by John Ball
The maid backed the teacart, swung it around, and left the room without looking at either of the occupants.
Virgil Tibbs took out his notebook and became formally official. “Mrs. Pratt, how many stockholders are there in your holding company, including the deceased?”
“Is it necessary for me to discuss this with you?”
Tibbs had had about enough. If Joyce Pratt thought that all he had to do was sit there all day and allow her to insult him, she had another guess coming. He did not change the tone of his voice, but there was an edge to his words that could not be mistaken. “No, it is not necessary. If you prefer, I will arrest you as a material witness and take you to jail. Then you can discuss the matter with your attorney and the prosecuting authorities.” He gambled that she was not familiar with legal processes and matters of jurisdiction.
He won; he watched her as she wilted. “Five stockholders,” she said a little weakly. “That’s including Albert.”
“I believe you organized the company?”
“Well—more or less. I have many well-to-do friends, of course, and because I thought it was a good thing, I told some of them about it. They agreed with me after looking into it and they bought stock.”
“Was the venture fully successful?”
She replied by waving her arm to indicate the whole room.
“Are you the business manager of the company?”
“No. Walter McCormack does that. He has much more experience in the field and, of course, he’s a lot older. Would you—would you care for some tea?”
“No, thank you. And the others?” Tibbs was busy with his notebook.
“William Holt-Rymers.” He thought he detected the suggestion of a sniff in that. “Oswald Peterson.”
Tibbs looked up. “The football player?”
“Oh, do you know him?”
“Only by reputation. One of the stars of the professional game, I believe.”
“Not any more. He used to be, but he isn’t any more.”
Tibbs asked a number of further questions, which brought out the fact that the holding company, a small, tight one, had been a prime investment. “What about Dr. Roussel’s own interest?” he asked finally. “His family is abroad?”
Joyce shook her head. “No, Albert never married. I think he was shy with most women—although he never was with me. He had charm—great charm—and of course the women were attracted to him. Naturally. He would have been a great catch for anyone. But he was always reserved somehow.…”
He wondered how much she was reflecting her own mind. “His stock?” he reminded her.
“Oh, yes, his stock. Well, it was part of our agreement that no one can sell his shares without offering them to the others first. Of course that wouldn’t pertain to inheritances.”
“Do you have any information as to who might be Dr. Roussel’s heir?”
Joyce looked at him narrowly. “His only close relatives were his sister, her husband, I suppose, and there is a niece.” She reached down and smoothed her skirt to suggest a modesty that her next words contradicted. “You’ll probably find this out anyway, so I might as well tell you. Albert was terribly broken up when I married someone else. Everyone knew it. That’s why he never married—he told me so. And, of course, I am the person who financed and made possible his success.”
“What you are saying, Mrs. Pratt, is that you felt he may have left some of his holdings to you?”
“I have no doubt of it, and I don’t think that his sister does, either. Quite frankly I am the girl he wanted, and besides that, as I told you, I brought him his success.”
“And his interest in you has remained—through the years.”
Joyce lifted her head and faced him confidently; when she spoke, her voice was calm and controlled. “On that I can be quite definite,” she answered. “In fact everything had been planned. After Albert’s usual visit with his sister and after the board meeting, we were going to France together. Then we were to have been married there, two months from today.”
chapter 9
The following morning Ellen Boardman chose a simple white dress, which her Uncle Albert had admired, for the unpleasant duty she had to perform. Because the day was very hot, and the sun blazed sharply in the sky, she also wore a cartwheel hat. As she gave her hair a final pat to adjust it into place, she also tried to attune her mind to the idea that she was going to be in the company of a Negro.
If she had been asked, she would have said that she was free of prejudice. And she would have meant it. However, until the moment that Virgil Tibbs had walked in the front door of Pine Shadows Lodge, she had never had any real contact with Negro people. She had talked to many working in various jobs, but it had always been on a different basis. Of course this was not a social engagement she was going on—far from it—but it would be the first time she had ever been escorted by anyone not of her own color. She looked again into the mirror and touched up her lipstick.
When Virgil Tibbs drove up—on time almost to the minute—she met him at the door. He paused for a second to look at her, with admiration, but without any hint of familiarity. Then he greeted her—a little stiffly, she thought. “Good morning, Miss Boardman. I’m so glad it’s such a nice day.”
“So am I,” she replied.
He helped her into the car; for a moment she wondered if he would open the rear door for her, but he did not. As he slid behind the wheel and started the engine, she tried to evaluate him once more. He was certainly neat; his summer-weight suit was well cut and had come from a good shop. Though he had already had a long, hot drive, his white shirt was fresh and immaculate. While he drove, she studied his profile and decided that he was a good-looking man.
Tibbs glanced at her and misread her thoughts. “Miss Boardman, I know how you must feel about the duty ahead of you, but try to put it out of your mind. What happened is all over now—finished and done with. It may help you to think of it that way.”
She did find the thought comforting. “It was very kind of you to come and drive me,” she said.
“I’m happy to,” Virgil answered. He swung the car with expert skill around a curve, moved the automatic transmission into a lower range, and started down the long grade.
In a quiet way the magic of the near-perfect day began to work its familiar miracle to the point where Ellen found herself in an almost relaxed frame of mind. When they reached the bend at the bottom of the first long slope, she indicated the broad turnout where the view of the valley below is at its most spectacular. “That’s my favorite spot,” she said. “I never come past here without stopping for a few minutes.”
In response Tibbs swung the car off the blacktop and onto the gravel.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that I wanted to stop now,” she apologized. “Perhaps when we come back.”
Virgil nodded. “Let’s do it that way.” He turned the car smoothly back onto the two-lane road.
Half an hour later, in the city, Tibbs guided the car expertly through the traffic and pulled up outside the morgue. There he helped Ellen out and escorted her quietly into the building. Though the attendants were kind with her, she was grateful for Tibbs’ presence when she was taken into the grim room where she would have to make the identification. She looked at the still face of death for a moment, closed her eyes bitterly against the sight, and nodded her head.
Quickly she was taken outside and given a form with which to claim the body. It was a coroner’s case, which complicated the legal situation, and several things had to be done. When the formalities were over, Ellen borrowed the telephone and called a funeral home with which she had already made tentative arrangements. She made a second call to her minister and then turned to Tibbs. “Could we go now?” she asked. “And I’d like to talk to you for a few minutes, if I may.”
“Of course.” He took her back to the car, moved it out into traffic, and headed back toward the mountain-resort area.
“Mr. Tibbs,” she said when they had driven a short distance. �
�Please tell me the truth. I’ve been wondering—why was my uncle found on the grounds of—of that awful place?”
“I don’t know,” Tibbs answered truthfully.
“Was he a—patron there?”
“No, he wasn’t. I’m sure of that.”
‘I don’t know what kind of people could run a place like that,” she said, a little bitterly. “There must be something basically wrong with them.”
“Without holding any brief for their line of business,” Virgil answered her, “I’d say they’re considerably better than average people. I’m prejudiced, I admit, because they ignored my color.”
She was startled to hear him speak of it so factually.
“Do you want to know something else?” Tibbs asked.
“Please.”
“When they discovered your uncle, they immediately did everything possible to revive him. That included mouth-to-mouth respiration, which isn’t pleasant for anyone—under the circumstances. If there had been a spark of life left, I think they would have brought him around. They certainly tried.”
“I didn’t know that,” Ellen said.
“They have a son, George, who has had life-guard training. He pulled your uncle out of the pool and did exactly the right things until the rescue units and the doctor got there. He was sure there was no hope, but they kept at it until the doctor made it definite.”
“I’ll write and thank them,” she said.
Tibbs pulled up at the curb beside an attractive-looking drive-in. “How about some coffee or something? This hasn’t been pleasant for you. Let me go and get you something.”
She realized he was trying to distract her, to make things easier. And that he had chosen this place so he wouldn’t compel her to accept his company in public. “Can’t we go inside?” she suggested.
She was proud of herself for her decision—still proud as she drank the milk shake she had chosen and he had bought for her. She saw the bold stares of a pair of long-haired teenagers in the next booth and returned them calmly.
“Hey, Joe, you know what’s got three eyes, four legs, and is black and white?” The voice from the next booth was deliberately loud and Ellen knew it was.
“O.K., what is?” insolently.
“Mr. and Mrs. Sammy Davis, Jr.”
She looked at Tibbs. He shrugged his shoulders, then excused himself to go to the phone. She waited for him, her chin in the air.
As soon as Tibbs returned. they went outside and she paused for a moment on the sidewalk. She took a deep breath. “May I impose on you a great deal?” she asked. “Much more than I have already?”
“Of course, Miss Boardman. What would you like?”
“How far is it to the nudist colony?”
He answered by opening the car door and helping her inside. They had gone several blocks before she could think of anything further she wanted to say. “Have you any clues at all as to whom … who might be guilty of my uncle’s death?”
“Yes, but I’m afraid I can’t discuss it with you,” Virgil replied. “You can understand why.”
She bit her lip and said, “Yes, I guess so. This is really a terrible imposition on you, taking me to see these people.”
“Not at all. It’s more or less on the way.”
“Perhaps we ought to stop somewhere and tell them we’re coming.” A sudden violent thought hit her. “I won’t have to—” She was unable to say the words. The idea of taking all her clothes off, probably in front of strange men, was paralyzing. “I couldn’t!” she added, knowing he would understand.
“They won’t expect it of you,” Tibbs assured her. “Otherwise I wouldn’t put myself in the position of taking you. They are really nice people; I believe you’ll like them.”
“I do already for having tried the way they did to save Uncle Albert’s life, even though they couldn’t. But shouldn’t we let them know we’re coming?”
“I’ve already done that, from the restaurant.”
“Oh.” She remembered that he had gone to the phone, but that was before she had asked him to take her to see these people. She decided that he really was a detective and that she’d better be a little more guarded when she was in his presence. She rode on quietly until she felt the car slowing and saw the sign for Sun Valley Lodge that had been reproduced in the newspapers.
Virgil drove in past the intentional turns in the entrance road and pulled up on the parking lot. Remembering his own experience with Linda the last time he had seen her, he turned toward Ellen. “You understand that the people here will probably not be dressed.” That was an understatement; on such a fine day it was practically a certainty.
“I’m prepared,” Ellen answered. He looked carefully at her face and decided that she would take it in her stride.
He was watching Ellen so intently that he did not hear Linda as she approached across the grass; he was first aware of her when she spoke a warm “Hello, Virgil” practically in his ear. He turned quickly and for the first time in his life was shocked to discover that he was looking at a fully clothed young woman.
Linda had on a smart yellow frock that set off her good looks to perfection. Her hair was neatly arranged and she had used a small amount of lipstick with rewarding effect. Only her sandaled feet were a concession to informality.
He recovered himself and introduced Ellen. “I know,” Linda said simply. “Please come in, we’re expecting you. Virgil phoned.”
As Ellen got out of the car, she reflected that the only shock so far was hearing her quietly dignified escort called by his first name. On the way to the main house, Forrest Nunn met them in a sport shirt and slacks. In honor of the occasion George had elected to wear a white shirt and a tie so that he looked the part of the rising young man to perfection.
Tibbs watched with interest as the Nunns made Ellen welcome, extended her their sympathy, and within five minutes had her sitting, relaxed and contented, with a tall glass of iced tea and a piece of homemade cake before her. Soon Ellen was telling them about her uncle, the strain had left her face, and she seemed to accept the fact that she was among friends. After about half an hour, George drew Tibbs aside.
“Virgil, what happens when you and Miss Boardman leave here?” he asked.
Allowing himself a moment of quiet amusement but keeping a straight face, Virgil replied, “I’m going to take Miss Boardman home. Then it’s back to Pasadena and whatever is waiting for me there.”
“That’s a lot of driving,” George suggested.
“I’m used to it.”
George said thoughtfully, “Ellen, on short acquaintance, seems like an exceptionally nice girl.”
Virgil nodded slowly. “I agree.”
“Are you interested—personally?”
Tibbs appreciated that. He said, “No, definitely not. For several reasons, one of them being that she is concerned in a case that I am investigating.”
Each man fully understood the other. And each knew that a thread of friendship had been spun between them.
“Then how would it be with you if I offered to take Ellen home? Assuming that it’s all right with her, of course.”
“Why don’t you ask her?” It was a considered decision; technically Ellen Boardman was his responsibility, and George was not yet cleared of possible connection with the crime, even though he had raised the alarm and used first-aid techniques. He was an able-bodied male known to have been on the scene. However, the risk involved in an assault on Ellen Boardman under the circumstances would have been suicidal, and Tibbs, fully aware of this, allowed George to go ahead.
A few minutes later George asked her, and Ellen showed her own intelligence by glancing quickly at Tibbs for a cue.
Virgil said, “If it’s agreeable with you, Miss Boardman, go ahead. It will give me a chance to get back to my office and attend to some rather pressing matters. But if you’d like to continue our discussion, then I’d be very happy to run you on up.”
“You have been extremely kind to me,” she sai
d. “By all means, go ahead. And thank you very much—for everything.”
As Tibbs rose to go, Linda volunteered to go with him to the parking lot.
“I like Ellen,” the girl said as they walked. “And I think George does, too.”
“I would say that was fairly obvious,” Virgil responded.
“Do you have a girl, Virgil?”
“I have some friends, of course. No one that I’m serious about—at least not yet.”
“After this is all over and you have caught the murderer, will you come back and see us? We’d like you to.”
Tibbs stopped by his car and took his time getting in behind the wheel. “I’d like to very much,” he said finally. “I like your family and this is a very pleasant place. But there are obstacles, as you realize. In the first place, I’m not a nudist, and forgive me if I add that I have no immediate plans to become one.” He fitted the key into the lock. “Then, too, Linda, we do represent different segments of humanity.”
She rested her hands on the window sill of the car. “You know how we all feel about that,” she said.
“I do and I’m extremely grateful for it. I was in the Deep South a few weeks ago on a case down there. It was quite different.”
“It doesn’t affect your work, does it? I mean, representing a different segment of humanity.”
“There are some annoyances, but not among my colleagues. There has been a lot of progress in the last few years. Have you ever had to take it on the chin from someone because you were a nudist?”
“For a while, yes, when I was in school. Not so much any more. People are learning.”
“I agree, they are.”
“We’re going to have a dance here in a little while,” Linda said. “An evening affair—clothed, of course. We’d all be very pleased if you’d come.”
“Possibly,” Tibbs answered. “On the condition that I could bring my own date. You understand, don’t you?”
“Yes, Virgil, I understand. If you come, will you ask me for a dance?”
“If it’s customary here, Linda, yes, I would be very happy to. In some places I wouldn’t, because that would be—” He was at a loss for the right word.