by Helen Wells
“No, Miss Ames, Mr. Reese isn’t here.… No, you can’t reach him anywhere else, because he left in a hurry for Philadelphia this afternoon. You know about the tangle down there? Right in the midst of the Christmas sales? He’s gone down there to troubleshoot—”
Cherry murmured the bad news to Aunt Kathy. She urged Cherry to secure the telephone number of the Philadelphia store.
“I’m sorry, Miss Ames, but you’d be wasting your time to phone down there. Mr. Reese will be too busy with the local mess to give any time to New York calls. Can’t it wait? Or can’t I help you? Or can’t somebody else here in the store manager’s office help you?”
Cherry explained that her business was highly confidential and only for Tom Reese’s ears. She could hear Miss Josephson sniff; as Tom’s personal secretary, she resented any secrets. Cherry asked when he would return.
“Mr. Reese will be in the store on Monday morning.… No, not before, Miss Ames. He will be in Philadelphia through Saturday, and then up to Connecticut for Sunday as usual.… No, I am not at liberty to give you the Connecticut telephone number.… Really, Miss Ames! Good-bye!”
Click went the receiver as Miss Josephson indignantly hung up.
All Cherry could do now was wait. That was not easy. A few days’ time would give Otto and Dance a chance to cover up their guilt or take new action. It was not comfortable to wait, either, knowing that she was in some degree of danger. To wait—how senseless! Yet Cherry was stumped as to what her next move should be.
CHAPTER XI
The Rose Diamond Necklace
“WHAT A CROWD!” CHERRY SAID TO THREE OTHER GIRLS WHO couldn’t get into the employees’ entrance on Monday morning. This was December twenty-fourth, the last shopping day before Christmas, and the customers blocked all doors. “The store will be a madhouse today!”
“Brace yourself.” One of the girls smiled at her. “It’ll be hectic. At least we close at five this evening.”
“Please let us through!” a man in back of Cherry shouted.
Everyone felt wonderful this morning, though. Who wouldn’t with Christmas only a day off? Even the bitter cold and the gray day couldn’t dampen spirits. “We’ll have snow yet,” someone said hopefully.
At last, laughing about their difficulties, the store people managed to squeeze their way through the crowd of waiting customers and enter the building.
Cherry was in the medical department before her assistant—both nurses would be on duty all day today—and found the morning’s mail and memoranda already delivered to her desk. Cherry half looked for a post card from Tom Reese, sent from Philadelphia last week, just for fun, but apparently he had been too busy.
“Hello, what’s this?”
Cherry found a letter for her from Boston, handwritten on hotel stationery. The graceful penmanship looked familiar, but Cherry could not place it. She opened the envelope and glanced at the bottom of the letter. It was signed “Anna Julian.”
“Dear Cherry: Just a brief note to advise you that my business is completed, and I will be back in New York a little sooner than Mr. Dance has scheduled me to return. Perhaps I shall be home by late Monday afternoon, the 24th. I do not plan to notify Mr. Dance of my slightly earlier return.”
Cherry understood that she was not to notify him, either. She resumed reading the letter.
“During this week in Boston, I inquired at the headquarters of the antiques dealers’ association and spoke to two persons, separately. Both knew Elbert Otto slightly as a long-time art consultant. It seems he was competent enough but has held rather obscure, minor jobs with various art gallery owners. Both men here intimated to me that Mr. Otto has been involved in at least one questionable transaction.
“As for Willard Dance, I was disappointed to learn that he is not a member of the association. In fact, the antiques dealers as a group had never heard of him until his dealings with Thomas and Parke. Not that this is any reflection on Mr. Dance, of course—as you know, he was formerly in the precious jewelry business.
“I trust this information will be interesting to you. With thanks again for all your kindness to me, I am, Most sincerely yours,
Anna Julian”
Interesting? It certainly was interesting information! Though not greatly significant in itself, this news of Otto’s and Dance’s lack of professional standing fit into the overall picture. As for Otto’s having been involved in a shady deal before, that was not surprising after having discovered the “misplaced” music box out on Long Island.
Cherry was eager to tell Tom Reese about what she had learned at Woodacres, and now Mrs. Julian’s letter. She went next door, hoping Tom’s door might be standing open.
It was shut. She had to confront his secretary. Miss Josephson blinked at her calmly from behind those owllike glasses.
“You’re My nursing path has been rich and satisfying. I have delivered babies, cared for people in hospitals and in their homes, and saved lives. My nursing path has been rich and satisfying. I have delivered babies, cared for people in hospitals and in their homes, and saved lives. wasting your time, Miss Ames. He’s up to his ears in emergencies.”
“But this is urgent, too,” Cherry insisted.
“Can’t I take your message?”
Cherry tried to smooth her feelings by explaining that her information involved other persons for whom she had no right to speak. “Besides, Miss Josephson, it’s such a long and complicated matter, it would take me perhaps half an hour to brief you on it.”
“Very well.” The secretary looked mollified. “I’ll ring your phone as soon as Mr. Reese is free. But it won’t be soon. He has to see those men who are investigating the highboy theft.”
“Thank you,” and Cherry left the store manager’s office. She was reluctant to take action without Tom’s advice.
Cherry returned to the medical department. Gladys Green was on duty, and nothing much was happening.
Cherry had an idea. Suppose she mentioned to Mr. Dance her visit to the Otto Galleries? It might be revealing to watch his reaction.
“Gladys, I’m going to look for Mr. Dance. Call me if you need me.”
She made it a point to avoid Miss Janet Lamb this morning—goodhearted, but so talkative. Since Mr. Dance was not in sight, Cherry sought out old Adam Heller.
“Good morning, Miss Ames. You look as fresh as a red rose this morning,” he said.
“Thank you. You’re the only courtly man I know, Mr. Heller. Is Mr. Dance available?”
“Mr. Dance isn’t here.”
“Oh. Well, later then.”
“No, Miss Ames, I’m afraid not. Mr. Dance does not plan to come into the store at all today. He telephoned a few minutes ago that he is ill.”
“That’s too bad,” Cherry said, not because of sympathy for Willard Dance. “I did want to see him.”
Then she noticed her assistant signaling from the doorway. Cherry excused herself and sped across the corridor to find that five people had come into the medical department at once. One of them was Santa Claus. “The ventilating system in the toy department has broken down and besides I have a toothache,” Santa reported. Cherry gave him a dental poultice and an aspirin. The other four cases ranged from an upset stomach to a smashed finger to a particle in a boy’s eye. All were small injuries, but unless first aid were given promptly and correctly, these people could become seriously sick.
Busy as she was, Cherry jumped slightly whenever the telephone rang. But not once was it Miss Josephson or Tom Reese. There was no chance to catch him at lunch hour, because Cherry and her assistant worked straight through the twelve-to-one and one-to-two periods.
Finally, at nearly three, Cherry had a few free minutes. Wise of her or not, she went next door to check with Miss Josephson. On the last day before Christmas, even the secretary’s calm was wobbling.
“I can’t find anybody!” she greeted Cherry. “Two hours ago I heard Tom Reese was in the warehouse, but I haven’t been able to locate him since! And I
have a stack of messages for him, all urgent.”
“I can see another message for him is just what you don’t need,” Cherry remarked.
“Oh, I’ll have him get in touch with you—if I can ever find him!”
Cherry worked hard the rest of that afternoon. Patients coming in, mostly with fatigue headaches, described for her the last-minute bedlam on other floors. Late in the afternoon a customer who had fainted was brought in, in a wheel chair, a floor supervisor pushing it.
“Miss Ames, this lady tells me she has a heart condition. Take care of her, will you?”
“Is there identification in her purse?” Cherry asked. “I’d better telephone someone in her family. Gladys, help her onto a cot.”
But first the woman, overhearing, weakly told them the name and office telephone number of her son. “Jack will come for me. Don’t alarm him, though, please.”
“Shall I telephone?” the floor supervisor asked.
“Thanks, but I’d rather check her over first,” and Cherry, with Gladys’ help, gently, gradually, placed the woman on a cot in the adjoining room.
Cherry checked carefully but found nothing seriously wrong. Apparently, in the crowd and close air and excitement, Mrs. Guthrie had come close to a heart attack but had not actually suffered one. Cherry asked the woman for her doctor’s diagnosis of her condition, and what treatment or medication or diet, if any, he prescribed for her. Knowing this, Cherry was able to decide that Mrs. Guthrie did not need a doctor’s immediate services, and that the best thing for her for the next hour would be to rest and be quiet.
“Do you think you can go to sleep, Mrs. Guthrie?” Cherry asked, covering her with blankets. “Then I think you’ll have enough strength to go home, providing your son takes you in a car or taxi.”
“He will. But I’m afraid, Nurse, that my son will be delayed. He’s an outside man and he doesn’t report back to his office before five or five thirty. Besides, jack told me his customers will be giving office parties, Christmas Eve parties, late this afternoon.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be right here with you, or just in the next room, no matter how long your son may be delayed. Now try to sleep, Mrs. Guthrie. Comfortable?”
“Yes, thank you, Nurse.”
Cherry tiptoed out, closed the door for quiet, and telephoned the son’s office. She left a message for Jack Guthrie, and was careful to add that he need have no cause for alarm.
Mrs. Guthrie slept, and the business day drew to a close. Five o’clock was closing time on Christmas Eve. At five Gladys offered to stay on, if Cherry wished, but added wistfully that she was giving a Christmas Eve party at her house that evening. “But if you need me—”
“No, that’s all right, Gladys. Thanks just the same.”
Gladys’s party suddenly reminded Cherry that the Spencer Club nurses were having a Christmas Eve party, too, this evening at No. 9. She planned to stay there overnight, then fly to Hilton early tomorrow. And hadn’t Tom Reese said something about a Christmas Eve date?
“Can you keep an eye on Mrs. Guthrie for just a few minutes?” Cherry asked as Gladys was putting on her coat.
Cherry hurried next door to see Miss Josephson, who sat limp and beaten at her desk.
“He’s still not here, Miss Ames. Now he’s tied up in a meeting in the store president’s office. I did give Mr. Reese your message but—I’m awfully sorry.”
“Well, will you give him this letter?” Cherry handed the secretary Mrs. Julian’s letter. It was the best she could do. “And will you please tell him I still need to talk to him?”
“I may not see him, Miss Ames, because I’m going home soon, and if I leave a note he might overlook it. Why don’t I give you Mr. Reese’s home telephone number? I know that he’s planning to go out to dinner this evening, but you could surely reach him at home between six and seven.”
The secretary wrote down Tom Reese’s home telephone number and Cherry put it in her purse. They wished each other “Merry Christmas,” and Cherry returned to the clinic.
“Well, now you’re free, Gladys. I hope you have a nice party with your friends.”
“Thanks. I hate leaving you here, Miss Ames. Are you sure you don’t need me? Good night, then, and Merry Christmas.”
After Gladys and most of the other employees on this floor had left, it grew very quiet. Cherry went in to see her patient who was awake now. Cherry helped her to sit up, and gave her a bracing cup of very hot tea.
At a quarter to six a young man appeared worriedly at the door of the medical department. Cherry explained to him what had happened, and emphasized the need for a taxi, and more bed rest for his mother this evening.
“Yes, Nurse. And do you think her doctor should see her?”
“It might be a good idea, particularly if it would put your mind at ease. She seems to be all right again, though.”
Cherry walked them to the bank of elevators at the end of the floor. The store was closed now, the elevators and escalators were closed down, only the night elevator was running. After some delay it came up for the Guthries, who thanked the nurse profusely.
Cherry hurried back along the deserted sixth floor. She wanted to get out of here before most of the lights went off. Someone was locking up the personnel office and its records. No one was in the antiques department, with its locked cases, and the store manager’s office was already dark. Cherry changed rapidly into street clothes, quickly checked up to see that she was leaving everything in good order, and hurried along to the night elevator.
There she waited an exasperating five minutes. So much to do when she reached No. 9—shower and change, and Bertha might need a helper with the refreshments. If she could reach Tom Reese at his house, she’d invite him to stop by at No. 9 later. Thank goodness, here came the elevator.
It was after six by the time Cherry got out of the store and onto the street. She hurried along in the cold, skirting the edges of the home-going crowd. Which would be less crowded, bus or subway? She was debating this when a man coming from the other direction caught her eye.
It was Willard Dance. He certainly was in a great hurry. Why, he was supposed to be ill today! Dance did not look at all ill, just as dapper as usual, and what’s more, he seemed to be heading for the store. At this hour?
Cherry wheeled around. If he were going into the store after hours, she wanted to know what for. She hesitated only a moment, then followed him. She almost had to run after Dance.
He went directly to the side door where a watchman was on duty to let out the last stragglers. Dance held up a card in front of the glass door, the watchman admitted him, and he disappeared from Cherry’s view. She ran and at the same time dug in her handbag for her own identification. The watchman let her in just as the night elevator rose upward.
“Is there any other elevator running?” Cherry demanded. “A freight elevator?”
“No, miss.”
She watched the indicator rise to the numeral 6, pause there, and the elevator started down again. Cherry ran into the car so quickly that she astonished the man who was running it.
“Six, please.”
At the sixth floor the door slid noiselessly open and Cherry stepped out. “Don’t wait for me,” she murmured, and the elevator door closed soundlessly behind her again.
How still it was up here now, how shadowy and dark! She started softly toward the antiques department, unable to see Dance anywhere at first. Then a shadow somewhere ahead of her moved, and she made out his tall figure. Dance was moving swiftly with his back to her. He stopped midway in his gallery. What was he up to?
Cherry stopped, too, behind a pillar, in deep shadows. She heard the faintest of sounds. Was it the click of metal on metal, or a tinkle as something brushed against glass? Holding her breath, she peered around the pillar and saw light glinting and sparkling from something which dangled from Dance’s hand. The lid of a display case stood open. The thing caught and reflected what dim light there was—why, it was diamonds—the rose di
amond necklace! She saw Dance carefully put it in his inside pocket, then close the lid of the display case. She did not hear him lock the case again. Oh, good heavens, he had turned and was walking rapidly toward her!
A door was standing open and she quickly stepped behind it. Then she trembled for fear she was casting a revealing shadow. Dance passed her as he hurried to the elevator. He was wearing gloves, and apparently had taken the necklace with gloved hands. He pressed the elevator button, then turned nervously, looking in all directions. Had he seen her?
No … but she heard someone else coming! Cherry scarcely dared to breathe. Then she saw it was a store guard, going rapidly around a far corner. A second later Dance entered the night elevator.
Cherry fumed as she waited for it to go to the main floor, let him off, and come up again in answer to her ring. How slow could an elevator be? She’d lose him on the street at this rate—Dance seemed to be in an awful rush. And where was he going?
Luckily, the night elevator came right back up for Cherry. She dashed off at the main floor, out of the store, and onto the crowded street. Of all these men in dark overcoats and gray hats, which one was Willard Dance? Suddenly she spotted him getting into a taxi. Taxis were scarce on Christmas Eve in New York; he’d had to wait during those minutes while she’d fumed upstairs. And how long would it take her to get a cab?
Cherry waved like mad to passing taxicabs, but they all had fares. Then she saw one pull close to the curb, with someone ready to get out. Cherry waited impatiently while the woman in it paid her fare, then jumped in.
“Do you see that yellow cab ahead?” she said to the driver. “On the inside lane? I want to follow that cab.”
“Lady, I don’t want any funny business. I don’t tail anybody except on a cop’s order.”
“There’s no funny business!” Cherry told him. “It—it’s just a little joke on a friend for Christmas Eve. Please!”