Swing Town Mysteries Dorie Lennox Box Set

by Lise McClendon

Eveline Hines blinked. “I wasn’t awake.” She looked embarrassed.

  “That’s what we’re for, Eveline,” Amos said. “Dorie had an unfortunate incident later on that we think might be related to Barnaby Wake. Someone tried to force her into his automobile at gunpoint.”

  “Whatever for?” The Commander squinted at her. The girl put her hand to her throat as if rankled by the attention.

  “We can only guess,” Amos said. “The abduction was foiled by another woman with another gun.”

  “Good Lord, how lucky. You think Barnaby Wake was behind this?”

  Amos looked at Dorie. She said, “He tried to throw me out of the hall last night. Thalia was in tears. Said my presence upset her.”

  Eveline Hines sighed and sunk deeper into the pillows. “Pleasing that girl … Well, that is not my concern. Her safety, her future, that is what we must think about.”

  “We’ve been trying to find out more about Barnaby Wake,” Amos said. “He’s proving a bit difficult.”

  “Oh?”

  “He has no driver’s license, car license, or land title here. We think he’s from New Jersey or thereabouts, but we haven’t heard anything from our contacts there. The workings of the chorus are very hush-hush. He says he’s married and his wife lives in Arizona for her health.”

  “Wife?” Eveline said, eyes widening. “He’s married?”

  “So he says.”

  “Miss Lennox, run and fetch Julian. Beulah will know where to find him.”

  Dorie straightened, surprised, then did as she was told. When Amos looked back at Eveline, her body was tense with pain.

  “Amos. My pills,” she whispered through her teeth. He found a prescription bottle by the water glass and shook out two.

  “How many, love?”

  “Three.”

  Putting a hand behind her neck, he pulled her forward. She threw the pills into her mouth and swallowed them with water. Amos sat again and waited for the medicine to take effect. Finally, Eveline opened her eyes and smiled wanly.

  “Thank you, Amos.”

  “I wish there was more I could do for you, Eveline.”

  “There’s nothing anyone can do,” she whispered. “Watching Wendy for me is all the help in the world.”

  Amos frowned. “Wendy?”

  “Did I say Wendy?” She blinked and bit her lip. “I meant Thalia.” Eveline looked at him seriously. “Wendy is— was— my daughter-in-law. Julian’s wife. Appears to have run off and left him. I miss her terribly. She was the only person in this house I could really talk to. She lost her own mother to cancer. We would talk late into the night.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I do miss her.” Eveline’s eyes began to mist. “Oh, dear me.”

  Amos handed her a handkerchief. “Where’s she gone?”

  “Ran off without a word to any of us. I must say that it struck me as odd. She didn’t even say goodbye.”

  He took her hand and squeezed it. She pulled away, embarrassed. “Of course, once you meet Julian, you’ll probably understand why she did it. Please don’t mention Wendy to him. He’s terribly fragile.”

  Dorie came through the door and held it for the man. So this is Julian Hines, thought Amos. A thin-haired scared rabbit in plaid casual pants and a bright green shirt and saddle shoes. He looked flushed, his hands thrust nervously in pockets.

  “Good morning, Comm— Eveline. How are we today?”

  “You sound like Mother Ruth. Sit down. All of you.” She made introductions between Julian and Amos Haddam. “You met Miss Lennox?”

  “Several times.” Julian smiled boldly at Dorie, all of his teeth a gripping white. Amos felt a sudden animosity spring to his breast. “How goes the battle, Miss Lennox?”

  “The battle, sir?”

  “Good versus evil? Men versus women? The Hines versus the rest of the world?”

  “Stop it, Julian.” Eveline said. “I want you to tell them what you said about Barnaby Wake yesterday.”

  “Oh, that.” He stuck his plaid legs out and smoothed the phosphorescent madras fabric with delicate hands freckled by the sun. They shook a little, no doubt a temporary ailment, lasting until cocktail hour. “Just some flap I heard.”

  “Tell them,” the Commander ordered.

  “All right. I’ll tell them.” He glared at her briefly, then smiled at them. “The word at the club is that Barnaby Wake is dallying with Agnes Marchand. Her husband is a vice-president at Security Fire and Life. On track to be bigwig there, I hear. A damn good golfer, too.”

  “I saw her last night. She gave him a hug,” Dorie said. “At least he called her Agnes. Reddish blond hair, stylish?”

  “Flirty and fluttery? That’s Agnes. Wake must work his way through the sopranos to the altos. Haven’t heard about him working on the baritones. Yet.”

  “Thank you, Julian. That’ll be all.” Mrs. Hines’s nostrils were flaring.

  “Do the folks at the club know he’s married?” Dorie asked.

  Julian smirked in merriment. “Better and better.”

  “I have an idea, Amos. Tell me what you think,” Eveline said. Even her weak voice held the command of respect and authority. “We go to this Agnes and have her put the screws to Wake. If he doesn’t leave Thalia alone, she’ll expose him as a Don Juan.”

  Amos bit his lip, glancing at Dorie. She was picking at a button on her sweater. Julian linked his fingers across his belly, enjoying the intrigue.

  “I’m not sure she’d agree to that, Eveline,” Amos said gently.

  “And why not?”

  “Because it would expose her, too.”

  “We can hold that over her. Make her do it, or we expose them both. No more society matrons and their money and favors.”

  Amos tried a smile on the Commander. Eveline was staring at her portrait over the fireplace. No one spoke for so long, even Julian grew restless, wriggling on his chair.

  Finally, with a small sigh, Eveline spoke. “You’ll go to her, Amos. Unless you feel Miss Lennox would be better, give her the womanly touch. But we must be very firm. Make her see she will be ruined unless Wake gives up his attentions toward Thalia.”

  “We don’t know absolutely that she and Wake are involved,” Amos said.

  Julian snorted and waggled his eyebrows.

  “You have some proof?”

  The stepson said, “There’s always a grain of truth in this talk. If she’s not actually bedding him, she wants to.”

  “That would lessen any power we might have over her.”

  “Enough!” Eveline cried, raising a palm like a policeman signaling. “You will go to her and make her see the lay of the land, Amos. Today.”

  Dorie was staring at Amos, disbelief in her eyes. This was a bad idea. It wouldn’t work, and they both knew it. A shiver went up Amos’s spine and out of the blue a vision of Gwendolyn lying on the clean white pillow, her hair in a fan, swam into his mind.

  “Of course, Eveline. We’ll talk to her today.” He stood up. “We’d better get busy. Shall we call on you later?”

  “Tomorrow morning is soon enough,” Eveline said, the indignity of the situation draining color from her face, leaving her pale as a cloud. “Julian. Tell Mother Ruth I need her now.”

  Dorie watched Julian walk to the door, shooting them a resentful look over his shoulder. She stood her ground, not wanting to accompany him to the foyer again. Amos held his open notebook, frowning into it as if it would tell them how in the world they were to lean on Agnes Marchand. She stared at him, willing him to look up. But he sat down again, crossed his legs, and continued the examination of his chicken scratches in the notebook.

  “I’ll be out front,” she said finally, nodding to the Commander. Unnecessary, as her eyes were closed.

  “Won’t be long,” Amos muttered, folding up the notebook and slipping it into his jacket pocket. “I’ll just wait for Mother Ruth.”

  The hallway was deserted. Maybe Mother Ruth was out having a smoke. Lennox tiptoed on
the stone floor, hoping for a quick getaway. She walked down the corridor toward the front hall, until she heard the voice. From upstairs. High and light like through the hedges— it had to be Thalia. At the doorway into the icy foyer, she stopped. The voice came floating from upstairs.

  “Full of the old paprika, loaded with dynamite, come on down, come on down, I’m throwing a ball tonight… .” Her voice was reedy but full of pep, the way one sang to the mirror.

  “Invited Wendell Willkie, invited FDR …” The voice trailed off as she hummed through several verses before declaring again that she was throwing a ball tonight.

  It was the song Thalia had sung that night in the Three Owls. From a musical play. What was it? At least she could tell the Commander what song Thalia was singing now, or hum a few bars anyway.

  Thalia’s voice was surprisingly sweet, like Tillie’s. Hearing it had an odd effect. A warm spot grew in Dorie’s chest, the part of her where she kept her memories of Tillie. The singing— Thalia’s singing— cast a new glow over Thalia. She was different suddenly, as if hearing her sweet voice altered Dorie’s picture of her, filling in superficial planes with warm color, even depth. Could it be that Thalia wasn’t really as shallow and coldhearted as she seemed? Perhaps she cared about her mother, but the old woman, with her military ways, hadn’t allowed any feeling. How hard it must have been to grow up with Eveline Hines and her sharp, critical tongue.

  Heel taps on the stone floor. Mrs. Hines’s secretary, Mildred, rounded the big table adorned with gladiolas and headed toward the hallway. Tall and officious, with her big nose and half glasses, she didn’t see Dorie until the detective cleared her throat.

  Mildred’s step stuttered and she clutched a sheaf of papers to her bosom. “Good morning. I hope you haven’t been tiring Mrs. Hines.”

  “It was a short meeting.”

  “She has a very busy weekend coming, what with the Willkie rally and some visitors connected to the campaign,” Mildred said, nose high in the air. The attention of the Willkie people was obviously a coup. “They are coming to the house, you know. We shan’t be having a reception per se. But they are coming to visit and commune with Mrs. Hines. She needs her rest.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of interfering— Mildred, is it?”

  “Miss Miller, if you please.”

  Mildred Miller carried on down the hallway, having communicated her importance. Dorie smiled. What would the uppity Miss Miller do if she saw a switchblade, felt its sharp swish of steel? Crumple into a million flaky pieces, no doubt.

  Dashing across the foyer before someone else collared her, Dorie escaped into the open air. The switchblade thoughts reminded her that today she had to visit her parole officer. One more month. That was all she had. She shivered. She had to hang in and clear things up.

  Amos Haddam appeared at the door before she got in the Packard.

  “You want me to talk to Mrs. Marchand?” Dorie asked when he settled into the seat.

  “I’d better. She’s not going to take it from another woman.”

  She nodded. “You know that song that goes ‘Invited Wendell Willkie, invited FDR?’ “

  “Don’t try for a singing career.”

  She made a face. “It’s from a show. Thalia was singing it that night at the Three Owls when she went off with Barnaby Wake.” She hummed a few bars and threw in the “come on down, come on down.”

  “Forget about that. We’ve got a bucketful of stuff to throw out today.” Amos waited until she started the Packard and headed north again, toward the office; then he cleared his throat loudly. “Listen, I’ve been hearing things about somebody named Wendy.”

  A sound— no, a feeling like a thud— hit the interior of the car and bounced off Dorie’s chest. They stopped at an intersection where a boy in blue was directing traffic, white gloves and all.

  “Julian’s wife?”

  “You know about her?”

  “A little.”

  “Eveline says she ran off without a word.”

  The cop waved them on. “That’s what Julian says. Peeved as hell.” That was anger, wasn’t it?

  “We’ve got to find her,” Amos said. “Eveline is dying. She’s going fast. Mother Ruth told me she won’t last the month.”

  “Does she know where Wendy went?”

  “No idea. What did Julian say?”

  “Not a trace. Oh, he talked to an aunt back east. She hadn’t heard from Wendy since Christmas.”

  “Give it a go, will you? Talk to Julian again, find out her haunts. Maybe she’s hiding out with some friend.”

  “Or shacked up somewhere.” Dorie pulled into a parking spot right next to the Boston Building. Her lucky day. “What about Wake?”

  “Stay away from him. He’s liable to send more of his fun boys around. Make like you got the message, righty-o?”

  “Righty-o, old boy. What about tonight?” She slammed the car door and stood in the breeze.

  He rubbed his chin as the wind flopped his hair forward. “I’ll watch her tonight. You take a night off.”

  “If you say so, boss. What will you do this afternoon?”

  “More trouble with the Monarchs. I’ve got to go hold a few hands over there.”

  The door to the stairway at the Boston Building opened. Harvey Talbot stepped out, pulling on a fedora, adjusting the brim as he spied them. He looked anxious, although eager to see Amos Haddam.

  “I’ve been waiting upstairs,” he told Amos. “Can we talk?”

  “About what?”

  “The other night. And some new developments.” Talbot moved closer to Amos. Dorie eased around the front of the Packard. “Rumors of Kluxers. That they might try to close down the game.”

  “That’s bluster and fluff and you know it. There’s no story there.”

  “What happened at the gym?” Dorie asked. Talbot squinted at her coldly. Couldn’t he even be civil? What had she done to him? Then she remembered. A cold ache rose up her back, into her neck. She folded her arms.

  Talbot turned to Haddam. “Maybe if we fill each other in, we can find some rhyme or reason.”

  Amos coughed into his handkerchief. “Let’s get out of this wind.” He looked at Dorie over his shoulder.

  “Find her,” he said.

  Chapter ELEVEN

  YOU SEEM JUMPY TODAY, MISS Lennox.”

  “Let’s get on with it.”

  “You don’t like people observing your behavior? It makes you nervous?”

  “It’s my job, observing people.”

  “And what do you see?”

  “Liars, cheats, thieves. People with more money than smarts, people with smarts still looking for easy street.”

  “You don’t think much of people?”

  “It’s the nature of the job.”

  “To dislike people?”

  “To deal with the cheating type, the tough guys, the scam artists.”

  “Is that what you’re working on now?”

  “Not really.” She waited for the Widow Vunnell to react, enjoying the taunt of withheld details. “More like trying to stop a girl from ruin.”

  “Ah.” The chair creaked as Vunnell leaned back. “Any similarities between you?”

  “Me and her? She reminds me a little of my sister. She sings a lot. Tillie did that.” Dorie paused and looked out the window. In the distance, purple clouds were gathering over the bluffs, blocking the afternoon sun and giving a melancholy autumn glow to the city. “She’s mixed up, wild, mouthy. But the mother is a tyrant. She drove the girl to it. Maybe.”

  “Is it usually the mother’s fault? What about your mother?”

  “My mother was a drunk and a floozy.”

  “Is that what the man said, the one you stabbed?”

  Wilma Vunnell had the most insidious way about her. Dorie frowned at the solid form behind the desk, her passive face and dark, unreadable eyes. “More or less. It wasn’t friendly.”

  “He was unarmed?”

  “I never saw anything. He
tried to jump me.”

  “That’s not what he said at trial.”

  “And you believed him. Because he’s rich and has society friends.”

  “He doesn’t appear to be the sort to jump women on the street.”

  “We weren’t on the street. We were in his car.”

  “On a date, then.”

  “He took me flying. It wasn’t a date. He rents a plane and takes people up sometimes.”

  “So you accepted his invitation?”

  “Just for the flying. Not for anything else.” Dorie dug her fingernails into the arms of the chair. “This wasn’t the first time he’d tried something. And he’d been drinking.”

  “At noon?”

  “It happens, Mrs. Vunnell. People who drink too much start early.”

  “If he assaulted you before, jumped you, why did you agree to go on this flying date?”

  “I was stupid.”

  Mrs. Vunnell sat back in her chair, a very small smirk on her bowed lips. Amazing how the woman could smirk without moving a muscle. She smoothed back her volume of gray-streaked hair, a complicated tangle of nutty brown held with combs. Something Dorie had said apparently satisfied her, as if she’d been digging for treasure and found it. Her smirk made Dorie angry all over again.

  “You satisfied? Yes, I was stupid. Call the papers. I wanted to fly, to get up off this crummy, hell-strewn prairie for a few minutes of peace. Is that a crime?”

  “Only if you stab the pilot afterward.”

  “I won’t be stabbing anybody for some time. You’ve got my blade.”

  “That sort of switchblade should be illegal, Miss Lennox.”

  “Let me know when they do that, would you?”

  “You seem rather attached to it.”

  She shrugged. Her attachment to the switchblade was irrational, and she knew it. She hadn’t been able to sleep for a week after they took it away. She still woke up sometimes feeling for it under her pillow. She sneaked a look at her watch. Ten minutes to go. Mr. Francis would have let her out, but the Widow Vunnell was a stickler for the half-hour head-shrinking session. Dorie got out her deck of Luckies.

  “No smoking.” Mrs. Vunnell made her eyes even smaller and pursed her lips. Her gray dress reminded Dorie of prison matron garb. Her other persona? “Do you get jumped often?”