by Helen Wells
“But no one ever told me,” Cherry said plaintively, “that the peak periods would be as hectic as this.”
“Me, either,” said Gladys. “This is the first time I’ve sat down for more than two minutes today!”
Cherry was thinking that at last she would have a chance to wash her face when a messenger brought a report from Dr. Murphy. The report dealt with Mrs. Julian.
“Mrs. Anna Julian, complete checkup, 12/4. Blood count, normal. A slight secondary anemia for which vitamins are prescribed. Physically and organically sound. Dental report satisfactory. Patient’s accelerated pulse and feelings of exhaustion apparently caused by anxiety, since no physical symptoms are present.”
Cherry read the doctor’s report twice, to make sure she understood correctly. It was plain that Mrs. Julian’s worried state of mind was indirectly hurting her health. The doctor’s report underlined the urgency of clearing up the two thefts and exonerating Mrs. Julian. The mental strain was making her ill.
“If Anna Julian reacts so sharply in two weeks,” Cherry thought, “imagine if the questioning drags on for months! She might break down altogether. No, something has to be done, and promptly.”
But what was to be done? All she had to go on so far were some half-defined doubts about Dance.
When Cherry left the department store late that afternoon, she joined the crowd and walked through the colorful main floor. Crystal snowflakes and bisque angels floated above aisles thronged with shoppers. People jostled along slowly, good humored.
Suddenly Cherry noticed just ahead of her a stout, mannish woman who looked vaguely familiar. Yes, she was the woman who’d marked the newspaper so oddly on the train yesterday morning. Today, again, she clutched a folded newspaper tightly under her arm, and she was hurrying, elbowing people aside. Cherry kept her eye on the woman’s felt hat and tried to keep pace with her. But it was hopeless.
“Oh, well, what am I chasing her for, anyway? What of it, if she marked up a newspaper?”
Purely out of curiosity, when Cherry reached Pennsylvania Station and boarded her waiting train, she walked through all the cars, looking at the passengers. The woman was nowhere to be seen.
“Maybe she doesn’t keep regular hours, like other commuters,” Cherry decided as she sank into the next vacant seat she came to. “Still, she wouldn’t have been on an early-morning train unless she had some business in town. Women shoppers don’t come in quite that early. Wonder what she does?” On Monday’s morning train, she would look for the woman again.
Then she settled down more comfortably into the seat and let the rocking speed of the train soothe her. Thank goodness for weekends!
“And when I was a student at Spencer, I thought nursing was romantic!”
CHAPTER VIII
Errand Or Excuse?
MONDAY MORNING ON THE TRAIN CHERRY MADE A POINT of walking through the cars but she did not see the stout woman again. On Tuesday, although her interest was waning, Cherry looked again. All she got for her trouble was a cramped seat in a corner of the last car, the only seat left by the time she had scanned the passengers. Well, she had tried and satisfied her curiosity. Now she might as well forget about the ungainly woman and her newspaper.
Besides, this morning, Cherry had something more interesting to think about. The antiques department was holding a special art exhibit today and three or four art experts and collectors were coming to the department to speak, at Mr. Dance’s invitation. Cherry had already seen the announcement in Sunday’s paper and in this morning’s paper. One of the speakers was to be Mr. Elbert Otto.
By two o’clock such a large number of visitors had congregated across the floor from the medical department that Gladys said, “What’s happening over there in antiques? You’d think a movie star was coming, or something.”
Even from here Cherry could see extra display cases and tables, spread with all sorts of Georgian silver and Sheffield plate, with Lowestoft porcelain and Royal Worcester china services. Against one wall Mr. Dance was still arranging, of all things, a collection of cigar-store Indians and other American trade signs of an earlier time. They looked incongruously out of place alongside French furniture and shelves of first-edition books. No doubt extra store detectives were on duty.
“I’d like to take twenty or thirty minutes off,” Cherry said, “and listen to what Mr. Otto has to say. I could do desk work half an hour longer, to catch up.”
“Go ahead,” her assistant urged. “I’ll hold the fort. If anything urgent comes up, I’ll come and get you.”
“We’ll see how our work goes.”
By two thirty nothing much was happening in the medical department. By three, when Mr. Otto ponderously stood up to speak, Cherry slipped across the corridor. She sat down on one of the folding chairs at the rear of the audience. These men and women—mostly men and probably art specialists—were absorbedly interested. They exchanged remarks among themselves; many seemed to know one another. They awarded Mr. Otto a spattering of applause as Willard Dance introduced him. As usual, Otto carried his large official-looking brief case, bulging from long use, and set it on the speaker’s table.
“He looks like a bull,” Cherry thought, as Otto stood before the table which held Oriental porcelains, his specialty apparently, or one of his specialties. “A lumbering bull who’d trample anything out of his path.”
He took the first plate in his thick hands and held it up to show the audience. Even though Otto spoke with a surprisingly delicate appreciation, Cherry still could not like the man. The arrogance of his stare and stance—the way he coldly flattered his audience—the heavy voice—no, she had never seen anyone so ugly.
“Now, gentlemen—your pardon, ladies and gentlemen—you have heard me on other occasions praise Willard Dance’s collection. In all my experience I have not seen better or more complete. Look, if you please, at the unusual colorings on this Lowestoft—”
Otto’s remarks became technical and Cherry’s attention wandered. She saw Mr. Dance sitting modestly at one side of the speaker, smiling. He nodded and waved to some people tiptoeing in. How could that man be so unruffled, considering the highboy theft and the immense claim against him by its owner’s insurance company? Cherry could not understand it, unless Dance were an awfully good actor.
“Though of course he can’t go around advertising his worry, I suppose. Perhaps,” she thought, “today’s exhibit is his effort to drum up extra business, and earn his way out of that staggering debt.”
So far she had not spotted Mrs. Julian and now Cherry saw her. Mrs. Julian whispered to Dance, who handed her a key. She opened a glass case, and removed her music box which she set within Otto’s reach. Anna Julian was smiling but pale. Then she returned the key to Mr. Dance, and sat down across the room from Cherry.
“Now this delightful music box,” said Otto, reaching for it. “Here we have a rarity. I would fix its date at circa 1790, and you will note”—he held up the hand-painted wooden box “—its maker’s name is engraved on the small metal plate at the back. You see? Yes, Munich, 1794, what did I say?”
He inclined his bulletshaped head and wound the handle. Cherry stole a look at Mrs. Julian. She seemed quite pleased at the attention Mr. Otto was giving to her music box, a compliment to her taste. And probably, Cherry thought, this would help to sell it. After the audience had listened to the tinkling minuet, the music box was handed around for the visitors and other experts to examine.
“Hist!” It was Gladys Green tapping Cherry’s shoulder. “You’re wanted on the telephone, Miss Ames. Routine call from Dr. Murphy’s office nurse, but you’d better come.”
“Thanks, Gladys. I’ve spent twenty minutes here anyway, that’s enough.”
As Cherry left, she heard Mr. Dance announcing:
“I’m sure you’d all like to know that my assistant, Mrs. Julian, will soon be doing something new and interesting—”
Cherry turned, rather startled. Was Mrs. Julian changing jobs? Was she leaving Th
omas and Parke?
“—new for her, I mean to say,” Mr. Dance went on. “Of course I’ve had occasion to tell many of you how very gifted this lady is, how very knowledgeable about objets d’art—”
He was so long-winded! Cherry lingered as long as she dared, but had to return to her duties.
There was no chance to stop by at the antiques department again, but Mrs. Julian herself came into the store hospital Wednesday morning with some proud news. Having a few free minutes, Cherry led her into the adjoining room with the cots. Mrs. Julian was too excited to sit down.
“To tell you the truth, Cherry, I’m quite surprised. I’m still not used to such an important assignment!”
“But what is it?”
“Mr. Dance is sending me on a buying trip, if you please. He’s entrusting me with purchases for his collection! Oh, it’s just to New England. A short trip, up to Portland, then back to Boston, which is an antiques center. I’ll be back by Christmas or a few days later. But isn’t it encouraging?”
“I’m so glad for you.” Cherry had not expected Mrs. Julian would be leaving town. “Yes, it certainly is encouraging. It’s your first buying trip?”
“Yes, Mr. Dance says I’ve proved my ability. Besides, Cherry, I think he’s sending me in order to show his confidence in me—as a kind of retort to those detectives. Mr. Dance as much as said so, in that tactful way of his.”
“Well, it will be a nice change for you,” Cherry said guardedly.
Anna Julian sighed. “I’m glad to go—so glad to get away from the suspicion in the store for a little while.”
“Of course you will be coming back, won’t you?”
“Why, Cherry, what a question! Certainly. I shall resume my job after this trip.” Uneasiness crept into Mrs. Julian’s face. “Why? Do you feel there’s anything unusual about my being sent on this trip?”
Cherry hesitated. “Oh, no—no, I think it’s fine. It’s just a surprise, that’s all.” She could scarcely say to Mrs. Julian that Mr. Dance’s decision to send her away was unexpected and that she’d like to know all of Dance’s reasons. “I—I suppose you’ve bought for Mr. Dance before?”
“Well, no, this is the first time. That’s why it’s a proof of his confidence in me. Particularly at a time when there’s so much difficulty in our department.”
A pointed time to get Anna Julian off the scene, Cherry thought, but she said tactfully, “Yes, it is a difficult time for Mr. Dance.”
“Poor man! Do you know, he’s been defending me all along to the store detectives?”
He said he had, Cherry amended silently. If he had, why did the unrelenting questioning of Mrs. Julian continue?
“And now he’s entrusting me to act as his representative, to buy a melodeon and a cradle.” Mrs. Julian smiled and shook her head. “It’s quite a pat on the back. If you knew how that man loves his business! He feels he has to do everything himself. Janet Lamb or Adam Heller or I couldn’t do things perfectly enough to suit him! Why, he carries the keys to the display cases in his pocket and we have to ask him for a key every time we wish to show a locked-up article to a customer. Ever since the jade vase was stolen, he guards those keys like a jealous lover, and sometimes he locks some of the things away in closets. Mr. Dance says we shouldn’t have every item out on display all the time, too boring. He believes it intrigues customers to come in and discover that lovely yellow lamp they had their eye on is no longer on display. Then the customer gets panicky, thinking someone else has bought it, and when Mr. Dance produces it from the closet, usually the customer snaps it up.” Mrs. Julian giggled. “The way Mr. Dance does things! As if his business were his favorite game.”
“Yes, some business heads do insist on using their own personal systems. Or taking direct charge of everything themselves,” Cherry murmured. But she remembered how Dance had not wanted his staff to take Otto’s telephone messages, either, how upset Dance had been.
“All the same,” Cherry ventured, “and though I recognize antiques is an unusual business with rules of its own, I can’t help wondering.”
It puzzled her, Cherry said, that although Mr. Dance had supplied a most detailed description of the “agent” who “bought” the highboy from him, the detectives had not turned up the slightest clue or lead to the swindler. This, in spite of the fact that three sets of detectives—store, city, and insurance company—were working on the case.
“Surely you don’t mean to suggest, Cherry, that the thefts were staged from inside our department?”
“Surely something, some lead, would have turned up? The detectives haven’t the faintest clue about who took the Ming vase, either.”
“It’s been only two or three weeks—”
Mrs. Julian looked so bewildered that Cherry forbore to say the rest of what was on her mind. How much did Mr. Dance really know about these thefts? Why was he so untroubled and philosophical about them, considering that he would have to make repayment in full for the highboy?
“I just wish I knew more facts about—oh, everything,” Cherry said thoughtfully. “You’ve known Mr. Dance for some time, haven’t you? And so has Mr. Otto, I suppose?”
“Yes, Mr. Otto has been his consultant for quite a time. Elbert Otto is a thorough art scholar and an old hand in the field. Don’t you think their working together speaks well for Mr. Dance?”
“Yes, it does. I suppose Mr. Otto has talked to you sometimes about Willard Dance?” But Mrs. Julian did not know Otto very well. Cherry had an idea. “Mrs. Julian, you said just now that Boston is an antiques center. Is there an antiques dealers’ association in Boston?”
“Yes, the main headquarters is in Boston.”
“Well, would you think me very inquisitive if I asked you to make a routine business inquiry about Mr. Dance at the association? About his standing and his past activity. Just for curiosity’s sake?”
Anna Julian seemed amused but she said, “If you wish. An inquiry can’t do any harm.” Then her face grew serious; she finally gathered that Cherry was trying to hint at something.
“I don’t mean to sound unreasonable about your Mr. Dance. I expect I’m mistaken—just a random thought.”
“I know how it is, one does get disturbing impressions about people.” Mrs. Julian confided in a rush, “I’m ashamed of myself, but I don’t much care for Mr. Otto. Not for any reason I can name. He vaguely troubles me, though it’s nothing more than my unreasonable aversion to the man.”
“Why don’t you inquire about Mr. Otto, too, as long as you’re in Boston?” Cherry suggested.
“Perhaps I shall. I am grateful to Mr. Otto for featuring my music box yesterday afternoon. Mr. Dance says any number of people were intrigued, and that he promptly put it out of sight in the closet.” Mrs. Julian chuckled. “His private system. It does stimulate sales.”
“Music boxes and melodeons.” Cherry smiled. “You seem to be in charge of music for your department.”
“Of course,” Mrs. Julian said with a laugh, “Mr. Dance isn’t asking me to buy anything as valuable as the highboy or the rose diamond necklace. But still!”
“I hope you have a good trip. Really good.”
“Thank you, Cherry. I must go now, because I leave this afternoon.”
They exchanged good-byes. Mrs. Julian was halfway across the corridor when Cherry suddenly remembered a question she wanted to ask. She ran after her friend.
“It’s an awfully random question, I’m afraid, but since we’ve aired everything else that’s on our minds—Do you happen to know an ungainly stout woman, who wears very strictly tailored things, about fifty years old?” She checked herself from adding, “The woman was marking the antiques page.”
But Mrs. Julian did not know such a woman, even though Cherry filled in descriptive details.
Cherry returned to the medical department, feeling rather foolish. She hoped that Mrs. Julian’s assignment was not a contrived errand. If it were, that would demoralize Mrs. Julian still more. Did Mr. Dance genui
nely want her to buy for him? Or, if he desired to remove Mrs. Julian from his department for a while, the price of a melodeon and a cradle was cheap enough as an excuse. Errand or excuse? Cherry wondered.
That evening, although she was having a date with Tom Reese, the topic of conversation was still Mrs. Julian. Cherry liked the restaurant where she and Tom were dining, she liked being dressed up in a black dress and stylish cap, and she liked having Tom Reese across the table from her. She would gladly have talked to him of other, lighter things, but Tom was surprised when she mentioned Mrs. Julian’s trip. As surprised as she herself had been.
“Dance didn’t advise our office about any buying trip for Anna Julian,” Tom said. “Perhaps he notified Personnel. When is she leaving, Cherry?”
“She left this afternoon.”
Tom let out a low whistle. “Dance sent her away on short notice. Almost in a hurry.”
“Mmmm. That’s what I thought, too.” She scanned his smooth face; his dark eyes studied his plate, then lifted to hers.
“What do you make of this trip, Cherry? Think Dance is on the level in sending her?” Then, all at once, Tom smiled because they so often thought alike. “All right, I know we agree. But what did Dance send her away for?”
“We-ll. Advice, please, boss.”
He said quickly, “I’m not your boss. Certainly not after hours. What advice?”
“Could Willard Dance do anything special in Mrs. Julian’s absence—anything he can’t do while she’s around? Such as”—Cherry swallowed hard—“prosecuting her?”
Tom nodded. “That occurs to me, too. To prosecute is fairly drastic. Besides, I doubt that he has any complete proof against her. Let’s hope not! But what he could do is say a lot of snide things against her to the detectives.”
“Sort of prove her guilty of theft, behind her back?”
“Could be. Perhaps he hasn’t quite the nerve to accuse her while she’s around.” Tom frowned, endeavoring to be fair. “Dance may be convinced she’s a thief. And I don’t think he sent her all that distance to look at an insignificant melodeon and cradle. Wouldn’t justify the expenses of her trip.”