The Sea Star

by Nash, Jean

  “I’m not your pot of gold either, Dallas. My bank balance is close to zero. What will you do when the money runs out?”

  “I don’t know.” He was perspiring. “You’ll have to speak to Jay again, I suppose.”

  “I can’t ask him for more money,” she said hotly. “I told you how matters stand between us now. I haven’t even heard from him since he left. For all I know, he’s making plans to dissolve our marriage.”

  “It might be better if he did,” Dallas said in an ominous voice. “It might be better, in fact, if he were permanently out of the way.”

  “Don’t you dare say such a thing!” Susanna blazed in a rage. But a sudden premonition of disaster was even greater than her anger.

  Nineteen

  Disaster did strike—sooner than Susanna expected. On the morning of October first, she was listlessly going over the books in her office at the Sea Star, when Colin Baxter burst into the room, clutching a copy of the Daily Union in his hand.

  “Susanna! Have you seen this?”

  He thrust the newspaper into her hands. The headline read: “Jay Grainger, Owner of the Excelsior, Being Held for Questioning on Suspicion of Murder.”

  Susanna gasped, then quickly scanned the article, hardly making sense of the content as her eyes rushed over the words.

  “Detained since last Tuesday by the Boston police....Evidence discovered linking him to the death of Theodore Addison....Firmly denies guilt, although he cannot account for his whereabouts at the time of the crime....”

  “No,” she said. “This isn’t real. It’s a nightmare.”

  “It’s obviously an appalling mistake,” Colin said. “Jay a murderer? It’s too absurd to even consider.”

  “Yes,” Susanna said faintly, staring at the article and thinking of her past suspicions. “It’s absurd.” She looked up at him suddenly. “But, Colin, the newspaper says the police have evidence.”

  “What evidence?” His tone was contemptuous. “If you ask me, something’s not right here. Maybe the city officials have been after the police to solve the case, so they trumped up some evidence. Jay never killed anyone. I defy the Boston police to try to prove otherwise.”

  Colin’s resolute words filled Susanna with courage. Of course Jay wasn’t a murderer. She’d been a fool to feel fearful, even for a moment.

  “Colin,” she said, rising, “who manages the Fenway?”

  He thought for a moment. “Preston Stedman,” he said. “He used to be head of security at the Imperial. It’s odd,” he added, “that Jay gave him a managerial position.”

  “Is he called Pres?” Susanna asked, remembering a tall, dangerous-looking man she’d met when she was Jay’s guest in New York. When Colin nodded, she said, “I know him. Colin, do me a service. Find out when the next train for Boston leaves. Then telegraph Pres, ask him to have someone pick me up at the station and drive me to where Jay is being held. Ask him to prepare a room for me. I don’t know how long I’ll be staying.”

  “Susanna, you’re not planning on going alone? Why don’t I come with you? I’m as anxious as you are to get to the bottom of this.”

  “Thank you, no,” she said gratefully. “I’d rather go alone. The Sea Star needs you, Colin. And Jay...” She paused, then said firmly, “And Jay needs me, whether he knows it or not.”

  She arrived in Boston late that evening. She’d had to change trains in New York, and the porter had lost her luggage. When it was finally located, she almost missed the train to Boston. She spent the entire trip with her heart in her throat. Each mile she traveled seemed a hundred, each hour that passed seemed an endless eternity. All she could think of was her husband in chains, locked up like an animal, wrongly accused of a crime which she now knew he was incapable of committing.

  How wrong she’d been to ever doubt him on any score. Jay had given Dallas an additional fifteen thousand dollars, she knew that now for a certainty. As much as she loved her brother, she had to face the fact that he was a thief and no doubt a liar, too. He would say anything to save his skin—and God knew it needed saving—even at the expense of the man who, ironically, had done his best to try to help him.

  Well, that was all over with now. As Susanna stepped out on the platform at South Station in Boston, she made a vow to herself to never again question her husband’s word. Her first loyalty must lie with the man she had married. Dallas was her blood and she loved him with all her heart, but he was no longer a boy. He was a man of twenty-three. And it was high time he started behaving like one.

  “Susanna! Susanna Grainger!”

  She turned at the sound of her name and caught sight of a tall, well-dressed gentleman with the face of a brigand hurrying toward her. A momentary apprehension gripped her as he bore down on her. But when he reached her with an outstretched hand and his dark face lit up with a smile, she realized she knew him, and she let out a sigh of relief.

  “Pres,” she said, “I didn’t expect that you would come down to meet me. How are you?”

  “I’m well, thank you. I won’t bother asking how you are. This business with Jay must have come as quite a shock.”

  “I’m still reeling,” she admitted as he signaled the porter to follow with the baggage. Pres took Susanna’s arm and led her outside to a waiting carriage.

  “We’re all reeling,” he said, handing her into the carriage. “But you’re not to worry, Susanna. The police are going to look mighty silly once it’s proven they’ve arrested an innocent man.”

  She was tempted to ask Pres why Jay had come to Boston, but then, realizing how that would sound, she said nothing. As the horses started down Dewey Square, she said, “Are you taking me to Jay?”

  “Yes,” he said. “When I got your wire, I telephoned Ian Carmichael. He arranged with the authorities to have you visit Jay tonight. Jay is being held at the county courthouse in two basement rooms. The police claim the jail is overcrowded, but I think they’re giving him preferential treatment because they know the evidence they have isn’t enough to indict him.”

  “What is the evidence?” Susanna asked as the carriage turned down Summer Street in the direction of Tremont.

  “I don’t know. They’ve released no information to the newspapers, which gives me all the more reason to believe that Jay will be out of there in no time.”

  Susanna prayed that was true, but as the carriage approached Pemberton Square, and the formidable German Renaissance facade of the county courthouse came into view, any optimism she may have felt faded. People were not arrested if the police weren’t almost positive of their charges. Moreover, Jay had been in custody for a week. If the so-called evidence was false, wouldn’t he have been able to disprove it by now?

  When they entered the impressive great hall of the courthouse, Pres, taking note of Susanna’s pale face, said lightly, “At least Jay is being detained in elegant surroundings.”

  Susanna’s spirits were at too low an ebb to be lifted. When Pres led her to a stairway at the rear of the building and they descended to a dingy basement, her throat tightened, her heart started pounding, and she had to mentally restrain herself from leaving.

  At the end of a long corridor, two policemen, looking bored, stood at listless attention before a carved oak door.

  “Jack, Hal,” Pres greeted them, “a good evening to you. I’ve brought Mrs. Grainger to see her husband.”

  Both men returned his greeting. The younger one said, “She’ll have to go in alone, Mr. Stedman. Orders, sir.”

  “I understand. Susanna, I’ll wait for you out here.”

  Susanna reached for the door handle, but the older policeman stepped in front of her. “If you please, madam, will you remove your ulster so that Jack can look in the pockets? And, begging your pardon, I’d like to see what’s in your purse.”

  Susanna looked angrily at Pres, but he quietly bade her to comply. Grudgingly, she did. When the policemen were done, she swept past both of them and opened the heavy oak door.

  She stepped insi
de and closed the door behind her. The room was large and dim, lit only by a single lamp on the desk pushed against the wall. There were a table and two chairs in the center of the room. In a corner were a tatty easy chair, a side table, and an unlit lamp.

  The room was empty. Susanna shivered with a prescient fear. Where was he? She put her coat and purse on the table and softly called his name. After a moment, a door which she hadn’t noticed opened and Jay appeared in the doorway. Susanna couldn’t see him clearly. The doorway was in shadow. But she knew it was Jay, she knew the powerful line of his body. She was so happy to see him that she could have wept in relief.

  “Jay,” she said, and was unable to say more.

  He walked into the light. His appearance gave her a jolt. He was in shirtsleeves, his hair was tousled, and a day’s growth of beard darkened the hard line of his jaw. But it was his eyes that most shocked her. They were deadly grim, heavily shadowed with fatigue. With a sob she couldn’t suppress, she went to him and embraced him. He returned the embrace briefly but so tightly that if he had held her any longer, he would surely have cracked her ribs.

  He held her away from him, and his hands bit into her arms. “Why did you come here?” He stared down at her fiercely. In his eyes she saw both shame and impotent rage.

  “Why did I come?” she echoed. “Because I love you. I’m your wife, I belong by your side.”

  “Do you think I murdered Teddy?” he demanded.

  “I know you didn’t.” And as she spoke those simple, loyal words, she knew once and for all that he hadn’t.

  He released her and walked restlessly away from her. “What time is it?” he said. “They’ve taken my watch. Without windows in here, I can’t tell night from day.”

  She glanced at her lapel watch and watched him worriedly as he paced back and forth. “It’s almost ten—in the evening.”

  He stopped pacing abruptly and looked at her. “You didn’t bring Courtney, did you?”

  “No. Should I have? Did you want to see him?”

  “Of course I do.” He sat down wearily. “But I’m glad you didn’t bring him. My son,” he said bitterly. “I waited so long for an heir, and this is the legacy I bestow on him.”

  Susanna went to him swiftly, knelt at his feet and wound her arms about his waist. “I’ve been so worried about you. How did this happen? Why did they arrest you?”

  “Because there’s irrefutable proof that I killed Teddy.”

  She rose and took the chair opposite him. “What proof?”

  “The police received an anonymous letter from someone who claimed to have been working at the Fenway at the time of Teddy’s death. The person wrote that he was in Teddy’s quarters on the morning he died and that he discovered a cigarette case in the sitting room, which wasn’t Teddy’s. He didn’t smoke. The writer said further that he was afraid to turn over the cigarette case to the police because he would have to admit he’d been in Teddy’s quarters about the time of the murder, and the police might think he was the guilty party.”

  “I don’t believe any of this,” Susanna said scornfully.

  “No intelligent person would,” Jay agreed. “In any case, the man—or woman—in question said that fear eventually drove him to leave the Fenway, but now, after much consideration, he thinks that if the police have the cigarette case, it will lead them to the murderer.”

  “And the cigarette case is....”

  “Mine, naturally. That’s how I came to be an honored guest of the city.”

  “But, Jay,” Susanna said, “how can they detain you on such a superficial basis? Surely they need more than that to convict you of the crime.”

  “There’s a matter of motive,” he reminded her. “Teddy’s ‘suicide note’ mentioned the embezzlement, so I became the chief suspect. Also, I was in Boston at the time of the murder. Now, with the cigarette case, the police think the case is solved.”

  “Jay, whoever sent that cigarette case is the one who murdered Teddy.”

  “I know that, Susanna. I’ve been trying to convince the police of that, but it’s so much easier for them to detain me, no matter how flimsy the evidence, than it is to go looking for a needle in a haystack.”

  “Don’t worry,” Susanna said. “I’ll get you out of here.”

  Jay’s hard mouth relaxed. He reached across the table to take her hand. “If anyone can do it, you can.”

  His smile, though grave, lifted her spirits. As bad as the situation looked, it wasn’t hopeless. Nothing was hopeless when love and determination were on one’s side. Jay had done so much for her. He had changed and enhanced her life. Now, at last, was her chance to repay him. She would find a way to exonerate him if it was the last thing she ever did.

  When Susanna left the courthouse, she asked Preston Stedman to take her to the Fenway, where Ian Carmichael awaited her in his suite.

  “Pres told me you were coming to Boston,” Ian said, ushering them both into the sitting room. “Are you hungry? Shall I order something?”

  “Thank you, no, Ian.”

  He took their hats and coats and bade them sit. There was a good fire in the grate, for which Susanna was thankful. She was so dreadfully chilled. She felt she’d never be warm again as long as she lived.

  “Ian, do you realize,” she said straight out, “that the person who sent the cigarette case to the police must be the one who murdered Teddy?”

  “Very probably,” he said. “However, knowing something and proving it are two different matters.”

  “We’ll have to prove it somehow,” she said, undeterred. “The longer the police have Jay in custody, the more time the murderer has to either get away or plant new false evidence.”

  “I agree,” Ian said. “That’s why I’ve asked the police to learn where the cigarette case was sent from. The postmark was smudged, so they’ve turned the wrapping over to the postal authorities in hopes they can help.”

  “That’s a good start, Ian, but we have to do more. Can’t we have Jay released on bail?”

  “More is being done,” he assured her. “I’ve hired private investigators to look into the matter as far back as when Alan Devlin was managing the Majestic. Bail is out of the question, though. We’re dealing with a capital offense here. Jay will have to remain in custody for the time being.”

  “But there has to be something more that can be done,” Susanna said, frustrated. “Have you contacted Ford Weston? He knew Teddy. There may be something he remembers.”

  Ian shook his head. “I’ve already spoken to Jay about consulting Ford. He said no. He was adamant.”

  Susanna shivered. Was there no way out of this nightmare?

  Ian said encouragingly, “Susanna, there’s nothing more we can do at present. Let’s wait until we hear from the postal authorities. Maybe they’ll be able to shed some light on the case.”

  Disappointed at the options, Susanna nodded. Suppose, she thought, the package was postmarked “New York”? The population of that city was approximately four and a half million. Out of all those people, how in the world were the police going to find who was trying to destroy Jay?

  It was impossible for her to sleep that night. The strange bed, the memory of Jay’s bitterness, the fear of failure, all conspired to keep Susanna awake almost the entire night through. She finally fell asleep at dawn, a deep drugged-like sleep, from which she didn’t waken until noon.

  She’d been dreaming of gold—brilliant yellow gold. She woke with a start and opened her eyes to a shaft of blinding sunlight.

  She rose with a groan, then went into the lavatory and splashed cold water on her face. As she toweled dry, the memory of her dream, vague and indefinite, floated hazily through her mind. What had she been dreaming about? Gold, gleaming gold. She saw curlicues, tracery, but nothing substantial. She did remember, though, that there had been something pleasant about the dream, a sharing—no, a giving. She felt the touch of Jay’s hand, saw a smile on his face. And then, she thought with a fast-beating heart, The ciga
rette case I gave him for Christmas!

  She dashed into the bedroom, dressed with the speed of lightning, and went hurtling out of the suite. On the stairs, she collided with Ian Carmichael.

  “Ian!” she said. “Did the police show you the cigarette case?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Susanna, I have something to tell you.”

  “No, wait,” she said. “What does the case look like?”

  Ian described the cigarette case Susanna had given Jay down to the last detail, including the quotation from Mrs. Browning.

  “Oh, Ian!” she said happily. “Jay can go free now.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “When was Teddy murdered?”

  “I’m not sure. Some time last year, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes!” she said. “It was shortly after I was married. I remember so clearly now. Oh, why didn’t I think of it sooner? Don’t you see what this means, Ian? I gave Jay that case this past Christmas. He didn’t own it until months after Teddy died. All the police have to do is check with Tiffany and Company to prove when it was purchased, and Jay won’t have to spend another night in that dreadful basement.”

  Ian seemed reluctant to believe that so important a detail had escaped his notice. “Susanna, are you sure about when you gave it to him? Why didn’t Jay say anything about it?”

  “I don’t know and I don’t care. We must go to the police and tell them at once.”

  She started down the stairs, but Ian caught her arm. “Susanna, wait. Before we go, I want to tell you something.”

  “What is it?” she said, eager to be off. “Hurry, Ian.”

  “I’ve just come from the police station. The postal authorities were able to make out the postmark.”

  “Well?” she said impatiently. “Where did the package come from?”

  “It came from Atlantic City. Have you any idea who sent it?”