She watched the front door open again. Dot Mainwaring and Minnie May Handy. She called to them, but they pretended not to hear. She saw Minnie May slip a piece of paper in her handbag. Newspaper. “Hello,” she called again. This time they waved, but they didn’t stop. They went in the lounge, too. Come to think of it, Miss Plummer remembered, Jewel had a newspaper this morning. She went out and bought it, I saw her. And I think Kitty—
She began to wish she took a paper herself. She never had because she tried to save her eyes, and another paper was a needless waste of money. Mrs Fister took a picture paper and always told her if anyone had died or been divorced. And Miss Brady and Miss Small took the Times and the Herald Tribune, and the chef took a Polish-language paper. Four papers in the House every morning, and she was sure she’d seen at least a dozen clippings.
She thought of Mrs Fister, but asking her would be useless. Mrs Fister didn’t believe in talk. Maybe somebody will tell me, she hoped. Kitty or Jewel, they ought to; we work here side by side, and what’s news to them is news to me. Or Miss Brady or Miss Small. She remembered Miss Brady’s face. We’re in trouble, all right, she decided. There’s something in the paper that puts us in a bad light. The House—She pushed the cold tea aside and took up her work. She was afraid it was doubly important now.
At one o’clock Kitty and Jewel came hurriedly out of the lounge and tried to look as if they had never left their posts. The reason was immediately obvious. Miss Brady and Miss Small had been spotted from the lounge windows.
They came in with bright smiles and went directly to the elevator. “No lunch for us, Ethel,” Miss Brady said over her shoulder. “We treated ourselves.”
“Not so much as a thank-you for the extra time I’m putting in,” Miss Plummer said when they had gone. “Kitty, you come here, I want to talk to you. I can’t keep quiet any longer.”
Kitty crept over to the desk. “I know what you want,” she said. “I was going to tell you when the gang cleared off. Look.” Kitty placed a clipping on the blotter. “From today’s Times. The personnel department at Blackman’s showed it to Moke and Poke, and they bought one for themselves and beat it over here on lunch hour to see what went on. And they had plenty of company. Some of the kids saw the paper at their offices. Half the House knows it by now, and the rest will know it tonight. Nice little place we’ve got here, lady.”
“Oh dear, oh dear,” Miss Plummer wailed softly. “I never heard of anybody named M. E. Who—”
“That’s the fellow I talked to, I told you. He was asking for Jewel.”
“But what has Jewel—I don’t understand why Jewel—”
“She was the first to reach the body, except Cashman. If you’ll stop groaning, I’ll tell you everything I know. I want to get it straight, anyhow, in case. Kloppel called Monny up at the crack of dawn, and I listened in. He was sore about a doctor being in the ad, he thought he was being insulted. Monny told him it meant a doctor Miller was supposed to have seen the day she died. That’s mystery number one, and it’s how I first got wise to what was going on. Now we come to number two. I was down in the kitchen having myself some coffee a little after nine when a call came in and Jewel took it. Whoever it was yelled, ‘You murderer!’ and hung up. Jewel went crazy, and Angel had to give her more aromatic on top of the quart she had last night. Now number three. Around nine-thirty Marshall-Gill called Monny and said what goes on. She also said everything was very distasteful and please to give her an explanation at once. Monny was wild, I could tell, but she put on a good act. Cool as a cucumber. She told Marshall-Gill there was going to be an investigation, and she was trying to stop it. She said there was a society woman behind it.”
“Society! Ruth Miller!” Miss Plummer’s head reeled. That Miss Pond. That was it. “I knew it!” she wailed. “I knew it, Kitty! That old lady who came here, remember? She could be society! I felt it! What in heaven’s name will happen to us?”
“Nothing will happen to us. Bunch of busybodies with more money than brains. That’s what Monny told Marshall-Gill. But you’d better stop looking like that, or they’ll think you did it.”
“Did what?”
“Killed Miller.”
“Killed!” Miss Plummer fell back in her chair. “Kitty?” she whispered. “Kitty?”
The switchboard buzzed like a scolding monitor. Kitty thumbed her nose, but her voice when she took the call was alert, sympathetic, and efficient. “Yes, Miss Brady?”
Miss Plummer held her breath.
“Yes, Miss Brady,” Kitty said smoothly, “yes, I understand. No, Miss Brady, there’s nobody here but Miss Plummer and me… Yes, Miss Brady, I’ll do it right away. Yes, Miss Brady.”
“What?” Miss Plummer whispered when Kitty disconnected.
“What are you whispering for?” Kitty grinned. “I’m harmless. She’s written a notice for the bulletin board; fast work, huh? Jewel’s bringing it down.”
They both turned to the elevator and watched the dial. The arrow was stationary at eight. Then it moved to seven and stopped. Then six, five, stop at five. Then four, three, two, stop at two. Kitty went over and stood waiting.
The bulletin said little, but it left no room for misunderstanding. When Jewel handed it over she also gave instructions. “You’re to take everything else off,” she said. “This is to go up there by itself. You got that straight?”
“I speak and read English,” Kitty said.
“Well that’s what they told me to tell you. Everything else off and this here alone. What’s it say?”
Kitty looked aghast. “Do you mean to say you haven’t read it?”
“I didn’t get a chance. Miss Small rode down from Miss Brady’s as far as five, and Harris got on at seven and rode to second. You see I didn’t get a chance. Harris made out like she was reading a newspaper all the time, but I could see her watching me.”
Kitty thumbed the last tack into place. “Well, you’ve got a chance now. Read.”
Jewel and Miss Plummer crowded each other for position. Miss Plummer’s lips moved silently but Jewel read with a lacquered fingernail.
Residents and employees will disregard the notice appearing in today’s Times and refrain from discussion. It is the work of a practical joker.
Monica Brady
Angeline Small
For the Board
Jewel’s jaw dropped.
“Shut your mouth,” Kitty advised. “It says so here.” She returned to the switchboard and ostentatiously took up a magazine.
Miss Plummer watched her from the corner of an eye. Clearly it would do no good to talk. Kitty had decided to obey rules. That wasn’t like Kitty.
Miss Plummer sat on, neglecting her embroidery, twisting her fingers in her lap, watching the hands of the clock. The day would never be done. She’d have to wait until midnight when she could talk to her sister behind a locked door, and she didn’t want to wait. She wasn’t even sure that waiting was safe. She wanted to talk to someone now, to tell someone about her sudden fears. Although, she reminded herself, there was nothing sudden about them. They’d been in the back of her mind for weeks, ever since the night of the party. Deep in the back of her mind, like something buried, but they turned themselves over like leaves when she was tired. If she could only talk to someone her own age, someone settled and not flighty, someone who might remember the things she was remembering and tell her she was wrong.
When Agnes came down to get a late lunch, she tried to signal her. But Agnes walked by with a bent head, as if she didn’t want to see anybody. Not even a friend. That wasn’t like Agnes.
She searched desperately in the past and tried to fit things together. There was that Miss Pond, for instance. She’d always wondered about Miss Pond. If she could see Miss Pond again, she’d ask her point blank if she had a niece named Ruth… Miss Plummer massaged her knuckles and studied her shiny serge lap. She felt like crying and didn’t know why.
At that same moment Bessy and Beulah stood in the middle of Fifth Aven
ue and Forty-Second Street, lying steadily to the traffic officer. They told him they were from California and didn’t know which way to turn. They referred to a mental confusion, but the officer, thick in the pre-Christmas rush, had his own interpretation. Time, temper, and traffic frayed and broke while they straightened each other out.
They were not lost, they told him above the screaming horns; they knew exactly where they were, but they couldn’t find what they were looking for. An eye doctor whose name and address they had forgotten. Their niece’s doctor, a lovely girl threatened with blindness who wouldn’t have anyone else, lying in a dark room at the Commodore waiting for drops. They’d called on seven eye doctors and two prescription opticians between Fifty-seventh and Forty-second, and it had taken all morning because everybody made them wait. They were sure the man they wanted was somewhere nearby. Not far from Blackman’s, within walking distance. They could remember that much. Maybe north a little way, maybe south. Or maybe East or West. Did the officer know an eye doctor in the neighbourhood?
They talked fast and quivered their lips.
The officer gathered them both in one huge arm and released traffic with the other while he blessed their hearts. He gave them the address of a medical building, a list of drugstores that might be able to think of something, and indicated a famous firm of opticians several blocks away. Then he led them to the curb, patted their basely shaking hands, and turned them in the right direction for the optician.
They moved off with tremulous thanks. Out of hearing, Beulah said, “We’ve been doing this the wrong way. All that time wasted in reception rooms. They’d see us right away if we didn’t look so healthy. Put your finger in your eye.”
“No, Beulah, no!”
“So you won’t co-operate?”
“No, Beulah, no! Why can’t it be your eye?”
“Because I’ve done my share, that’s why. Didn’t I go lame for you?”
“Lame,” wailed Bessy, “but not for me. I want to go home.”
Beulah wanted to go home too. “Very well,” she snarled, “we’ll go. And I hope you remember it was your suggestion. Remember to your dying day, and if you don’t, I’ll remind you. Come along. Taxi!”
“No,” Bessy said. “I’ve changed my mind.”
The firm of opticians gave them another list, and they covered four widely scattered offices without result. By three o’clock they were six blocks from Blackman’s, blue with cold, and sagging with weariness. A malignant wind swept around the corner and bit into their bones. Their noses twitched. The wind was spicy with the smell of oranges, hot coffee, hot dogs, and mustard.
“Where are we?” Bessy asked faintly. They were leaning against the partition of an orange-drink stand.
They bought and devoured two of everything, and, because it was the slack hour, the girl who waited on them put her elbows on the counter and listened.
“You’ll have to pardon me butting in like this,” the girl said finally, “but I can’t help hearing. Did you ladies say eyes?”
There was little heart left in Beulah, but she still had the remnants of a voice. And by that time she was geared like a juke box. Eyes, yes. Her niece. A lovely girl, a missing doctor, total blindness or sure to be… The coffee was hot and sweet, and some of its warmth crept into the lifeless words and dusted them with sugar. Beulah felt the change, heard it, and built sturdily. The girl hung on every syllable.
“My,” the girl breathed. “Just like a story in a magazine. Just like those true-life stories on the radio.” The fragrance of unrequited love fought with the oranges and mustard and won. Moonlight and honeysuckle filled the small enclosure.
“I don’t know if what I’m thinking is any good,” the girl said, “but the world is a small place. You hear that everywhere. There’s an eye doctor in this building, I seen him myself lots of times, and he’s a young fellow, too. Wouldn’t that be something if it turned out to be him? You could try anyways. The door is right around the corner, and you walk up a flight. I don’t know his name, he don’t talk much, but he has coffee here sometimes.”
Beulah thanked her warmly.
“Leave me know how it comes out, will you?” the girl begged.
“I certainly will,” Beulah promised.
But when she and Bessy staggered around the corner against the wind and saw the flight of dingy wooden steps leading up into shadows, they looked at each other doubtfully.
“I don’t think...” Bessy wavered. “I don’t like—”
A hatless young man clattered down the steps and brushed by them with a muttered apology. They didn’t see his sharp, appraising stare.
“No,” Beulah said. “It can’t be this. It smells funny. Now stop teasing me to go home. We’re going.”
Assisted by four male pedestrians, they hailed a cab and went back to Roberta’s.
When they entered the library, Roberta was sitting by the fire with her head in her hands.
“I’m dead,” Roberta said, “and I can prove it. I stuck a pin in my arm and couldn’t feel a thing. Bassingworthy went to the dentist out of pure hellishness and left me with the baby. He’s pink and white, and I’m black and blue. Did you have any luck?”
“No, we didn’t,” Bessy said promptly.
“Yes, we did,” Beulah said. “We didn’t buy anything, but we covered a lot of ground, and it was what you might call interesting. Maybe we’ll go out again tomorrow. Now what about Mark? Have you heard anything, dear?”
“No. My hearing has been impaired by an alphabet block. An X, in case you ever wondered what an X was good for.”
“I’m afraid you don’t love your little baby,” grieved Bessy. “I hope and pray you aren’t one of these girls who put babies in bottom drawers and—”
“Look straight through her,” advised Beulah. “Pretend she was never even born. Now if I were you I’d call Mark’s apartment. Don’t you know the girl who takes care of his messages?”
“Sure I know her. Name of Henning. You know, that’s not a bad idea.” Roberta inched herself and chair over to the telephone. “I can’t walk. I can’t even stand up. I have ten more bones in my body than the book says.” She moaned softly as she dialled. “And they’re all in my back, low down. I’ve been a horsie, giddap, giddap… Hello, Miss Henning?”
They heard Miss Henning plunge into narrative. It was clear that she had news of some sort. Roberta’s face told nothing, and neither did her cryptic responses.
“You don’t say,” Roberta drawled. “You don’t tell me.”
Miss Henning’s voice crackled on. When the end was reached, Beulah helped Roberta with the receiver.
“Well?” Beulah barked. “What?”
“Henning had fun,” Roberta said enviously. “Miss Brady swore at her.”
Miss Henning had reported two calls for Mark, one from Miss Brady at two-thirty and another, anonymous, at two forty-five. Miss Brady had identified herself at once.
“With cuss words,” Roberta said. “Henning liked her. Brady was sore about the ad. She said Mark was no gentleman because he’d promised to lay off and hadn’t. She said she wanted to see him right away. When Henning told her he was out of town she sounded surprised. Really surprised. Then quiet. Henning says you could have heard a pin drop. Then she tried to find out if anybody else had called about the ad. Henning said dozens. A big, black lie, of course, but Henning wanted to hear Brady swear again. She did. And that’s all of that. Brady swore, but gently, and hung up.”
“What about the other call? The anonymous one?”
“I’m coming to that. Look, Miss Beulah. See that piece of fancywork hanging on the wall over there? Give it a pull, will you, and tell whoever answers that we want a lot of sherry. I can’t move, but I can still swallow.”
Beulah pulled the bell and waited at the door for Mrs Hawks. When the sherry came she closed the door firmly in Mrs Hawks’ face. “Here,” she said, easing the tray onto a low table. “I’ll pour. Now what about that call?”
; “That one was a girl, low voice full of excitement. Almost whispering. Henning got the impression she was getting away with murder, like calling up on the sly or putting something over on somebody. Because of that, Henning tried to get her name. No luck, although the girl admitted she was interested in the ad. When Henning told her Mark was out of town, she sort of gasped. Henning asked her for her name again—she says she had a feeling something was really wrong—but the girl said names didn’t matter. And she said Mark would hear from her again. She hung up on that and Henning tried to trace the call. Of course she couldn’t.”
Beulah frowned. “That could be a Hope House girl.”
“Could be a crank, too. I asked Henning about the cranks, but they haven’t been heard from. Guess they’re working on that kidnap case in Jersey.”
Beulah twisted in her chair, saw Bessy reaching for the decanter, and slapped her wrist absently. “You mentioned rope,” she said to Roberta. “When you were talking to Miss Henning. Rope. What was that for?”
Roberta flushed. “Small talk,” she said. “Chit-chat. Henning says if you give people enough rope they’ll do it every time.”
What Miss Henning had said was: “Mr East told me not to give you his address unless you sounded as if you’d reached the end of your rope. Have you?” And she had answered: “Any day now.”
“What do you want to do?” she asked contritely. “It’s a long time till dinner.”
“Nothing,” Beulah said. “We’ll simply sit, if you don’t mind.”
They drew their chairs closer to the fire and sat without talking. They were still there when Nick came home. After dinner they played bridge for an hour and went to bed before eleven.
Twice during the night Roberta got up and looked out of her window. She looked up at the sky and down to the street far below. The taxicabs were like toys and the people were no larger than dolls.
Death of a Doll Page 13