested a walk in the evening air.
A little later we found ourselves in front of Nathan Libby’s manse. By then Ed had made a partial recovery and I thought another visit might prove productive. The butler showed us out to a large carriage house where Libby was giving instructions to a young fellow on how to properly groom a horse. He nodded to us when we entered, but it wasn’t until he’d finished his comprehensive lecture that he came over and took us outside.
“What can I do for you, gentlemen? Have you figured it out yet?”
“We’re nearing the end. This afternoon I spoke with a grain dealer in Falmouth who sold the kerosene to the arsonist.”
“Well, there you go. Just a matter of showing this man your suspect.”
“It might not be that easy,” I told him. “First of all, I believe the man disguised himself. Greyed his hair, and used clear eyeglasses.”
“So maybe someone connected to the theatre?” This was more a prompt than a question.
“Yes, and there’s an actor suspected of killing May Goodwin.”
“Is he, now? I didn’t know that. But it doesn’t surprise me.”
“There’s something else I wanted to ask you. I’m sure you heard about that explosion yesterday morning.”
“Yes, out at Maiden’s Cove. And if your next question involves the explosives from our work site, the sheriff is satisfied they were stolen.”
“Yes, of course. I was interested in your opinion as to whether there might be a connection between that incident, the arson, and the death of May Goodwin.”
“My opinion? I’d wager they’re connected. Solve one and you’ll solve them all. But that’s just how I’d bet. When are they going to arrest this suspect?”
“The actor? Already been arrested. He’s in jail in Biddeford.”
“In jail? Who are you talking about?”
“Jimmy McGee. Went by the name of Jack Taber.”
He laughed, then walked over to a shed and slipped inside. When he came out, he was carrying a shovel.
“Remember I told you to dig? Well, dig. Dig until you get your answer.”
“Any place in particular?” Ed asked.
“The obvious spot.”
Ed hoisted the shovel to his shoulder and we walked back to the hotel.
“What do you suppose he means, Harry?”
“I guess there’s something still to be uncovered. But he might have been a little more forthcoming.”
Ed, always wont to take advice literally, set the shovel against a tree where he could find it later. Then I took him inside and ordered a few rounds of blue pigs, making sure these were the real swine and not some concoction dreamed up on the spur of the moment. I wanted him well stewed for the adventure ahead—and apparently he concurred.
The clock in the lobby had just struck twelve when Delia found us in the billiard room. She was not her usual trousered self, but wearing a smart-looking black jacket with a matching skirt that reached no further than half-way down her shapely calves. Lacy frills circled her neck and a supplemental length of hair sprouted from beneath her little black hat—a blonde tress that fell over her shoulder and ended in a curl on her left breast. I doubt I would have recognized her at all but for the familiar voice and some recalcitrant insect bites that resisted concealment.
“We’ll have no time for cue-work tonight, my rum coves. The carriage awaits.”
Ed had been sprawled out on a bench and it took some effort on both our parts to get him outside and dumped in the back of the small wagon Delia had hired.
“He’s half seas over,” she complained. “You should have looked after him.”
“He’ll be fine. A man needs a little Dutch courage for a job like this.”
It took us more than an hour to reach Biddeford and locate the jail. Then, with Ed fast asleep in the back of the wagon, Delia and I approached the building. She knocked and was admitted. I watched from outside while her conference with the lone guard progressed in a manner similar to all her interviews.
She’d positioned herself on his lap and was petting him playfully while simultaneously giving me furtive hand signals. It was at this juncture her plan called for me to rush in and get the drop on the guard, a course that seemed rife with risk. Instead, I contented myself with remaining an observer and awaiting from a safe distance the scene’s climactic conclusion.
That arrived prematurely when I felt the barrel of a gun in my back. It was Annie, and she didn’t seem pleased to see me.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
She didn’t wait for an answer, just opened the door and pushed me inside. In the meantime, the guard had upturned Delia and had her pinned to the floor. He put a pair of handcuffs on her and, after she kicked him, tied her ankles together. When she objected, he gagged her.
“What will we do with them, Jimmy?” Annie asked. “This is that Reese. He works with Ed.”
“Jimmy? You’re McGee?” I asked.
“That’s right, friend. How’d you get here?”
“A wagon.”
“Help me put her in a cell.”
I picked up Delia’s feet and we carried her into a cell where a fellow I assumed was the real guard was likewise bound and gagged. She didn’t seem particularly pleased with the situation, and I for one was glad McGee knew something about binding and gagging.
While he locked them in, I picked up Delia’s dislocated hairpiece from the floor and stuffed it in a pocket. Such a peace offering might prove valuable at our next meeting.
We went out to the wagon and McGee had me drive off toward some rural district while he sat beside me with the gun in his hand. Annie sat behind us keeping an eye on the still unconscious Ed.
“Why’d you run off like that, Jimmy?” I asked as we rode.
“I figured whoever did in May might get worried about me next.”
“But did you know who she was blackmailing?”
He didn’t answer, so I took the initiative. “I know Branscombe was one. He told me May found out he was spending time with a married woman.”
“And you believe him?” he asked.
“Shouldn’t I?”
“Makes no difference to me.”
I heard Ed mumbling behind us. “Where are we?”
Annie was sitting with his head in her lap. “On a hayride. Now go back to sleep.” She said it so soothingly I almost took it as authentic.
McGee looked back at them, then at me. The poor fellow was hooked. And Annie was about to put him through a reminder of the demoralizing consequences of bewitchment by a captivating Tartar.
I offered him a diversion. “Was Branscombe the fellow May called Jolly?”
“Jolly? No,” he l
aughed. “That’s not what she called him.”
“Do you know who Jolly was?”
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”
“She never shared her little black notebook with you?” I asked.
“Only one thing she was free with.” He smiled, then looked back at Annie. She was still cradling Ed and pretended not to have heard him. He looked back at me, embarrassed.
“Did you have anything to do with the fire at the Ocean View?” I asked.
“Who the hell told you I did?”
“No one. But I think the arsonist might have been an actor.”
“There’s a whole company of actors there. I had nothing to do with it. I wasn’t even in town at the time.”
“Where were you?”
“Up in Bath, with a half dozen witnesses.”
“Were you the father of the child May was carrying?”
He peeked back to make sure Annie was paying attention before answering. “Sure, it was mine.”
Ed stirred again. Annie was still cradling his head, but now she was looking at McGee.
“Annie,” Ed asked anxiously. “Does this mean you’re coming home with me?”
“That’s right, Ed,” she confirmed, still looking at McGee. “Now go back to sleep.”
“Things will be just like before…,” Ed babbled.
“Just like before…,” she told him. Then, without taking her eyes off McGee, Annie banged Ed’s head against the side of the wagon, knocking him out cold. McGee winced and turned back to me shaking his head.
“Do you know who gave May the pennyroyal?” I asked.
“No. Might have been Branscombe, he thought it was his kid.”
“And she was blackmailing him for that?”
“Why not?” he asked.
“That night before May died, you were talking to her, in Maiden’s Cove. You told her Noyes said her lover was behind something. Was Branscombe that lover? Was he behind the arson?”
“I don’t know anything about that damned fire!”
We stopped at a crossroads and McGee had me help him remove Ed from the back.
“We’ll need to borrow your wagon. A trolley to Portland will be by in a few hours. You tell them, I had nothing to do with it.”
“Which ‘it’? May’s death, or the explosion yesterday morning?”
Fair Play’s a Jewel (Harry Reese Mysteries Book 5) Page 18