As for Ted Whitely, I was unable to make up my mind if I believed that he was the guilty party. Although he still worked for Judge Harlan, I seldom saw him. Occasionally, reports of his progress were given to me by Abigail.
“Ted isn’t provoked at me anymore,” she assured me. “He’s beginning to think, as I do, that Mr. Coaten has been up to something crooked. I know for a fact that he gave Mrs. Sanderson money to force me out of the family.”
“Are those two men still in town?”
Abigail nodded. “They’ve been here to see me twice. Mrs. Covington sent them away the last time. She heartily dislikes them both because they once came here to ask if they could rent rooms.”
“That must have been the night I overheard them talking at the wishing well. Abigail, I have an idea!”
“What is it?”
“It might not work, but if it should, we’d learn why Mr. Coaten is so eager to adopt you and Ted.”
“Tell me what you have in mind.”
“It’s like this. If we could induce Mr. Coaten and his friend to come to Roseacres on the night of the costume ball, I know how they might be made to talk.”
“Strong arm methods?”
“Indeed not! The old wishing well will turn the trick.”
“You certainly have me puzzled, Mrs. Carter.”
“Getting those men here will be the most difficult part of my plan,” I went on, “But I can sell them a ticket to the ball. Failing that, I’ll give them one for free.”
“There’s still no guarantee they would come, even if they had tickets.”
“I know how we can make sure of it. Abigail, you can write Mr. Coaten a note, asking him to meet you here at ten o’clock. The ball will be in full swing by that time. If you hint you’ve decided to sign the adoption papers, he’s certain to come.”
“And then how will I get out of it?”
“Leave that part to me. We’ll get Mr. Coaten here, and you’re to talk with him beside the wishing well.”
“Why in that particular place?”
“I can’t tell you now. Just accept my word for it that it’s of utmost importance. As soon as you get the men at the wishing well, make an excuse and run into the house, leaving them together.”
“And then what?”
“From that point, the old well and I will take over. I can’t tell you another thing. But if my scheme works—and I think it will—Mr. Coaten’s little game will be exposed in a most dramatic way!”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Everything will be ruined—everything!” I wailed to Abigail. I stood in the living room at Roseacres, my face pressed almost against the window pane. “It’s been raining for an hour straight. No one will come to the party.”
“Oh, don’t take it so hard. You know over three hundred tickets were sold. Even if the rain does cut down the crowd, we’ll still have as many people as this house can accommodate.”
The room glowed brilliantly with the light of dozens of candles. Every chair was in place, flowers decorated the vases, and at the square, old-fashioned piano, sat Mrs. Covington, in rustling black silk, playing a few tinkling chords.
“You mustn’t tire yourself,” Abigail said to her. “Not until the guests come, at least.”
“I never felt better in my life,” Mrs. Covington insisted. “I’m as excited as a school girl. Is Judge Harlan really coming to the ball?”
“Everyone of consequence in Greenville will be here,” Abigail assured her. “Even two of Jane’s special guests.”
“That’s what worries me,” I confessed as I paced the floor. “I have my trap all ready to spring, but if this horrid rain keeps up, how can you meet Mr. Coaten by the well?”
“Why can’t I talk to him in the library?”
“Because it won’t do,” I insisted. “The entire scheme will fail unless you carry out your part exactly as we planned it.”
“The rain is letting up,” Mrs. Covington said, carefully moving from the piano to her wheelchair. “Mark my words, it will all be over within fifteen minutes.”
To my relief, the rain did cease within a short while, and members of the Festival Committee and hired musicians began to arrive. For the occasion, I had rented for myself, Abigail, and Florence colonial costumes with fancy powdered wigs. We hovered near the front door, ready to greet the first guests.
While I waited for the first costumed townspeople to arrive, I wondered where Jack was. I had received a cryptic telephone call from him a few evenings before. He’d invited me to the ball. If he hadn’t been spending all his evenings down at the bowling alley, he’d have known I was assisting Mrs. Covington by filling the role of hostess. After getting my assurance that I would be at the ball—complete with hoopskirts and powdered wig—he then informed me that he might be a trifle late, but I that should come on without him.
“You must be there!” he said. “It’s absolutely essential.”
I’d questioned him as to why it was so essential that I be present at the ball and why he might be late, but Jack had clammed up and refused to say more.
“It’s going to be a wonderful party,” Florence said, drawing me back to the present. “Truly a night to remember.” Then she giggled. Flo is not, as a rule, much of a giggler.
Shep was there, in his capacity as Flo’s official escort, looking like a stuffed frog in his satin waistcoat and lace cuffs.
“Where’s Jack?” I asked Shep.
“Don’t worry,” Shep said. “He’ll be here. He wouldn’t miss this party for all the tea in China.”
Soon visitors began to arrive in groups. The orchestra struck up a waltz, and the ballroom became thronged with dancers.
“Mrs. Covington is having a marvelous time,” I heard Abigail tell Florence. “In fact, so is everyone except Mrs. Carter. She’s worried because Mr. Coaten hasn’t come.”
This wasn’t strictly true. I was also worried that Jack had not yet arrived.
As I looked out the open door, two men got out of a taxi and walked up the path to the house.
“Here they come now! Quick, Abigail. Keep out of sight until I give the word!”
Barely had Abigail concealed herself in the library off the main hall when Mr. Coaten and his companion reached the reception line. I greeted them with unusual warmth.
“Is Abigail Whitely here?” Mr. Coaten asked. “We came to see her, not to attend the party.”
“She was around a moment ago,” I said. “But she said something about going out for some air. Why don’t you look for her in the garden—perhaps by the wishing well.”
The instant the two men had gone, I quickly ran to find Abigail.
“Now remember, don’t talk to Mr. Coaten except at the wishing well,” I issued final instructions. “Then when he asks you to sign the paper, make an excuse and leave.”
“I won’t forget. But I still don’t understand what you’re up to.”
I watched anxiously from the porch until I saw that Abigail was talking to the two men beside the wishing well. Then, running into the crowded ballroom, I signaled to the musicians to stop the music. Clapping my hands for attention, I announced:
“Ladies and gentlemen—a little surprise. The Old Wishing Well speaks! Listen and you may hear the conversation of unwary guests who reveal their secrets beside it.”
Reaching for a box secreted in a clump of artificial palms, I turned a switch. The startled dancers heard a crackling sound, and then Abigail’s voice came in over the phonograph speaker, clear and distinct.
“I’ve thought it over, Mr. Coaten,” were her words. “Even though I can’t understand why you wish to adopt Ted and me, I’ll agree to the guardianship.”
“Ah, I knew you would come to your senses,” Mr. Coaten answered. “Just sign this paper, and we’ll be able to go to court and settle everything.”
There was a slight pause, and then Abigail said: “Will you excuse me a moment, Mr. Coaten? I want to run into the house, but I’ll be back.”
&nb
sp; Those in the ballroom stood in silence, listening.
“Now what possessed Abigail?” we heard Mr. Coaten mutter. “Is she going to back out again?”
“No, we have her cornered this time,” the other man answered. “That land is as good as ours. As soon as the adoption is legal, we’ll put in our claim. The Texarcano Oil Company will pay us handsomely for those rights. What those youngsters don’t know won’t hurt them. They won’t be a penny poorer than they ever were, and you can throw a little money at them from time to time, just to keep up the pretense.”
The words, blaring out into the ballroom, were exactly what I wished to hear.
Judge Harlan stepped forward to inspect the equipment. “What is this?” he inquired. “Is this a joke of yours, Jane? Is it meant to be a sort of radio play?”
“It’s no joke,” I assured him. “And it’s entirely in earnest. Those aren’t actors speaking. A Mr. Coaten from Texas has been trying to force Abigail and Ted Whitely to agree to an adoption. We were suspicious of him, and so my friend Shep and I arranged this little affair using phonographic equipment from my father’s newspaper, though Dad is not aware of the valuable assistance he has provided to help trap those two Texas grifters in a web of their own making.”
“How is the sound brought into the house?” the judge asked.
“We installed a microphone inside the wishing well,” I revealed. “The wires run through an underground tunnel.”
“Very clever, very clever indeed,” murmured the judge. “Mr. Coaten spoke of the Texarcano Oil Company—”
He did not finish, for at that instant Abigail came hurriedly into the room. I motioned for her to join the group by the phonographic speaker.
“Abigail,” said the judge, turning to her, “did your father own land in Texas?”
“Never. The only person in our family who owned property was grandfather. He had a large farm but sold it long before his death.”
“Do you know the location of the property?”
“I believe it was near the town of Elkland.”
“Elkland? Then perhaps we have the explanation. Less than a month ago oil was discovered there.”
“But the Whitely land was sold years ago,” I pointed out.
“Much litigation has resulted from the fact that in the past many Texas properties were sold with oil rights reserved,” explained the judge. “Now, this is only a guess. However, if Abigail’s grandfather kept such oil rights—as he may well have done—his heirs would have indisputable claim to any income derived from oil pumped from that land.”
The phonographic speaker had come to life again. As the two men at the wishing well resumed their conversation, everyone in the ballroom strained to hear the words.
“We’ll get out of Greenville just as soon as the girl signs the paper,” we heard Mr. Coaten say to his companion. “We’ve wasted enough time in this one-horse town.”
“Oh, I shouldn’t say wasted,” drawled John Addison. “We’ll get the oil money. And that’s not all. Look at this little trinket.”
There was a brief pause, followed by Mr. Coaten’s angry exclamation: “The Covington pearls! So you did steal them!”
“Careful of your words,” the other warned. “Your own record isn’t so pure.”
“I’ve never stooped to stealing from old women!”
“No? The only difference is that you tie your packages up with legal red tape so that no one can pin anything on you.”
“I use my head! Stealing the Covington pearls was a stupid thing to do. You could go to prison for it.”
“There’s no risk. The police didn’t find a single clue.”
The voices died away, indicating that the two men had moved some distance from the wishing well. Nevertheless, everyone in the ballroom had heard enough to realize that Mrs. Covington’s priceless pearls were in the possession of Mr. Coaten’s companion, John Addison.
“I understand it all now!” I exclaimed to no one in particular. “Mr. Coaten and his friend must have been standing outside the window of the cottage that night when Abigail told the Sanderson family about finding the pearls. They probably heard the conversation.”
“I want those two men arrested!” Mrs. Covington announced in a shrill voice, propelling her wheel chair toward the door. “Why doesn’t someone do something?”
Spurred to action, Judge Harlan instructed several men from the group to guard the estate exits. Accompanied by nearly every person who had attended the party, he strode into the yard to confront the two conspirators. Taken completely by surprise, Mr. Coaten and his friend did not immediately understand the meaning of the encircling delegation.
“Your little game is up,” I said, thoroughly savoring the moment. “We know now that your real reason for wanting to adopt Abigail and Ted was to gain control of valuable oil lands!”
“And you stole my pearl necklace!” accused Mrs. Covington. “I want it returned!” Thoroughly incensed, she wheeled her chair directly into John Addison, seizing him by the coat.
“Madam, I know nothing about your pearls,” the man blustered, shaking loose from her grasp. “We came to this party only because we were given free tickets.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Mr. Coaten said gruffly, starting away.
“It’s no use,” I said, blocking the path. “We know everything. I used a phonographic speaker with a microphone installed at the wishing well, and it carried your entire conversation into the ballroom for everyone to hear.”
In a sudden break for freedom, John Addison ran to the hedge and attempted to break through a thin spot in the shrubbery. One of the guards at a nearby exit seized the man and brought him back.
“Search his pockets!” Mrs. Covington cried.
Judge Harlan did as the widow demanded, but the missing pearls were not found on either of the men.
“There, you see,” Mr. Coaten declared triumphantly. “You have falsely accused my friend.”
I suspected that Mr. Addison had disposed of the jewel case somewhere near the hedge. Crossing to it, I groped about on the ground. After a brief search, my hand encountered the jewel case containing the stolen necklace. I returned with the box, displayed the pearls, and presented them to Mrs. Covington.
“Do you need additional evidence to hold these men?” I asked Judge Harlan.
“You have produced more than enough,” he replied. Turning to the two culprits, he said: “I place you both under arrest! Stand where you are until the police arrive, and remember, anything you say may be used against you.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“I wasn’t at all certain it would work,” I said to the Judge as the assembled crowd drifted back to the house. “I did hope that under the proper conditions, those two men would talk, and they did!”
“You are a very clever lady,” Judge Harlan said. “This will make a nice story for your father’s paper too.”
“Jane is a very clever lady,” said a voice at my elbow.
“Jack!” I said. “When did you get here?”
“About the time the police were loading those two miscreants into the back of their patrol car.”
“You missed most of the excitement, then.”
“On the contrary,” Jack said. “I’d like to think that the excitement for the evening is just starting. How would you like to linger a little by the old wishing well? I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“And whose fault is that?” I said crisply. “I can’t be lollygagging around old wishing wells, Flo and I are the official hostesses of this party, something you’d know if you—”
“Oh, all right,” said Jack. “You serving any food or drink at this party? I’m famished.”
As I was overseeing the serving of the refreshments, Mrs. Covington pulled me aside to say: “Jane, you have brought me more happiness than I deserve—you and Abigail together. Now that I have the pearls again, I’ll be able to carry out a few of my plans.”
“Then you’ll remain in Greenvi
lle?”
“Yes, I shall, and I’ve been wondering—do you suppose Abigail and Ted would be willing to live with me? I’m getting old. While I’ll have money enough, I’ll need someone to look after me.”
“Why not talk to Abigail about it?”
“I think I shall,” Mrs. Covington nodded. “I’ll do it tonight.”
I was pleased a few minutes later when Abigail told me that Mrs. Covington had spoken to her.
“Will you agree to it?” I asked Abigail.
“Will I? I love Roseacres, and Ted and I will be together again. Mrs. Sanderson was kind to us, but she has her own family. Mrs. Covington needs someone to care for her.”
“I think the arrangement will be an ideal one. I meant to tell you, Judge Harlan has promised to look after your legal interests. With him working on the case, those oil rights are the same as yours right now.”
As the night wore on, additional guests arrived at Roseacres, crowding the spacious rooms.
“Now can we go for that stroll out to the old wishing well,” Jack said. “Surely the guests can see after themselves.”
“Oh, alright,” I said. “Let me get my coat.”
Jack seemed his usual jolly self as he helped me wrestle my coat over my hoopskirts, but all the way to the wishing well he was strangely silent.
“Something on your mind?” I asked.
Maybe Jack and I were over. Maybe that’s why he’d insisted on bringing me all the way out here to get away from the crowds. Maybe Jack was preparing to hand me the icy mitt, maybe—
“Jane?” Jack said when we reached the wishing well.
“Yes.”
“Jane?”
“What is it?”
Maybe he wasn’t going to stop at handing me the icy mitt, perhaps he was going to add insult to injury by telling me he’d fallen in love with another woman.
“Jane?”
“Yes.”
There was a full moon that night, so I could clearly see Jack’s expression. He looked absolutely terrified. Then he knelt down right there on the flagstones beside the wishing well. Evidently, whatever he had to confess was so terrible that he felt compelled to prostrate himself before he told me what he had done.
The Jane Carter Historical Cozies Box Set 2 Page 29