by Helen Wells
The street door was locked—“a sensible precaution at this hour,” Grey said, getting out his key. He opened the door and called, “Hello!”
A startled “Hello!” answered him. Cherry heard rapid slamming of desk and file drawers. They walked into the waiting room and found Mrs. Wick, pale and frightened, leaning on her desk.
“You gave me quite a turn!” she said. “Well, I’m glad it’s you and not a burglar!”
“Awfully sorry, Irene.” The young doctor looked closely at her. “You did have a shock. Sit down.”
The medical secretary was shaking. He helped her into a comfortable chair in the waiting room. Cherry brought her a glass of water. Irene Wick gratefully sipped the water. Gradually her composure returned.
“Excuse me for such silly behavior. Ordinarily I’m calm, I’m sure you both know that,” Irene Wick defended herself. “Just a few nights ago there was a holdup on my street—it’s a poorly lighted block. Besides that, my superintendent warned me that there had been a burglary in our apartment building. So you see why I’m nervous.”
Cherry wondered whether that was the only reason for Mrs. Wick’s upset on being found in the office alone.
“In that case,” Grey said kindly, “you shouldn’t be working so late.”
“The bookkeeping had to be brought up to date!” Irene Wick said. “There’s never enough time or quiet during the working day to concentrate on all the tiny details of keeping the financial records straight.”
Cherry excused herself and went to see about the sterilizer. On her way to and from the supply room she walked past Irene’s desk and the files. Next to Irene’s typewriter were neatly addressed envelopes bearing patients’ names, and neatly typed bills.
“Yes, I did turn off the sterilizer,” she said to Grey and Irene Wick.
“Then let’s go,” Grey said. “We’re taking you home, Irene.”
The older woman seemed glad to have their escort. She locked the account books away for the night. Then the three of them left the brownstone house and got into Grey’s car.
After a twenty-minute drive, Grey turned off at a deserted residential street. The windows in the buildings were dark; people had retired for the night. Cherry recalled reading in the newspaper that there had been a holdup in that street earlier in the week. Grey would not leave Cherry in the car alone, while he took Irene in.
Mrs. Wick led them to her building—a large, new, expensive one. Cherry wondered how Mrs. Wick afforded such high rent on a medical secretary’s salary.
“Shall we see you safely inside your apartment door?” Grey asked. “We won’t come in.”
Mrs. Wick paused at the glass entrance into the lobby. Her usual look of reserve sharpened. “No, thanks, you needn’t come upstairs with me.” Her face, especially her pointed nose, looked pinched as if by cold. “Thanks, anyway. It’s so late, you know.”
It really was late, Cherry admitted. But Mrs. Wick had been concerned to keep them out. Cherry did not mention this to Grey Russell as he drove her the rest of the way home. They said good night at her door.
Cherry tiptoed into a darkened, sleeping apartment. A yawn from Gwen welcomed her into the small bedroom they shared.
“Where’ve you been so long?” Gwen whispered.
“Shakespeare in the park, and sleuthing,” Cherry whispered back. “Go to sleep. Tell you in the morning.”
The next morning Cherry woke up to hear her alarm clock and the telephone both ringing, while the Spencer Club slept peacefully on.
The phone call was for her. Henry J. was calling from Prescott, from the public telephone at the grocery store.
“I’m sorry to call so early,” he said, “but I wanted to catch you before you went to work. Didn’t want to interrupt your medical work.”
Henry J. told Cherry that they had brought lightweight garments for little H. J., but the breeze out there was so cool that the baby needed warm clothes.
“We have him wrapped up in layers. Leslie says he looks like a fat caterpillar when he crawls,” Henry J. said with a chuckle. He asked Cherry if she would please go upstairs before work, and collect some of the baby’s warm sweaters, shirts, and a hood. He described where to find them. Elijah would pick them up from Cherry at midmorning. He was coming out by train to spend a few hours, and help Henry J. rehearse for his act at the Stage Door.
“I’d ask Elijah to get the things, but he has no key to our apartment, and no sense about infants,” said Henry J. “And I’d rather ask you than Mrs. Wick—being a nurse you’d know better what to choose than she would. If you don’t mind, Cherry—”
She did not mind in the least. Henry J. thanked her, started to hang up, then said, “Oh! In case of emergency or anything special, the Peterses said we could use their phone.” He gave Cherry their number. “It’s grand out here, Cherry! Leslie looks better already. See you here tomorrow, Saturday, okay?” Then he and Cherry hung up.
Cherry left for work well ahead of Josie, Bertha, and Gwen. This was partly to accommodate her six-month-old friend, partly because she had to prepare setups for patients coming in early. She reached the office so early that Irene Wick was not in yet.
“Good morning!” Cherry sang out.
Silence. No one was here. Cherry turned on the lights and air conditioning, and plumped up seat cushions in the waiting room. Then she took the elevator upstairs to the Youngs’ apartment. She’d get that errand out of the way before the doctors’ telephones started ringing.
It was airless in the young couple’s apartment, with windows closed. But the rooms were straightened up after the disorder of departure. Cherry opened windows temporarily, and went to the chest of drawers where Henry J. said the baby’s things were stored. She pulled out a center drawer, and started to select warm garments. Something fell out and fluttered to the floor. It was a bill of large denomination. Cherry dug deeper into the drawer.
She came up with a wad of money, carelessly stuffed in there. Why, there must be three to four hundred dollars here!
“How careless of Leslie and Henry J.,” Cherry thought. “If it’s theirs? Dr. Fairall believes they have almost no money at the moment. It’s hard to think they would mislead him—”
Could this be Henry J.’s taxi-driving earnings? Hardly. Or had they had some last-minute windfall? There was another, very ugly possibility—Mrs. Wick could have hidden the money here, straight out of her white uniform pocket.
Wherever the money came from, Cherry decided, it had better not be left here. A closed-up apartment, no lights at night, practically signaled that this was an easy place to burglarize. And the third-floor tenants were out of town, so that at night the brownstone house stood completely dark and unguarded.
Cherry rather gingerly put the money in her handbag. She finished gathering up baby clothes, closed the windows again, and locked the Youngs’ apartment door behind her. Next thing was to telephone Henry J. and ask whether she could deposit this cash for him safely in a bank, at least over the weekend.
Downstairs in the office, Cherry telephoned to the Long Island neighbors and asked Mrs. Peters, as a particular favor, to summon Henry J. and have him phone her back.
“He’s here,” said Mrs. Peters. “Yes, right now. He came over to return the hose we lent him yesterday.”
Henry J.’s voice came out of the receiver. Cherry asked him about the money she had found. He was flabbergasted. It certainly was not his nor Leslie’s, he said. … No, not Mrs. Faunce’s, either. And Henry J. could tell Cherry no more than that. They both hung up.
Cherry thought about the persons having keys to the Youngs’ apartment—herself, Mrs. Wick, and—since he owned the building—Dr. Fairall.
Dottie Nash came in at eight. Mrs. Wick had still not arrived. Not like her. …
Dr. Fairall came in early that morning. Cherry decided not to bother him about her find. He had just come from performing a surgery at the hospital, Cherry knew. He was thinking about lives, not money.
If th
at money did not belong to Dr. Fairall or the Youngs, then by logical process of elimination, the money would seem to belong to Irene Wick. But why would she want to hide or leave money in the Youngs’ apartment?
Or—far-fetched but possible—had some unknown visitor or intruder left the money there? If so, to what purpose?
Mrs. Wick arrived at the office nearly an hour late. “I must apologize for causing you extra work, Cherry. To tell the truth I overslept.”
Irene Wick hurried along with her morning duties. She showed no interest in going up to the Youngs’ apartment. They all worked hard and well all morning.
Shortly before lunchtime a lull in their work occurred. Mrs. Wick said to Cherry, “I’ll just run upstairs and water Leslie’s plants. If that’s convenient for you?” Perfectly convenient, Cherry said. With some curiosity, she watched Irene Wick go.
The medical secretary stayed upstairs for ten or fifteen minutes. Cherry visualized her watering the plants—and was Irene also searching through that tumbled drawer? Was she searching in other parts of the apartment for the missing money?
The secretary re-entered the office. Cherry watched her for any sign of nervousness, any self-betrayal. Did she look like a woman who had just discovered she’d lost several hundred dollars? Mrs. Wick was out of breath, but composed, matter-of-fact, as always.
For the next few minutes Cherry remained near Mrs. Wick and kept silent—in case Irene Wick felt moved to talk. The medical secretary did talk—about the Jensen case, and about Dottie Nash’s request for certain medical supplies. Cherry felt faintly ashamed of her doubts of this hard-working woman. She said frankly to Mrs. Wick:
“This sounds extraordinary but it’s true. I went up to the Youngs’ apartment this morning at their request—” Mrs. Wick looked so amazed that Cherry realized she didn’t know until this minute that the Youngs had given her a key to their apartment. “Well, anyway,” Cherry said, “the important thing is this—I found nearly four hundred dollars in with little H.J.’s clothes! Is it possibly yours, Irene? Or do you know anything about it? I hope you do.”
“Why, no!” Mrs. Wick said in astonishment. “Four hundred dollars! Leave it lying carelessly in a drawer? Really, Cherry! You know me better than that. Anyway, what would I be doing with such a sum? Incidentally, that cash had better be put in the bank. Right away! Can you go to the bank on lunch hour?”
“Can you go?” Cherry said, testing her. If the money were Mrs. Wick’s, even if dishonestly acquired—
“I don’t think I should touch the money. You found it,” Mrs. Wick said scrupulously. “Or we could consult Dr. Fairall—and on lunch hour—”
Their eyes met and they started to laugh. Almost never did they manage a lunch hour. As a rule, lunch was a sandwich eaten while answering phones.
Mrs. Wick suggested the money be deposited in Dr. Fairall’s checking account and earmarked as “Found.”
“Agreed,” said Cherry. “Irene, you’re the one who always goes to the bank. Won’t you take care of this, too?”
The medical secretary nodded.
When Irene Wick came back from the bank, she showed Cherry the doctor’s bankbook and the duplicate deposit slip, proving that the found money had been deposited and earmarked.
Everything seemed to be in good order.
Except—where had that money come from? Who had hidden it?
CHAPTER IX
Dinosaur Three
THE COUNTRY PLACE WAS A GOOD DEAL LIVELIER THAT weekend with Leslie there. Every day she did a ballet dancer’s limbering exercises at the porch rail. She was still weak, but already sunburned, and determined.
“I’ll dance the role of the Silver Princess again before little H.J. has his first tooth!”
The baby was blooming in the country air, like one of the garden roses. He completely won over Gwen, Bertha, and Josie—so did the rest of the Young menage, including elderly Mrs. Faunce. She was delighted to act as chaperone to helpers who showed up for the weekend. Mrs. Faunce saw to it that every girl was accommodated in the house, and the boys were made comfortable in the nearly fixed-up barn. Everyone worked, played, swam. All ate hugely.
Henry J. went off to his new job in New York at the Stage Door. Little Joey Peters came over and announced it was his birthday, so the nurses gave an impromptu party, inviting the neighbors, too. Joey’s mother was embarrassed but amused. Joey’s father was busy with Grey and Spud, repairing stuck windows and doors. It was a happy weekend.
And yet Cherry felt as if she were watching from the sidelines, a detached observer, because her deepest attention remained fixed on something else altogether. During the next week she continued to feel the same way, moving smoothly and dreamlike through her duties, while her thoughts furiously pursued the unanswered question:
Was something going on undercover in this office? She could see bits and pieces of a situation …
Toward the end of the week Cherry found the note. It was one of those unbelievably busy days when all three doctors were in the office, seeing patients. A large part of New York seemed to be pouring into the brownstone all day. Cherry, Irene Wick, Rhoda Jackson, and even Dottie had all they could do to maintain a reasonably orderly flow of patients, supplies, charts, medications—to answer telephones, cope with three emergencies, soothe and reassure sick people—and prevent confusion and errors. Late in the afternoon she found evidence of somebody’s slip-up.
Only this was a personal matter. Or was it?
The note was not definitely identifiable. Cherry had reached into a wastebasket at the appointment desk for a piece of scrap paper, and pulled out a nearly blank, folded, white letter, folded like an advertising letter. All that it said, in hand printing, was:
DINOSAUR THREE
“What in the world does that mean?” Cherry muttered to herself. “Dinosaur—a prehistoric animal—enormous—extinct. Is this a code?” She tried to think of equivalents or references for dinosaur, but no useful ideas emerged.
Then it occurred to Cherry that perhaps “dinosaur” in this note meant just plain old dinosaur—at the Museum of Natural History here in New York. That’s it! The meeting place! Could be. And three could be the time of the meeting.
To whom was the message addressed? Who had sent it? The note gave no clue. Cherry thought of examining the envelopes in the wastebasket, to see which would fit the letter in her hand. But dozens of envelopes would fit, since business stationery was of standard size.
Try another tack. This letter had come out of the wastebasket beside Mrs. Wick’s desk. Presumably the letter was for her. However, since the medical secretary opened and sifted all incoming mail for the three physicians, it was possible the note was meant for one of them. It was even possible that a patient in the waiting room had thrown away the note.
Possible, but not likely, Cherry thought.
Suppose, then, that this note making an appointment was for Irene Wick. At three o’clock on Monday through Friday she was working. At three o’clock on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon she would be free to go to the Museum of Natural History. Therefore, Cherry decided, the appointment was for either Saturday or Sunday.
“The Museum of Natural History is a big place,” Cherry reflected. “I could go there to see who keeps this appointment, and never be noticed myself, if I’m cautious. I could go Saturday and if no meeting takes place that makes sense to me, I could try again on Sunday.”
Cherry decided to disguise herself a little—just in case Mrs. Wick would be at the museum. So Cherry borrowed Gwen’s reversible, thin silk rain-and-shine coat, which was navy blue on one side and beige on the other. Cherry also bought an inexpensive navy-blue silk cap, to conceal most of her hair. Irene Wick had never seen Gwen’s coat and this cap.
Early Saturday afternoon at home Cherry powdered over her rosy cheeks, tucked her hair up under the cap, then put on the silk coat with the navy side out. She added a white pearl necklace and white gloves, and dark sunglasses. “I certainly don’t look like my u
sual self,” she thought. “Am I inconspicuous?” If the other nurses had not been out on Long Island, she could have checked with them.
Cherry arrived a little before three at the Museum of Natural History. She passed the bronze equestrian statue of an explorer President, climbed the great flight of stone steps, and, entering the museum, consulted a guard. He directed Cherry upstairs. In a vast hall, brimming with daylight, she found the enormous skeleton of a dinosaur. It towered over and dwarfed the hall’s other exhibits, some of which were in rows and rows of glass cases. These cases afforded Cherry a fairly good hiding place and vantage point. She stationed herself near the dinosaur, head bent, pretending to read one of the several museum pamphlets she had picked up on entering.
No sign of Irene Wick! Cherry saw mostly parents and children strolling past, a few foreign visitors in native dress—no one familiar. Wait—yes, she did see someone! That red-haired man and his two young children. Wasn’t he Bally, the salesman? The three were gazing up awestruck at the dinosaur.
Along came a group of Boy Scouts, and then a pretty, rather plump and bouncy, youngish woman in a flowered summer dress. She wore shoes with very high, thin heels, too thin to support her weight, so that she teetered. She stopped before the huge dinosaur and gave a pretend shudder.
“I declare, that thing gave me a turn,” she said softly to no one in particular.
Bally smiled his anxious smile and mumbled something that Cherry could not hear. The woman smiled back easily and said:
“Why, yes. I’m Bunny. Are these your youngsters? Aren’t they darlings!”
Bally stiffly said, “Thank you. I hope your kids are fine? Oh—er—by the way—” He swallowed hard. “Have you seen the museum pamphlet for this summer’s special exhibits? I bought it because it looks so interesting.”
He handed it to the pretty woman—who was only about thirty and still girlish looking. Bunny accepted the pamphlet and opened her expensive handbag. As she tucked it into the handbag, Cherry thought she saw a large white envelope extending from the pamphlet.