The Cool Cottontail

by John Ball

  Opening her closet door, Linda snatched a dress from a hanger and slipped it over her head. She did not bother with underwear; she was not planning to leave the park grounds and expected soon to be free of clothing again, possibly within the hour. Though her closet and dresser were full of the usual things found in a young lady’s wardrobe, wearing any more than was absolutely necessary at the lodge was pointless. The dress she had chosen was conservatively cut and would do nicely.

  She paused for a brief moment at her mirror and gave her hair a pat or two before she hurried out of the room. Her feet in attractive and well-made sandals felt the springiness of thick Bermuda grass as she walked rapidly across the big front lawn, taking the short cut to the members’ entrance. She arrived slightly out of breath, but in time to put up the chain that had been provided against any circumstance which might require that the grounds be temporarily closed. With this done she paused to collect herself and speculate on what would be likely to happen next.

  Eight minutes later she heard the distant high whine of a siren. It was not continuous, but sounded only now and then as the approaching vehicle hit curves in the road where a warning was necessary. She had heard that same pattern many times before, even in that quiet rural area. This time, she knew, the emergency equipment was coming to her home and the realization gave her a strange and uncomfortable feeling.

  The sound grew louder until she could distinguish that there were two cars, one close behind the other. With a final blast from the sirens the vehicles came into view, a copper-colored patrol car closely followed by a police ambulance with the word “RESCUE” visible on its side. The lead driver, who obviously knew exactly where the lodge driveway was, pulled up and stopped.

  When he leaned out to speak, he was crisp but pleasant. “Is there a service road down to your pool?” he asked.

  Linda hesitated a moment. “Yes, but we don’t use it very often. It’s pretty rutty.”

  “That’s all right. Which way do we go?”

  “You have to use the other driveway. Shall I show you?”

  “Please.”

  Because there were two men in the front seat of the car, Linda opened the rear door and climbed in. Sitting on the edge of the seat, she directed the driver to the other entryway, down past the onetime farmhouse, and onto the dirt road that skirted the edge of the trees. The sheriff’s car bumped heavily over exposed tree roots and soft sandy potholes for a hundred yards and then drew up beside a complicated filter system that serviced a beautifully decked Olympic-size swimming pool.

  When Linda reached to open the door, she discovered there were no handles on the inside of the car. The man beside the driver let her out and followed as she led the way up an embankment to the deck level. The smooth surface of the water stole a deep blue from the sky and created a false feeling of calm serenity. Midway up the side of the elaborate concrete decking, George Nunn was lying prone, face to face with the body of a substantially built man, stark nude in the strong light of the sun. George, with his fingers around his lips, was doing his best to force mouth-to-mouth air into the lungs of the inert man. Forrest was kneeling beside his son, watching for any sign of reviving life.

  After a quick glance at the scene, the sheriff’s deputy next to Linda reached for her shoulder and turned her away. “You’d better leave us now, Miss,” he advised.

  “I’ve seen dead people before,” she answered quickly. “That is, if he’s really dead.” She looked back and saw that two more men were getting out of the ambulance, which had followed them down the road.

  The deputy took a firmer tone. “He’s not covered, Miss.”

  Linda looked at him. “I’m not a cottontail,” she retorted. “And I might know him. I know everyone who comes here and a good many other members, too.”

  While they were talking, a surprisingly young-looking man carrying a doctor’s familiar black kit brushed past and knelt beside the man on the deck. He motioned George away and laid his ear against the man’s chest. A moment later he rolled up an eyelid and then listened carefully with a stethoscope on the side of the chest next to the left arm. He shook his head. Experimentally he flexed the arm itself and then rose to his feet. “He’s gone,” he announced. “Probably several hours ago.”

  He looked at George. “You did exactly the right thing in trying to revive him. If you’d been in time, you might have saved him.” He turned. “Get the girl out of here,” he ordered.

  “She’s my daughter,” Forrest said mildly. “She’s seen death before.”

  The young doctor opened his mouth, remembered where he was, and closed it again. “At least let’s cover him up,” he said finally.

  The ambulance driver brought a blanket and laid it over the body.

  The senior deputy was an older man; his body was thick around his middle, where much of his weight had settled, making him look shorter than he was. He appeared in his early fifties, but added five years more when he took off his uniform cap to wipe his arm across his forehead. His hair had turned largely white, and over much of the top where his cap had rested it was gone altogether. When he had wiped the perspiration away, he replaced his cap, produced a small notebook, and asked calmly, “What happened?”

  George answered. “I came down not much more than half an hour ago to clean the tiling and backwash the filters—we do it every other day. When I came through the trees”—he stopped and pointed—“I saw him floating in the pool. He was back up, with his face in the water. I was surprised because I hadn’t heard any guests come in and early Tuesday morning isn’t a usual time for the pool to be in use. When he didn’t pull his face out of the water after half a minute or so, I knew something was wrong. I ran the rest of the way and dove in. I pulled him out and put him on the deck where he is now. I was pretty sure he was dead—he was cold—then I ran for Dad.”

  “If you dove in after him, how come your shorts aren’t wet?” the deputy asked.

  “I didn’t have them on at the time.”

  “Do you know this man?”

  George shook his head. “I don’t and Dad doesn’t. He isn’t a member here, that’s for sure.”

  “I don’t think he’s a member anywhere,” Linda contributed unexpectedly. “Maybe a onetime visitor, or an occasional who goes to one of the northern clubs, but no more than that.”

  The deputy turned and looked at her. “I’m sure you have a reason for saying that,” he prompted. “Would you mind telling me?”

  “He’s a cottontail,” Linda pointed out. “He isn’t tanned at all around the hips, you could see that clearly. He couldn’t be a nudist and have skin that white anywhere.”

  The deputy wrote in his notebook, then looked down at the doctor, who had resumed his examination of the body. “What do you think?” he asked.

  The doctor got to his feet after replacing the covering. “I don’t think he drowned. Possibly an accident, but more likely he was murdered.”

  The senior deputy nodded. “About what I figured. He doesn’t appear to belong here. And if he had come in for a midnight swim without the owner’s consent, he would have some sort of a vehicle. He could have walked in, but if he did, where are his clothes?”

  He turned to the driver who had accompanied him. “Call in and tell them what we have,” he directed. “Ask if Virgil is still there. If he is, maybe it would be a good idea if he stopped by.”

  The other man nodded and returned to his patrol car. In little more than a minute he was back with a report. “Virgil was just walking out the door, but they caught him. He said he’d look in on his way back to Pasadena. They’re going to call Chief Addis and ask if we can have him if it works out we need him. He asked to have the body left where it is until he gets here.”

  “Will that be long?” Forrest asked.

  “I don’t think so,” the senior deputy answered. “He doesn’t know this area the way we do, but he should be here inside a half hour.”

  “Meanwhile, then, come up to the house and have some co
ffee. It’s ready—it always is.” He motioned toward the pathway.

  “Somebody will have to stay with the body.”

  The ambulance driver, who had remained silently in the background, raised his right hand shoulder high to volunteer and sank into one of the aluminum deck chairs. Forrest led the rest of the small party through the grove and toward the residence on the other side. Linda fell in beside the man in charge, whose uniform already showed dark marks of perspiration under the armpits.

  “Who’s Virgil?” she asked.

  The deputy looked at her a moment before he replied. “In Virgil’s case it might be best to wait until you meet him. Then you’ll know.”

  chapter 3

  Forrest Nunn held the door open to the big bright kitchen, where his wife, who had seen them coming, was already setting out the coffee cups. It was characteristic of her that she counted her guests first and then took time to wonder what was going on. “Please sit down, gentlemen,” she invited. “The coffee is ready and I’ll have sweet rolls for you in a moment.”

  The deputy in charge, who was at once fully aware that his hostess was wearing a coverall type of apron and nothing more, regarded it as one more curiosity in the line of duty and took it in his stride. “Bill Morrissey, ma’am,” he introduced himself. A little gingerly he walked past her and stood waiting at the table. The other deputy, who was much younger and considerably less self-possessed, mumbled his name and hurried to join his partner, his eyes toward the floor. The back of his neck was red and he shifted his weight slightly from one foot to the other.

  The young doctor was close to being rude. He introduced himself then stood stiffly to one side. Emily Nunn realized immediately that he wanted her to see his disapproval, and just as quickly decided to let him stew. It was doubtful if he had turned thirty yet. She noted that and thought he had a good deal to learn about people before he could be a real success in his profession.

  “Please sit down.” She indicated the waiting table. “Linda, will you serve the rolls while I pour the coffee?”

  Forrest took his place at the head of the table and motioned Morrissey to a chair beside him. The deputy eased himself down slowly with the air of a man who can fit himself in anywhere. The other deputy took his chair nervously and, for something to do, looked carefully into his empty coffee cup apparently to see if it was clean. It was.

  Emily picked up an oversize electric percolator and, beginning with the senior deputy, filled the cups. She poured one at a vacant place and, turning brightly to the doctor, asked, “Do you take cream, sugar, or both?”

  “Black,” the doctor answered tersely. It was a moment before he realized he had been trapped; since he had specified how he would like his coffee, he would now have to drink it. With the corners of his mouth held tight he came to the table and reluctantly sat down. Linda did not ask if he would like one of the freshly baked rolls; she put one on his plate.

  As Emily turned to set the large percolator on the table within easy reach of everyone, Bill Morrissey reconfirmed that the big apron she was wearing did not reach completely around her body. He picked up a spoon and stirred his coffee.

  Forrest broke his roll and asked Morrissey for the butter. “During the summer we have a lot of your people in and out of the park,” he commented. “Joe Thompson, Mike Marino, Ed Meyers, but I think this is the first time you’ve been here.”

  “That’s right,” Morrissey admitted easily. “I usually stay at the station and answer the complaints. Heard a lot about your place, of course.” He sipped his coffee and made a small decision. “About the only resort around here where we’ve never had a squawk.”

  “That’s nice to hear,” Forrest acknowledged. “We don’t have a bar, of course, and that has its benefits. Also we’re pretty selective about our membership.”

  Emily, her guests served, sat down at the end of the table and motioned her daughter to sit beside her. “Have you ever been in a nudist park before, doctor?” she asked pleasantly.

  “No, I have not.” He bit the words off at the edge of courtesy.

  “We get a lot of our people through medical advice, you know. It’s too bad you’re not married; otherwise we’d like to have you and your wife come out for the weekend as our guests.”

  The doctor looked at her clinically. “How do you know about me?” he asked.

  Emily smiled. “Single men are quite easy to spot—at least we find it so. Let me warm your coffee.”

  As the doctor drew breath to decline, the gate phone rang. Linda rose quickly to answer it.

  “This is Mr. Tibbs,” the voice on the line said. “I took the liberty of walking in past your chain to use the phone. This is the nudist camp, I believe?”

  “This is the nudist resort,” Linda corrected. “Are you a member of any other nudist organization, here or abroad?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Are you married, sir?”

  “No, not yet. I still have hopes.”

  “I’ll be right out.” Linda hung up the phone. “Another single,” she reported to her father. “Is he behind the times! He called this a nudist camp.”

  “At least he didn’t call it a colony,” Emily said gently.

  “Well, he’s a cottontail at any rate. I’ll go take care of him.”

  “Did he give his name?” Deputy Morrissey asked.

  “Tibbs,” Linda said.

  “Now that I know what that word means, I can tell you he isn’t a cottontail.”

  Linda looked at him for a moment, waiting for him to go on. When he gave no sign of further comment, she shrugged her shoulders slightly and confidently went out the door. As she started across the big lawn for the second time that morning, she recalled how many single men had applied at the gate, some of them very nice, others clearly not. Worst of all were the occasional cars filled with four or five men, all professing interest, all carrying cameras, and all with families that had been carefully left behind. But she had handled many would-be sightseers, and none of them frightened her. When she went to meet people at the gate, she knew that if she did not reappear or call in within five minutes, her father would be out immediately, to take over if need be.

  When she reached the entrance, there was a plain black Ford sedan pulled up in front of the chain; standing beside it, a man was waiting.

  Linda saw many things quickly. She saw that he was probably in his early thirties, that he was of medium height, rather slender, and dressed in a quiet business suit. But these were secondary impressions. The thing that she saw first, and which overshadowed everything else, was the fact that he was a Negro.

  For an instant her confidence fled; she had never met a Negro applicant at the gate before, and she had no Negro friends. As a rule, if a single man presented himself unintroduced, she would automatically and courteously turn him away; it was the lodge policy. But if she did that now, the man might think it was because of his race, which wouldn’t be true.

  Without knowing how, she sensed that he understood her embarrassment. He came forward a few steps and then stopped, meeting her halfway.

  “My name is Virgil Tibbs,” he said. “The sheriff’s office asked me to stop by. I’m a police officer.”

  Linda’s first sensation was relief—she would not have to turn him away. So this was Virgil! At that moment she remembered Deputy Morrissey’s remark that he was not a cottontail. Morrissey had been right; the joke was on her. As she unhooked the chain, she made up her mind that in a nice way she would get even with Morrissey. He could have told her what to expect.

  “Come in, Mr. Tibbs,” she invited. “You understand that this is a nudist park. The parking lot for visitors is right ahead. Leave your car and follow the path to the lodge. I’ll meet you there.”

  “Thank you,” Tibbs said. He got back into his car without further comment and drove in. As she replaced the chain, Linda thought that his voice was a nice one, moderate and controlled, and without any trace of an accent. She took the short cut across t
he grass once more and waited a hundred feet from the main building. She wanted to see how Tibbs would walk; she could tell a lot about people by the way they carried themselves, particularly when they were entering nudist premises for the first time. As she stood there, the sounds of singing birds filled her ears and the air was rich with the sense of life and of growing things. It was difficult to remember that in the midst of all this a dead man lay down on the pool deck covered with a blanket. A man who might have been murdered.

  When Virgil Tibbs joined her, she approved his walk as good. She felt that he had confidence—not the aggressive kind, but the bearing of a man who knows his way. It was also a quiet kind of confidence, the sort you have to look for to see.

  The birds continued to declare that God was in his heaven and all was right with the world.

  “The others are in the kitchen having coffee,” Linda explained. “Would you like to join them there?”

  “It might be better if you showed me—where the trouble is,” Tibbs answered.

  “This way.” She liked the fact that he put business first; her father had taught her the importance of that.

  When they came out of the grove, she discovered that the deputies and the doctor had returned to the pool area. She had a quick odd reaction—they had done that so Tibbs would find them on the job. That made him something more, perhaps, than just a regular policeman.

  “Are you a detective?” she asked.

  “The Pasadena police call me an investigator,” he answered.

  “An investigator is a detective, isn’t he?”

  Tibbs looked at her and smiled a little grimly. “He’d better be if he wants to keep his job,” he replied. In a few more steps they reached the pool deck.

  After nodding to the men, Tibbs lifted a corner of the blanket, glanced at the body, and walked back a few steps to where Linda was standing. “Thank you for bringing me down here,” he said. He stopped at that point, knowing that she would understand he wanted her to leave.

  Linda looked at him steadily. “The body is nude. I’ve already seen it. I’m not going to faint or act up just because he’s dead.”