The Wayward Widow

by William Campbell Gault

  “That might be best,” I agreed. “Thanks, Don. Hope your chest isn’t damaged where I kicked you.”

  He winked and went past me to his car. Patricia Duggan was waiting for me in the living room and it was good to see a natural product for a change, a neat, sweet and pretty All-American middle-class girl. Hanging around with the likes of Carol Destry and Mona Greene had almost made a cynic out of me.

  She had brown hair in a short cut and brown eyes and a firm but feminine handclasp. She said evenly, “Elmer used to read about you in the Los Angeles papers.”

  “They don’t always paint an accurate picture of a man,” I said.

  “Don’t I know it?” she said acidly. “I lived in that absurd town for two years.” She indicated a chair.

  I sat down and smiled at her. “Los Angeles isn’t any one thing. You saw the Hollywood side of it and that can be depressing.”

  “Is there another side?” she asked. “Where else in America do hamburger stands use anti-aircraft searchlights for their openings?”

  “It’s a promotion town,” I admitted. “Mr. Greene got you your start down there, I understand.”

  She nodded. “He was a very good friend to Elmer and to me. I could have made a lot of money, I’m sure, if I had honored the contract he arranged for me.” She took a deep breath. “But the — people I had to — deal with!”

  “You probably took them seriously,” I said. “The thing you must remember about meaningless people is not to take them seriously.”

  “They’re cruel and vulgar.” I shrugged. “Most frightened people are cruel. And vulgarity is comparative. Did Elmer ever live down there?”

  “No. But he wanted to. And it was a constant source of friction between us.” Her chin quivered and some moisture appeared in her eyes.

  I said quickly, “How do you feel about the death of Mr. Greene? Do you think it was a natural death?”

  She shook her head. “The strongest rumor is that it was suicide. Elmer thought it was worse than that.”

  “I see. Did he have any favorite suspect?” Patricia Duggan stared at me quietly.

  “Miss Destry?” I asked. She nodded. I took a breath. “Elmer and Mr. Greene were good friends?”

  “Elm worshipped him. Mr. Greene lent him books and let him use the pool and talked with him by the hour and saw to it that he was paid well by the Halcyon Heights Association. He was a regular father to Elm.” The chin quivered again.

  “But Elmer never got along with Miss Destry?”

  “I would say it was just the other way around.”

  “Really? Now, why should she dislike him?”

  “Maybe because he knew what she was and could guess what she planned to do.”

  “Planned to do? What was the need of doing anything? Mr. Greene had cancer, Miss Duggan.”

  “According to Doctor West. And even if it was true, maybe Miss Destry was impatient. She’s the impatient type, isn’t she?”

  “No. She lived with him too long to make that accusation just. And there’s another point — how could she be sure she’d benefit from his death?”

  “Maybe she made a mistake about that. Maybe there was a will, and she didn’t know it had been changed.” A pause. “Or destroyed.”

  I looked at her closely. “Do you — ?”

  “No. No, of course not. But ever since Mr. Greene died, I’ve been thinking about him. Elmer used to talk about it all the time. He didn’t trust her. He never trusted her, even before he knew she disliked him.”

  “Maybe that was why she disliked him.” Patricia Duggan said nothing, staring at the window that looked out to the sea.

  “Do you know Mr. Greene’s wife?” I asked her. She shook her head. She looked at me. “I understand you know her very well.”

  I didn’t answer that directly. I said, “News travels fast in these small towns, doesn’t it?”

  “Don told me you were working for her, Don Malcolm.”

  “And who told Don?” She shrugged. “Didn’t you?”

  “No. I tell you, this town is like a goldfish bowl. I wouldn’t be surprised if the locals know what move I’m going to make before I do.”

  She said stiffly. “We don’t keep track of each other. Only strangers.”

  I thought, Elmer kept an eye on the locals, and look what happened to him. That wasn’t a thought I could voice here. I rose and looked down at her.

  “Is there anything else you can think of, Miss Duggan, anything that might help me find a murderer?”

  She shook her head. “You stick with that Carol Destry. Everything seems to revolve around her.”

  That had been my own thought, yesterday. But if she had reason to kill Elmer Duggan, would she do it with a screwdriver? That wasn’t a woman’s kind of operation and I felt sure she was innocent of that murder. And what motive could she have for the death of Greene, assuming it hadn’t been a natural death?

  “Carol Destry,” Miss Duggan repeated. “There’s the person you’re looking for.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “Chin up, Miss Duggan.” I left her, thinking of her as something a little less than the All-American girl I had first imagined her.

  If Dennis Greene had died of arsenic and Doctor West had suspected it, why hadn’t he checked to see if Greene had purchased any arsenic, one way or another? Because if Greene hadn’t, the suicide theory was absurd.

  But what other theory would support an unnatural death? Who would have reason to kill a dying man? Miss Destry was not that impatient; her fifteen years of servitude was proof of that.

  I went down to Headquarters, but neither Chief Slauson nor Lieutenant Ortega were in. So I was steered to Sergeant Purvis, an unmixed displeasure.

  “What’s on your mind, Sherlock?” he wanted to know.

  “A number of things,” I told him. “The integrity of Doctor Alvin West, the strange death of Dennis Greene and the remarkable telepathic powers of the local citizenry.”

  “And what was strange about Greene’s death?”

  “There seems to be a strong possibility that he was poisoned.”

  “Doctor West didn’t state that in his certificate. Your beef would be with him, if you have reason to doubt his judgment.”

  “Are you telling me the Police Department wouldn’t be interested in the theory?”

  “No.” He studied me a few seconds. “You know, Puma, a town like this is run by the wealthy Democrats at times and at other times by the wealthy Republicans. But it’s always run by the money. Maybe you don’t think much of that idea, but we’ve got a well-run town. A guy like you comes up for a day or two and we have a murder and an outbreak of juvenile delinquency. Now, is the town to blame for that?”

  “You’re talking nonsense,” I said. “As usual. You’re the first police officer I ever met who talks like the cops in the Grade ? movies. Is that where you got your police training?”

  He colored. “If I wasn’t wearing a badge, you’d be spitting teeth about now.”

  “Cut it out,” I said mildly. “If you want to fight, start. If you want to argue, hire a hall. But don’t try to scare me with your mouth.”

  He sat very quietly for seconds, glaring at me. Then he said, “You’ve brown-nosed the chief and Ortega so you think you’re sitting pretty. But I know some people in this town bigger than either of them.”

  I smiled. “You’d like to think so. Let me tell you something, Sergeant. In my two days here, there’s been only one man I’ve met I’d be afraid to tangle with and that’s your Chief Slauson. And he doesn’t own a muscle worth the name. If there’s anybody bigger or sharper in town, I’d like to meet him.”

  “Go home,” he said. “Get smart and go back to phony-town where your name means something to the punks.”

  I smiled at him and pitied him. I would like to have seen how long this pathetic man would have lasted around the L.A. sharpies, but he wasn’t stupid enough to ever go down there. He knew he was at his best in the tall grass. I said quietly, “It’s one o
f your unreasonable days, isn’t it, Sergeant? Sorry if I’ve been rude.”

  I gave him my broad and contemptuous back and went out.

  Chapter Eight

  MRS. TRAPP actually smiled when she opened the door and saw me standing there. “Well, Mr. Puma, you’re a sight for weary eyes.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Trapp. It’s a pleasure to see you again. Is Miss Destry around?”

  “She’s back on the patio, talking to that lawyer. Do you want to go right back?”

  “What lawyer, Winters or Darbo?”

  “Darbo. You can go through the house here or around the side if you prefer to.”

  “Perhaps you’d better announce me first. Just to be on the safe side.”

  “No need,” she said stiffly. “You go right back. You’re the kind of man she needs around, Mr. Puma.”

  I went through the house to the patio wondering if there had been any sexual connotation to Mrs. Trapp’s remark. I decided there wasn’t, not from a nice old lady from Nebraska. Though you never can tell.

  Carol Destry looked at me in surprise and Jack Darbo in annoyance as I came out to the patio. I smiled in my winning way and said, “Mrs. Trapp thought it would be all right.”

  Carol Destry smiled in return and said nothing. Jack Darbo didn’t smile. He said. “What was your idea in going to see Winters yesterday?”

  “It was exactly that,” I said, “my idea. I’m no longer employed by Miss Destry, you know.”

  He said, “I’m well aware of that. And I assure you none of my clients will ever employ you again.”

  “That’s life,” I said sadly. “Miss Destry tells me you fired me and you tell me she did. Now that we’re all here together, why don’t we get to the truth?”

  “Neither of us have anything to say to you,” he answered.

  I looked at Miss Destry. She shrugged. I looked at Jack Darbo. He glared. I said, “I also talked with Doctor Alvin West, for your information. Some quack, that one.”

  Darbo stiffened and continued to glare. Miss Destry looked at me wonderingly. Finally, she said, “I guess we’re talked out, Jack. I’ll keep in touch with you.

  He frowned. “If you intend talking with this man, I want to warn you that I advise against it.”

  “Okay,” she said. “You warned me. Drink, Puma?” I smiled at the glowering Darbo. “Honey, that’s what does it, not vinegar. Didn’t they teach you that in law school?”

  “Good day,” he said stiffly. “Good day to both of you.”

  “And to you, Jack Armstrong,” I said. “Carry on.” He left, and I sat down on the edge of a chaise longue. I said, “He’s an honest man, isn’t he? Now to what use do you put honest men?”

  “Don’t be insolent. I asked if you wanted a drink.”

  “I could use a bottle of beer.” She rang a bell that was on a table nearby and leaned back and sighed. Mrs. Trapp came out and Miss Destry asked her to bring two bottles of beer. Mrs. Trapp smiled at me knowingly and went to get them.

  “Insufferable woman,” Carol Destry said, “I don’t know why I tolerate her.”

  “Maybe you like insufferable people. David Hawley is a prime example.”

  “You don’t know him,” she said, “or you wouldn’t say that. You don’t know him like I do.”

  A quick answer came to my mind, but it was pornographic and I didn’t voice it. I said, “Where is laughing David now?”

  “I have no idea. Fishing, swimming, playing golf or tennis or handball or volley ball — something active.”

  Mrs. Trapp brought the beer and smiled and went away again. I took a good long swallow and stared at the pool.

  “You’ve been a busy little bee, yourself, haven’t you?” Carol Destry asked casually.

  “I’ve been here and there. What was Jack Darbo’s beef about me?”

  “You went and got Mr. Winters all nervous and fretful. You’ve made him suspicious of me.”

  “Suspicious of you — ? A loyal, thoughtful woman like you? How could Mr. Winters be that cruel?”

  She looked at me coolly. “You’re such an oafish clown, it’s easy to underestimate you, isn’t it, Mr. Puma?”

  “That,” I explained, “goes back to the days when I was a runt. I used to pretend to be weaker than I was so I could spring a surprise once the bigger boy had me down.”

  She sipped her beer and looked up at the hills. “I made a mistake, letting you go. You’re a man I’d like to have on my side.”

  “Are there sides? Who’s fighting whom?”

  “I’m fighting the Greene heirs, the phony heirs. You know that. And his cold-blooded widow.”

  I said nothing. She drank some more beer, still looking at the hills. “And you’re working for her, aren’t you?”

  “Possibly. Who told you that?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” She took her gaze from the hills to give me the full wattage of her soft eyes. “Why are you persecuting me, Mr. Puma?”

  I stared at her. “Brother — ! Little theater at its worst. Honey, yes, but not treacle, Miss Destry.”

  She grinned. “I thought I’d try. You and Mrs. Greene getting along, are you?”

  “Let’s talk about something else,” I said. “Let’s talk about Doctor West.”

  She studied me. She looked at me from top to bottom and then her glance came back to fasten on my swollen hand. “My God, what happened to that?”

  “I ran into some adolescent hoodlums. They attacked me. One of them was fun-loving Dave Hawley’s nephew. And I learned that Hawley had told the kids I was mixed up in Elmer Duggan’s death. What do you think of your playmate now?”

  She said evenly, “He has his idiotic moments, as we both know. Were you mixed up in Elmer Duggan’s death?”

  “No,” I said. “Were you?”

  “You know I wasn’t. I was with David Hawley all evening and when he left, I was with you.”

  “You and he stayed out at the car a long time. Incidentally, I’ve told the police that.”

  She stared at me and I sensed she was a little frightened. She took a deep breath and said, “Doctor West phoned me this afternoon.”

  I said nothing.

  “He was worried,” she went on. “He was worried about his professional reputation.” I didnt interrupt. She took another breath. “He said there was a possibility Mr. Greene was poisoned but if that were true, it was obviously suicide.”

  “Then Doctor West shouldn’t worry about his professional reputation,” I said, “because if he has any, it’s unearned.”

  “He’s an old man,” she said. “He’s a lifetime resident of this town and he admired Mr. Greene.”

  “He explained that,” I said. “Mr. Greene always paid promptly on the first of the month. Those are the kind of patients Doctor West would admire.”

  “That was rotten,” she said, “Typical Puma cynicism.”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake,” I said, “let’s face a few facts. Doctor Alvin West is a dirty old man and Dennis Greene was nothing but a cheap director until he met Mrs. Greene when he was fifty-one years old and going slowly nowhere. You moved in and she moved out and all of a sudden Doctor West becomes the beloved country doctor and Dennis Greene some kind of paternalistic old-money art patron. My God, because a man doesn’t accept this soap opera front you’ve been running, you call him a cynic. Miss Destry, if the truth is in you, and won’t send you to the gas chamber, could we come down to some plateau near the truth?” She stared at me coldly.

  “Think of me any way you want to,” I went on, “but try to think of me as a professional, at least.”

  “I will,” she said. “I certainly will. And how will you think of me?”

  “As another professional,” I assured her, “at the very least.”

  “Go on,” she said.

  “As a girl,” I went on, “whose father taught her a few manners and how to get along with the right people, but who learned from her father’s mistakes that just getting along with the right people wouldn
’t ever make her rich. But getting into their homes as secretary or whatever way was possible and then trying to marry one of them might be a businesslike approach.”

  “And why then, didn’t I marry Dennis Greene?”

  “Because he wouldn’t marry you. It’s the reason he didn’t divorce his wife, so he could have her as an out with those predatory females who sought the security of marriage.”

  “Well, well, well — you’re leaving the facts, now, Puma. It was Mrs. Greene who wouldn’t give Dennis the divorce.”

  “That’s what he told you,” I said. And then I added, “Among others.”

  “Others — ? Could you name me one?”

  “I could but I won’t. What you learned, I will bet, in the fifteen loyal years was that Dennis Greene was a very careful man with a dollar and so were his wealthy friends.”

  She finished her beer and smiled at me sadly. “I guess we’ve reached the point I reached with Mr. Darbo.”

  “What point?”

  “We’re talked out, you and I. Drive carefully on the way home, won’t you?”

  I finished my beer and stood up. I said, “Insular, aren’t you? You think living in Halcyon Heights makes you invulnerable, even though you don’t belong here?”

  “It has so far,” she said boredly. “Take care of that hand, Mr. Puma.”

  My Latin temper began to simmer as I glared down at her. I had hit her with everything but the beer bottle and she had come up off the canvas smiling and indifferent. It was possible that she had underestimated me but I had underestimated her more. And though she wasn’t fully accepted by the town, I was sure she was accepted by it more than I was.

  And I didn’t have her build, a potent weapon. She looked up at me and said, “A nickel for your black thoughts.”

  “I wish you were a man so I could hit you,” I told her. She smiled. “Hit Dave Hawley, if you have to hit somebody. I’d like to be there to see that. I’d like to see you crawling for a change.”

  “Like you saw Elmer Duggan?” I asked. “Don’t you think you’ve over-reached yourself when you get cute with murder?”

  “Good-by,” she said. “Be a good loser and go, please. I’ve a date for dinner.”