And Mark knew too. Instead of drawing in a net he might be sending out an alarm. “Yes,” he repeated, “I have some names, but they’re not worth much. They don’t mean a thing.”
Beacham was over at the window, pleating the curtain with his strong, brown fingers. He looked as if he were deep in his own thoughts. He made no comment.
The names ran smoothly through Mark’s mind. He knew them as well as his own. Peter Martin Delaney, eighty-five, and his doting and hated daughter; Norbert James Kelso, Jr., fifty-one, the poor, unlucky devil who was returned to an unhappy home because he’d behaved himself for two years and somebody else needed his bed; Louise Murdoch, thirty-six, who didn’t want her brother to know other women. No, the names didn’t mean a thing but there were other words that did; other words, underlined by Mary Cassidy with heavy, black strokes.
Beacham turned from the window. “You said something else, about mannerisms, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. You can’t change those permanently. Somebody let the bars down at least once, and Miss Cassidy got wise. It can happen again. That’s what I’m watching for.”
“Have you seen anything that—fits?”
“One of the angles fits three of you.”
“Of us!” Beacham stared, first at Mark and then out of the window. He turned back. “Of us here—of us out there?”
“Yes. But one angle can easily be coincidence. If I get another, or two more, then I’ll know.”
Beacham crossed to the table and took a cigarette. There was no apprehension in his manner, only annoyance and disbelief. “Will this new development keep me from going to New York tonight?” he asked. Then he added, “I still think you’re crazy.”
“We’ll see who’s crazy in about forty-eight hours,” Mark said. “No, you can go to New York all right. You’re returning immediately, aren’t you?”
“Yes. And please understand that I’m not going because I want to. I’m only doing it because I promised Cassie. She talked to me about death once and made me swear to do as she asked. Cremation. No service. I’ll get it over as soon as possible and come back on the next train.” He struggled with match and cigarette. “I hate the whole business,” he said. “All the mechanized foolery that goes with putting a body away. Hauling it on and off trains, in and out of hearses, creeping through the city streets in broad daylight. The blackest heathen has more sense.”
Is this the line he gave Walters? Mark wondered. “What would you do?” he asked.
“Bury her where she was found, beside the well. Bury her at once, in the place where she died.”
“That’s very pretty,” Mark said, “and I hate to be sordid, but you can’t bury people near wells.”
“You know what I mean. I mean here, in that graveyard.” He began to pace again. “People act like fools at times like this. I had to clamp down on a couple of women canvassing for flowers. Strangers, going around with a list and asking hotel guests to contribute to a wreath!” He ground out his cigarette on the floor. “And there’ll be no viewing of the body, either. The undertaker seems to think he’s hit an all time high with this job and he wants to show off. I fixed that too. Stood over him while he sealed the top on. . . . I need a drink.”
Mark thought before he spoke. “Not even Joey?”
“Certainly not Joey! She’s—she’s never seen anything like that. I don’t want her to. Scare her to death.”
“I think she can take it, and it might make her feel better later on. She has a lot of sense.”
“No. Nobody.”
Mark waited. Then, “Not even Albert Shaw?”
Beacham stood still in the middle of the floor. “And who is Albert Shaw?”
“Never heard of him?”
“No. Why should I?”
“He’s your caretaker.”
“Oh good God, East, I don’t think I ever heard his name before! Cassie told me she got a good man, and that’s all.”
“Shaw says you talked to him the day he was hired.”
“Maybe I did! I can’t remember things like that. I talked to half a dozen people she was considering. She wanted me to. I don’t remember any of them.”
“You remembered Shaw enough to write to him when she died. At least he says you did. Did you address the letter to Caretaker?”
“I must have. I didn’t know his name. Are you trying to make something out of that?”
Mark looked amiable. “No. But it was a lot of trouble to take for a stranger, wasn’t it? Or maybe he wasn’t a stranger—to Miss Cassidy.”
Beacham glared. “He can be her long lost grandfather for all I know. She told me he needed help, and I told her to go ahead and give him the job. That’s all. And I didn’t write him because I thought he’d be personally interested, although he probably was. I wrote because I wanted him to keep away from reporters. I told him I’d fire him if he talked to anybody. . . . How did you get to see him, if I may ask?”
“I rang the bell and told him who I was. He believed me. And don’t worry about reporters. They’ll not fool him. He’s an unusual type. I think he’s come down in the world.”
“Only two ways to go,” Beacham said. “That—or up. . . . Have we finished with—Mr. Shaw? Then I’m going to phone over for some ice. Have a drink?”
Mark said he would. He watched while Beacham crossed to the phone that connected the cottage with the hotel. It rang before he reached it. “Hello,” he said. “Oh—it’s for you, East. Crestwood.”
Mark took the receiver. “Hello,” he said. “Wait a minute, will you?” He turned to Beacham. “Do you mind if I take this alone?”
“Want me out of the way?” Beacham laughed. “Help yourself. I’ll go over to Peck’s and drink his. Come along when you’re through.” He walked out, whistling.
“Bittner?” Mark said into the phone.
It was. “Where have you been for the last fifteen minutes?” Bittner asked.
“Right here, in Beacham’s cottage. Have you got something?”
Bittner strangled with laughter. “When did you see that Beacham girl last? I mean the one with the—you know, the older one.”
“I practically just left her. Get on with it!”
“Well, she called me up about ten minutes ago and engaged a bus for tomorrow afternoon. Sounded like she was crying too, or maybe somebody had insulted her. She sounded like she’d been running. Or crying. Or something. She wants a bus for three o’clock tomorrow because she’s taking a party over to Baldwin.”
“What for?”
“Band concert at the camp. How do you like that, my boy? Didn’t I tell you to trust me? There you were, sitting on a stove, and you didn’t even know there was a fire in it. I have to tell you everything. Aren’t you going to thank me? You ought to come over here and thank me in person.”
“Sure, sure. Thanks. Wait a minute while I do some thinking.” That little devil, he said to himself. She went to the phone the minute I left. Why? Why all of a sudden? She had the whole morning. A harmless excursion designed for frazzled nerves? An elopement? There I go, he said, falling back on love again. “Bittner? What time does that concert come off?”
“It begins around four and ends around five. They have one every month. Are you going? You won’t like it. You won’t have any fun. If you come over here, we can play my victrola.” Bittner began to wheedle. “I have some perfectly beautiful records.”
“I’ll come sometime and bring my own. Listen. Put your best driver on, will you? Tell him to memorize the faces of his passengers and make sure he brings back the same people he took. Can you do that without making him suspicious? “
“I’ll tell him the hotel asked me to. I’ll say the hotel thinks somebody may run away without paying his bill. How do you like that?”
“Bittner, I didn’t know you could do it!” The words weren’t out of his mouth before he knew they were a mistake.
“You underestimate me,” wailed Bittner.
“No I don’t. And here’s another thing.
When you see Beacham on the branch line tonight, don’t tell me. He’s going to New York and I know all about it.”
“With the body? With the woman’s body? You haven’t told me about the body! You said you’d come over and tell—”
“Excuse me,” Mark lied in a hoarse whisper. “Beacham just came in.” He hung up.
He didn’t go to the Pecks’ at once. He went over to the hotel and called Perley’s house. He told Pansy that he wanted Perley at the Mountain House after dinner. Then he called a colleague in New York and spoke to him in French, completely confounding the elderly woman who ran the hotel switchboard. He said “Oui, oui” a couple of times to give her a fair start, and watched her eyes glaze as she dropped out of the running. He knew she was regretting the copy of Mary J. Holmes propped inside her Beginner’s French.
When he had finished his conversation he wondered grimly what Beacham would say if he knew that he was going to pay for two detectives to watch himself.
Joey and Pee Wee walked hand in hand down a lane that twisted and turned between the rolling hills and fields. Here and there along the sagging fences were lush clumps of tiger lilies. When Joey and Pee Wee saw one of these they silently broke away from each other and demolished the lot. There was little or no talk between them; they walked and worked slowly, their eyes forward, right and left. They’d have looked the same if they’d been foraging for food.
Once they found a small patch of wild asters and beyond that a straggling line of black-eyed Susans. These joined the lilies until their arms were full. When Joey could carry no more, she sat by the road and wiped her hot face with a grimy hand.
“You got enough?” she asked Pee Wee.
“My arms are busted.” He placed his sheaf on the grass beside hers. “They look good, don’t they?”
“They’ll be all right if they don’t die.” Her voice was worried. “Do you think it’s going to be all right? Do you think Mike—”
“I’ll talk to Mike,” Pee Wee said. They both cast uneasy looks at the pile of flaming orange. “I’m thinking though,” Pee Wee admitted. “It’s all kind of bright.”
“What’s the matter with that?”
“All that color. We ought to have some white.”
“Where’s any white? I’ve been looking my eyes out. There isn’t any white except wild carrot and that’s a plain weed.”
Pee Wee considered. “It’s a weed if you call it wild carrot, but if you call it Queen Anne’s lace—”
“Pee Wee!” They scrambled up the bank into the field. The Queen Anne’s lace was waist high. “Only the ones with the little red spot in the middle,” warned Joey. “They’re the hardest to find and they look fancier.”
It was after one o’clock when their arms, which were unrelated in size to their eyes and hearts, could hold no more. They turned back the way they had come, and the sun was in their faces. Pee Wee scowled at his scout watch.
“We’re going to be late for lunch if we don’t run,” he said, “and if we run we’ll get sunstroke.”
“I know how to get something to eat,” Joey said. “Even when the dining room’s closed. I know how. You go to the kitchen door and there’s a man there who’s second cook and he gives you something. Better than the regular lunch, too. You can get five desserts.”
“A lift would be nice though,” Pee Wee said. He shaded his eyes and looked ahead. “Don’t some of our people ride down this way? People like Miss Sheffield and Mr. Kirby?”
“Sure. But Mr. Kirby’s mad at me. And nobody rides at lunch time.”
“Unless they’re late, like us. You don’t have to gallop like somebody was chasing you, Joey. If we’re going to catch it, we’re going to catch it. I wish I didn’t keep seeing those big pitchers of cold milk on the tables.” He spat hopelessly.
“I’d hook a ride with anybody,” Joey said recklessly. “Even though I’m not supposed to. Even with somebody I didn’t know, I would.”
They trudged on a few more yards. Little flurries of dust rose from their dragging feet. Suddenly Pee Wee stopped.
“I hear something,” he said. “But it’s coming from the wrong direction. It’s coming this way and it’s a car.”
“Maybe we can hire it to turn around! Mike would pay!”
They crawled up the bank because Cassie had told them they must always do that, and waited for their invisible hope to materialize. They didn’t wait long.
Around the bend came an ancient Ford with its top up. It moved uncertainly from one side of the road to the other.
“Ole man Walters,” Joey said out of the side of her mouth. “Wouldn’t you think he’d learn to drive.”
“Shall we ask him to take us back?” Pee Wee whispered. “He’d kind of have to. Don’t he always say we’re his flock?”
“Sure. Let me do it. He likes me.” She slid down the bank. “Hey, Mr. Walters!”
The Ford jolted to a standstill.
“Well, well,” said the Reverend Mr. Walters. “Of all people!” He climbed down stiffly and brushed the dust from his hands. “Do your families know you’re wandering far afield?”
Joey beamed. “No sir,” she said.
On his way to the Peck cottage for the promised drink, Mark stopped to talk to Beulah. She was still under the trees but she was alone.
“Where did they all go after I left?” he asked bluntly.
She told him. “The Pecks went back to their cottage, the Suttons and George went into the hotel, Sheffield and Kirby to the stables. Beacham went over to the Peck cottage a few minutes ago, but I guess you know that. Miss Rayner is on the veranda, talking to the woman who has the suite next to the Suttons. Roberta went into the hotel when the Suttons did. With Nick.
“What did Roberta talk about before she went?”
“Nothing. She didn’t open her mouth until Franny Peck told her that frowning would ruin her forehead. Then she whispered something to Nick and they left. No manners. Why?”
“I’ve been talking to Bittner. He says Roberta rented a bus for a trip to Baldwin tomorrow. Band concert at the camp. She’s taking a party. I wonder where she got that idea?”
“Out of the nowhere, baby dear. I wouldn’t worry about it. Do you think I’ll be invited?”
“It won’t do you any good if you are. You can’t go. Beulah, are you free and willing to stay on here until Sunday night?”
“You couldn’t drive me away. You’re closing in, Mark; I’ve seen the signs before and I know. But don’t tell me anything. I’m afraid of this one, and the less information I have in advance the better I’ll behave. I hope.” She yanked at her unbecoming frilled collar. She looked like the wrong kind of dog dressed up for a trick. “I’ve got the chokes today. Everything’s in my throat.”
He knew how she felt. It was always like that towards the end. Empty and hopeless days would go by, and then, suddenly, the old chills and fever would set in. That meant that you had to walk softly, because something was waiting for you around the corner. But not, he told himself, with an arrow this time. He had all six.
“Beulah,” he said, “I’m thinking about those rags of Joey’s. Are they safe?”
“They’ll have to tear the house down to find them.”
“Good. We’re late for lunch and that’s bad. Where’s Joey? Hasn’t she shown up yet?”
“No.” She looked at the watch that was fastened to her dress with a gold fleur-de-lis pin. “They’ve been gone since ten.”
“I don’t like that.” He looked down the hot, empty road that led to town. “Which way did they go?”
“Not that way.”
“I don’t like it,” he repeated. “I wish I knew what to do.” His eyes came back to her face and he glared. “You know where they went! You’ve known all the time! Why didn’t you tell me? You don’t know what we’re up against!”
“Don’t lose your temper. It’s all right. I couldn’t tell you before because it was a secret Beacham wouldn’t appreciate. But I told them to go ahead. If
Beacham acts up, I’ll take care of him. They went after flowers for Miss Cassidy’s coffin. They didn’t have any money, so they planned to pick whatever they could find. I told them that would be nicer than anything they could buy. Poor little things. I hate Beacham.”
“Where did they go?” He wanted to shake her. “Where did they go? Is it isolated?”
“Of course it’s isolated. They went down the lane that leads to the pool and changed over to a hunting trail. About two miles down. That’s where you find the fields and deep woods, and that’s where you find the best wild—” She stopped. He was on his feet, running to the parking lot. She followed.
“Mark!”
“I’m taking Beacham’s car. Don’t say anything to anybody and don’t look like that. You’re attracting attention.”
“Mark, if those—if something’s happened and you didn’t warn—”
The wheels of a heavy cart and the rattle of harness cut across her voice. They both turned. The lumber wagon, back from a morning in the woods, rumbled out of the lane with its burden of brush and twigs. Beside the driver two animated bouquets quivered in the sun.
“Hey!” yelled Joey.
Mark released his breath in a bubbling hiss. “Excuse it, please,” he said to Beulah. “Everything’s in my throat too.”
He lifted the children to the ground. “Don’t do that again without telling me,” he said. “Don’t move off this place without telling me! If you do, so help me, I’ll beat the living daylights—don’t do it!”
Joey’s eyes widened. “What are you mad about?”
“You.”
“But Miss Pond knew. We told her and made her swear not to tell. She swore.”
“Miss Pond’s swearing cuts no ice with me.” He ducked the swaying lilies and the Queen Anne’s lace that they thrust under his nose. “Yes, they’re beautiful. Go put them in a bucket of water, and if you fall in yourself I won’t be sorry. You don’t know how lucky you were to—to get that ride.”
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