It was possible that Hertha had a genuine psychic gift. But if you admitted the existence of such a specialized talent, then you had to allow that the actuality of spirits was also conceivable, communication with the dead tenable, and all the other phenomena of the psi factor similarly capable of realization, including ESP, psychokinesis, telepathy, precognition, and perhaps, eventually, discussing the International Monetary Fund with dolphins.
That afternoon I had discovered that several perfectly normal citizens believed in ghosts and by extension, I supposed, in other manifestations of the supernatural. Could they be right and my father's cogent disbelief wrong?
I went to bed that night and with my eyes firmly shut I willed with all my strength for the appearance of Carole Lombard's ghost.
She never showed up.
14
Like most people I consider Monday the first day of the week. It is actually the second, of course, but Sunday is usually observed as a day of rest, a faux holiday, a twenty-four-hour vacation to be devoted to worship, a big midday meal, and just lollygagging about and recharging one's batteries.
But that particular Sunday turned out to be something entirely different. It deepened my confusion and increased my suspicion that events were moving so swiftly it was impossible to cope. Men who have been in battle have described it to me as disorder in the nth degree. Before that Sunday concluded, I felt I deserved a combat ribbon.
It began when I overslept and went downstairs to find that my parents had already departed for church. And the Olsons had left for their church. So I fixed my own matutinal meal, succeeding in dropping a buttered English muffin onto the floor. But-ter-side down, inevitably-another puzzle I've never solved. I also knocked over a full cup of coffee. That brunch did not augur a successful Sabbath.
The phone rang as I was mopping up the spilt coffee and I really didn't want to answer, thinking it was sure to be calamitous news. But I girded my loins (how on earth does one gird a loin?) and picked up after the sixth ring.
"The McNally residence," I said.
"Archy?" Meg Trumble said. "Good morning!"
You could have knocked me over with a palm frond. "Good morning, Meg," I said. "What a pleasant surprise."
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"If you must know, I'm wiping up spilled coffee."
She laughed. "That doesn't sound like much fun. Archy, Hertha Gloriana is with me, and she'd like to speak to you."
"Sure," I said. "Put her on."
"No, no. Not on the telephone. Can you come over to my place?"
"Now?"
"Please. We're going to do some aerobics, and then we plan to go to the beach. Could you make it soon, Archy? It's important."
"All right," I said. "Half an hour or so."
The day was muddling up nicely, and as I spun the Miata toward Riviera Beach I didn't even want to imagine what lay ahead. I knew only that it would add to my flummoxization-and if there isn't such a word, there should be.
I walked into quite a scene for an early Sunday afternoon. The two women were wearing exercise costumes of skin-tight gleaming spandex; Meg in a cat-suit of silver and Hertha in a purple leotard and pink biking shorts. Apparently they had finished their workout, for both were sheened with sweat and still panting slightly. And they were sipping glasses of orange sludge.
"Carrot juice, Archy?" Meg asked.
I fought nausea valiantly. "Thank you, no," I replied. "I have no desire to see in the dark."
"A cold beer?"
"Thank you, yes."
Hertha patted the couch cushion beside her, and I sat there, a bit gingerly I admit. I had an uneasy feeling of having intruded into a ladies' locker room. I had been invited but couldn't rid myself of feeling an interloper.
Meg brought me a popped can of Bud Light, which I accepted gratefully.
"Hertha," she said commandingly, "tell him."
The medium turned to me. She seemed uncommonly attractive at that moment, her fair skin flushed from exercise and something in her eyes I had never seen before. It was more than happiness, I thought; it was triumph.
"It's about Peaches," she said to me. "I had another vision. Remember I told you I saw her in a plain room? It's in a small building, like a cabin. I think it may be at an old-fashioned motel."
I took a gulp of my beer. "That's interesting," I said. "Did you see where the motel is located?"
"I'm sure it's in the West Palm Beach area."
"Tell him what else you saw, Hertha," Meg ordered.
The medium hesitated a second. "Perhaps I shouldn't be revealing this," she said, "but it troubles me and you did ask for my help. I hope you will keep it confidential."
"Of course."
"I saw my husband, Frank, in the room with the cat."
The two women looked at me expectantly. That they were attempting to manipulate me I had no doubt. There was no alternative but to play along. I'm good at acting the simp; it just seems to come naturally.
"That is a shocker," I said. "What on earth do you suppose he was doing there?"
"I don't know," she wide-eyed me. "Do you suppose he had anything to do with the catnapping?"
The greatest actress since Duse.
"Why don't you ask him?" I suggested.
"I've got to be completely honest with you, Archy," she started-and my antennae stiffened. When people say that to you it's time to button your hip pocket to make certain your wallet is secure. "Frank has an awful temper," she went on. "I'm afraid of angering him. He can become quite physical."
"The brute beats her," Meg said wrathfully.
"Not exactly," Hertha said. "But he has struck me on occasion."
I was terribly tempted to remark that if she was truly a seeress she would foreknow the blows in time to duck. I said nothing of the sort of course. I said, "Dreadful."
"So you see I can't ask Frank about it," the medium said sorrowfully. "But I hope it may help you recover the cat."
"I'm sure it will," I said. "And I thank you for being so cooperative."
I finished my beer (sadly, only an 8-oz. can) and bid the ladies adieu. They were both looking at me thoughtfully when I left the apartment.
I drove home slowly, reflecting on what I had just been told. It was obvious the two women had compared notes, and Hertha now knew the original reason I had given her for wanting to find Peaches was false. She was aware the cat had been snatched and I had been employed to find it. That much was clear.
What wasn't quite so apparent was how she knew the missing feline was presently incarcerated in a motel cabin. Either she was telling the truth and had seen the cat and Frank in a psychic vision or she had overheard conversation at home revealing the cat's whereabouts and Frank's guilt.
But then I realized how she knew was unimportant. What was vital was that she was intent on implicating her husband. The story of the physical abuse she suffered at his hands might or might not be true. But I felt Hertha had a deeper motive for wanting her spouse apprehended and perhaps tucked away for an appreciable period in the clink.
I was still pondering the medium's motive for snitching when I arrived home, saw the Lexus in the garage, and knew my parents had returned from church. When I entered the house, my father was standing in the open doorway of his study.
"Are you acquainted with a woman named Mrs. Irma Gloriana?" he demanded. It was almost an accusation.
"Yes, sir, I am," I replied.
He nodded, beckoned, led the way into his study, and closed the door. He sat behind his desk and motioned me to an armchair.
"I think you better tell me about her," he said.
"It's a long story, father."
"Dinner will not be served for another hour," he said dryly. "Surely that will be sufficient time."
Usually mein papa does not question me about details of my discreet inquiries. I think he suspects
I cut ethical corners-which I do-and he'd rather not have knowledge of my modi operandi. Successful results are r
eally all that concern him.
But since he wanted to know about Mrs. Irma Gloriana, I told him. And not only Irma, but husband Otto, son Frank, and daughter-in-law Hertha. I also gave him an account of the seance I had attended and related how I had managed to locate Peaches in Cabin Four of the Jo-Jean Motel. I concluded with a brief report on my most recent meeting with Hertha Gloriana and Meg Trumble. In fact, I told him everything you already know.
He listened closely and never once interrupted. When I had finished, he rose and walked slowly to the sideboard where he carefully packed one of his silver-mounted Upshall pipes. I took that as permission to light up an English Oval. He regained his swivel chair and held his loaded pipe a moment before flaming it.
"Then I gather you and Sergeant Rogoff believe the Glorianas are guilty of criminal behavior," he pronounced.
"I cannot speak for the sergeant," I said, "but I am convinced that Frank Gloriana connived with Laverne Willigan to steal the cat and hold it for ransom. I also think Otto Gloriana, probably Irma, and possibly Frank were involved in the murders of Lydia and Roderick Gillsworth. But I have no idea as to their motive."
He finally lighted his pipe. When he had it drawing freely without a gurgle, he blew a plume of smoke at the coffered ceiling. "Perhaps we'll learn tomorrow," he remarked.
I was astonished. "Tomorrow, father?" I said.
He nodded. "Shortly after returning from church,
I received a phone call from Mrs. Irma Gloriana. A very forceful woman."
"Yes, sir, she is that."
"She wishes to see me tomorrow. She said it was an important matter concerning Roderick Gillsworth. I thought it best to listen to what she has to say. We're meeting in my office at ten o'clock. I'd like you to be present, Archy."
"Of course," I said, grinning. "Absolutely. Looking forward to it, sir. May I tell Sergeant Rogoff about the meeting?"
He considered that request a long, long time. I had learned to wait patiently, knowing that eventually his mulling would end and he'd come to a decision.
"Yes," he said at last, "you may tell the sergeant. And he will be informed as to the results of the meeting if circumstances and ethics allow. It may possibly aid his investigation. You say this woman was formerly the madam of a brothel?"
"Yes, sir. According to the Atlanta police."
"A coarse woman?"
"No, sir, I would not say that-although Al Rogoff might possibly disagree. As you said, she is a forceful woman. I find her almost domineering. Very sure of herself, very heavy in the willpower department. I see her as the Chief Executive Officer of the Gloriana family, the dynamo, with perhaps a tendency to tyrannize." I hesitated a second. Then: "There is something else. In my opinion she is a disturbing woman. Physically, that is. She exudes a certain sensuality. I believe she is aware of it and uses it. I put her age at close to sixty, but there has certainly been no diminution of her sexual attractiveness."
One of my father's hairy eyebrows slowly ascended. But all he said was, "Interesting."
But then, as I rose to leave, he added, "I usually find your reaction to people very perceptive, Archy."
Praise! How sweet it was.
That evening I called Al Rogoff, reported on my meeting with Hertha Gloriana, and informed him of my father's Monday morning appointment with Mrs. Irma Gloriana.
"Oh boy," Al said. "I have a feeling the lady is about to drop a bomb. Keep me up to speed on what happens, Archy."
"Did you get your spies into the Jo-Jean Motel?"
"Yep. Man and woman in Cabin Five, right next to Otto's pad. They've already reported by radio. He's had two visitors so far. I make them as Frank and Irma. Be sure to call me tomorrow after your father's meeting."
"Wait a minute," I cried. "Don't hang up. Those erotic poems Gillsworth wrote-did he mention any names?"
"No one you know," Rogoff said.
"Come on, Al," I said, "don't play games. What names did he mention?"
"Just one. Astarte. I looked it up. Goddess of fertility and sexual love."
"I know her well," I said. "She lives in Miami Beach."
Then he did hang up.
But that long, aggravating day had not yet ended. Later that evening I was in my sanctum, working on my journal, when Laverne Willigan phoned.
"Another ransom note, Archy," she told me. "It was slipped under the front door sometime tonight."
"Uh-huh," I said. "Will you read it to me, please?"
She did. The letter commanded Harry Willigan to assemble fifty thousand dollars in fifty-dollar bills, unmarked with no numbers in sequence. Then he or his representative would deliver the money to a messenger. That was the term used: "Messenger." He would be waiting in the parking area of a twenty-four-hour convenience store on Federal Highway at midnight on Monday. The address given, I judged, was about a mile from the Jo-Jean Motel.
After the ransom had been handed over, the messenger would leave, but Willigan or his representative was ordered to remain in the parking area. When the fifty thousand had been counted and the bills examined and approved, Peaches would be delivered, hale and hearty.
Laverne continued: "It also says if the messenger sees or suspects the presence of the police, Harry will never see his pet alive again."
"I don't like the setup," I said immediately. "What if the fifty thousand is handed over to the messenger, he disappears, and Peaches is never produced? It seems to me they're asking Harry to take a horrendous risk."
"He doesn't have much choice, does he?" Laverne said. "Not if he wants to rub noses with Sweetums again. I called Harry in Chicago and told him what the letter said. He cursed a blue streak but finally said he'll play ball. He's going to phone his Palm Beach bank in the morning and tell them to get the cash together. The bank will call me when it's ready. Then I'll phone you. Harry wants you to deliver the money and get Peaches back. Will you do it, Archy?"
"Of course," I said. "It's the least I can do after failing to locate the catnappers. Let me know when the bank has the cash ready. I'll pick it up from them. And sometime tomorrow I'll stop by your place and get the letter. If you're going out, leave it with Leon."
"Thank you, Archy," she said briskly. "I'm sure everything will work out just fine."
"I think so, too," I said. "Harry will be back on Tuesday?"
"Yes. Early in the morning. By that time you should have Peaches."
After she hung up I phoned Al Rogoff again to alert him to this new development. But I was unable to locate him and decided it could wait until the morning. Then we'd devise a plan to thwart the villains.
Monday was shaping up as a hellacious day. I only hoped I'd live to see Tuesday.
15
I awoke Monday morning with a dread feeling of having forgotten to do something I should have done. I recognized my lapse while scraping my jowls, and if it hadn't been a safety razor I might have nicked the old jug, I was that mortified. What I had disremembered was to phone Connie Garcia on Sunday as I had promised. Not for the first time did I wonder why I treated that dear woman with such thoughtless neglect. I suppose it was because I knew she was there.
I had roused in time to breakfast with my parents in the dining room. While scarfing my way through a stack of buckwheat pancakes, I informed the governor of Laverne Willigan's phone call the previous night.
He glanced up from The Wall Street Journal long enough to gaze at me speculatively. "You actually intend to deliver the money to the catnappers yourself, Archy?"
"Yes, sir. I expect Sergeant Rogoff will come up with a plan for a trap."
He nodded. "When you receive the fifty thousand at the bank," he advised, "count it before you sign a receipt."
I sighed. "Yes, father," I said. Sometimes he treated me as if I were the village idiot. I do have a brain, you know, even though occasionally I choose not to use it.
Before leaving for the Willigan hacienda, I phoned Al Rogoff at his office and found him in a surprisingly lively mood.
"What ar
e you so chirpy about?" I asked him.
"It's all coming together, old buddy. I'll fill you in later. What's up?"
I repeated what Laverne Willigan had told me of the catnappers' letter and the instructions as to how the ransom was to be paid.
"I don't like it," Al said at once. "Too much risk of a double X."
"I told Laverne that but she said Harry has no choice and is willing to shell out the fifty grand."
"Which makes her and the boyfriend happy- right? Okay, Archy, I'll start working on a snare for midnight tonight."
"After I collect the money from the bank, do you want to mark the bills?" ›
"Haven't got time," he said. "And too dangerous if they've got a lamp to read the markings. We'll make a list of the serial numbers; that'll hold up in court. Stay in touch; it's going to be a rackety day."
"Tell me about it. Al, do you think you'll be able to keep Laverne Willigan out of it?"
He was silent a moment. Then he said, "It depends," and I had to be satisfied with that.
Then I buzzed down to the Willigan manse. Leon told me the lady of the house was busy with her pedicurist, but he handed me the latest ransom note in its white envelope.
"I guess Peaches is coming home," he said.
"Looks like it," I agreed.
"And I start sneezing again," he said mournfully.
"If you don't like cats," I said, "why don't you buy yourself a koala or a wallaby? Just to remind you of down under."
"I've been down and under since I got here," he complained. "Florida is the outback with oranges."
Have you ever noticed that some people aren't happy unless they're unhappy?
Then I scooted for the McNally Building somewhat in excess of the legal speed limit. I arrived in time to smoke a cigarette before joining my father. I noted my hands weren't exactly shaking, but I would not have selected that moment to thread a needle. It was amazing how the prospect of a meeting with Mrs. Irma Gloriana rasped my nerves.
I went up to my father's office a few minutes before ten o'clock.
McNally's luck (mcnally) Page 21