by Craig Rice
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“I owe you guys an apology,” the girl said. She looked imploringly at Bingo and Handsome. “Honest, I do. That was a terribly dirty trick.”
“Young lady,” Sheriff Judson said severely, “you owe more than an apology. You owe an explanation.”
“She can’t talk much yet,” Doc Svensen said.
“Now, Doc,” Sheriff Judson said. “She’s had a good night’s sleep. She can at least tell her name.” He added, “The right one, this time.”
“Believe it or not,” she said, “it’s Lula Higgins.”
“You don’t do modeling under that name,” Handsome said. “It’s Muriel Wayne.”
“And that reminds me,” Bingo said. “How did you know she didn’t have two moles on the small of her back?”
“It was the pictures,” Handsome said. “I tried to tell you before. She looks an awful lot like Elayne LaRue, or whatever that girl’s real name is. It bothered me at first. Then I got to thinking about that one of her in the black lace negligée, in Vogue. She didn’t have no moles on her back. And I thought about all the different pictures of her, and of that other girl. I thought about that face-cream ad in Harper’s Bazaar, of the other girl. And then I knew what bothered me. They don’t really look alike, it’s just they both got dark hair and long eyelashes and pretty legs.”
“Thank you,” Lula Higgins murmured. She gazed up at Sheriff Judson. “What do I get arrested for, by the way? Impersonating a model?”
“Dunno’s you’ll get arrested for anything,” the sheriff said, rubbing his ear. “Figure maybe you could be arrested for attempting to operate a confidence game, only I doubt if you could be convicted. You oughta be ashamed of yourself, though. Planning to pass yourself off on that poor feller as his daughter, just so’s you’d get a big cut of that money, if he dug it up!”
“How did you know?” she asked.
“I can add stuff together,” the sheriff said. “I suppose it was Clancy talked you into it.”
“Smart guy,” she said. “O. K., you can have the whole story, for free. I met Clancy in New York, quite a long time ago. I’d been modeling since I was six months old and posed with a can of talcum powder. That’s the only nude picture I ever posed for, too. Clancy was a gambler, and a cheap crook, and a good-for-nothing, but, what the hell, he was a lot of fun to run around with.”
“In a better society,” Doc Svensen said, “there will be no gamblers.”
“Fooey,” she said. “There’ll be gamblers till the end of the world. And when that comes, I’ll bet there’ll be a bunch of guys making book on those four horsemen.” She paused. “Where was I, before this bird started soapboxing me? Oh, yes. Well, Clancy got into a jam and scrammed out of town. About a year later he showed up, full of good cheer and bright ideas.”
“About how long ago was this?” the sheriff asked.
“If you mean, had he just come from Reno,” she said, “yes, he had. And he told me about the guy who’d been mixed up in that bank robbery and played for a sucker. This guy had two big ambitions, to find that dough and meet up with his daughter, whom he’d never seen. So Clancy found out this daughter was a New York model, and that’s when he began to get the bright ideas.” She paused. “Doc, can I have a cigarette?”
“Why not?” Doc Svensen said. He lighted one and gave it to her. “But don’t talk too much.”
She made a face at him. “You should say don’t talk too much! When you shot off your face to me for two solid hours this morning, about the social system.” She took a long, slow drag. “Clancy asked me if I knew her. I did, not very well, though. We’d both been working from the same agency for a while. He wanted me to get chummy with her. Room with her, if I could arrange it.”
“While he got himself sent to jail,” Bingo said, as she paused, “and moused around to see if Chuck Engan had confided his big secret to any friends.”
“That’s it,” she said. “He was to spend six months in jail, and I was to spend six months rooming with Elayne. Believe me, he got the best of it. Of all the drips! Anyway, the idea was I was to learn her whole life history, and get so I could practically double for her. I didn’t have any trouble learning her life history, she told it to me the first night after we started sharing an apartment. All I had to do was rehearse it.”
“You did a swell job,” Bingo said. “When you told about sneaking out to keep a date with the boy who gave you your first silk stockings, I damn near cried.”
She smiled. “I could have told that in my sleep. Elayne gave me the details of it at least three times a week. So, here was the setup. If Clancy was able to connect with a clue to where that dough was hidden, I was to pass myself off as the long-lost daughter, and talk this dope out of most of his share of the dough. Then, later, I was to split with Clancy.” She knocked the ashes off her cigarette.
“Clancy was figuring, of course, he’d take his split, and steal mine. What he didn’t know was that I’d have beat it quick and not split with him.”
“That would have been dishonest,” Handsome said.
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” she said. “Well, I thought it was a crack-brain scheme, but, what the hell, I was looking for a roommate anyway, so I played along. The whole thing was sort of a dirty trick on my part, when I come to think of it, but after all, the money involved didn’t belong to that Siller guy any more’n it did to me.”
“The whole thing is economic,” Doc Svensen said. “Purely economic.”
“You’re damned right,” she said. She beamed at the doctor and said, “What’s more, Clancy figured himself as the kind of a guy who could make the capitalist system jump through hoops for him. Almost got away with it, too.”
“Just where was the parson to fit in this?” Sheriff Judson asked.
“The parson?” Her eyes went blank.
“Uncle Fred,” Bingo said.
“Oh, him. Far’s I knew, he was just a long, dreary chapter in Elayne’s life history. If he fits in this business anywhere, it was an idea of his own.”
“Figured it was,” the sheriff said. “He was working on his own, just like you and Clancy was. Well, go on lady.”
“We were to meet here,” she said. “In Thursday. The shanty was to be the meeting place. Clancy had connected with somebody in the prison who knew somebody who knew where the money was. I guess that sounds sort of involved.”
“Not to us,” Sheriff Judson said.
“Clancy worked things out with Elayne’s father. This was the setup. Elayne’s father, Henry Siller, was to finance the business. Clancy was to do the work. Clancy had a lot of connections. He’d arrange the jail break—the outside work. He’d bring Henry Siller here from Reno. He’d arrange for me to come here and pose as Henry Siller’s long-lost daughter.”
“Tell me, miss,” the sheriff said gently. “Did murder figure anywhere in this setup?”
She shook her head and winced. “Guess you’re right, Doc, that I should lay still. Nope. Murder wasn’t in our plans any place. We were just working up a little honest graft.”
Doc Svensen muttered something about capitalism.
“Let’s move ahead a little bit now,” the sheriff said. “Up to when you got here.”
“And how you got here,” Bingo said.
“I took the train,” she said, “to some place called Carson. Meantime, Clancy had brought Henry Siller out here and left him by the shanty. Then he went to connect with the guys who’d busted out of jail, and fixed them up with clothes and guns. They were to meet Henry Siller and daughter later. Then he drove to Carson and got me. We registered at the tourist camp and pretended we’d eloped. The dame who runs the place swore she wouldn’t tell a soul we were there, and thought the whole thing was very romantic.”
“She didn’t tell a soul,” Bingo said, “except everybody else in the tourist camp.”
“Don’t interrupt me,” she said. “Well, I took the car and drove to the shanty. Clancy gave me all the directions.
We thought the big reunion scene with the long-lost daughter might work out better if I did it solo. Well, I got there, and saw two guys. It was sort of dark, and I was nervous, and I felt confused. I thought maybe Clancy had changed his mind and decided to join the party.” She paused, and added with a wry smile, “Imagine my surprise when I found myself with two perfect strangers!”
“If I may say so,” Bingo said pleasantly, “you got acquainted fast enough.”
“You weren’t exactly bashful yourself,” she said. “O. K. There I was. These two told me Henry Siller was dead. I didn’t know what the score was or what their game was. So I went into the long-lost daughter act. Do I need to go into details about the time between then and when I so informally left?”
“You do not,” Bingo said.
“Well.” she said, “finally I decided these guys were on the level. I knew the shanty had some significance. For all I knew, the dough was hidden in it. Or something that might tip me off to where it was. So I decided I had to get them out of the place long enough for Clancy to search it.” She looked at Bingo. “Honest. I wouldn’t have stolen that money from you if I’d needed it. I’d have asked you to lend it to me.”
“And I’d have lent it to you,” Bingo said. “So don’t apologize.”
“I waited until you two were asleep. Then I got the money. But I had to tiptoe out. I had my purse, with the money, and my gun, and my flashlight. I couldn’t carry my shoes, and I didn’t dare wear ’em. So, I left ’em there. I sneaked out, sneaked around the shanty, and ran down to where the car was parked, and drove off.
“Clancy was waiting for me. When I told him what I’d done, he thought I was crazy. I’d planned to go back there next morning and watch till you boys went tearing off to call a cop, and then search. He told me to wait and that we’d go into town and shop and see if we could spot you and know what you were doing. Then he figured out the rest of the business. He and Gus would call on you and see if you were really on the up-and-up. If you were, he’d give you that note. Well, you were, and he did, and you fell for it, and we searched the place, but good! Didn’t find a thing. Then.” She paused. “You haven’t found Clancy yet?”
“No,” Sheriff Judson said. “But we will.”
“Clancy’s been doing some nosing around of his own. I think he found out, somehow, who knew where the money was hidden. Anyway, he and Gus had been up to something. We came back and parked near the tourist camp. He and Gus got out and walked up the road and talked. Then they came back and Gus said good night and headed off somewhere. Clancy told me to go to bed like a good girl, and he’d be back soon. I got out, but I climbed quick into the rumble seat. I thought maybe he and Gus were going to locate the money and leave me stuck.
“He drove a long way. It was dark, I couldn’t see much of where he was going. Finally he parked the car and got out. I waited for him. Waited about an hour. I got worried. I got out of the car and started prowling around. There was some trees around, and I guess a house some place beyond ’em. I got scared. I don’t know why, just scared. So I started back toward the car.”
She paused again.
“Well,” Bingo said. “Then?”
She lifted her pale, lovely hands in an expressive gesture. “Then, somebody shot me.”
“You’ve talked enough,” Doc Svensen said. “You be quiet now.”
He felt her pulse and glared at the sheriff, Herb, Bingo, and Handsome.
“Why do people do these things?” he roared. “Economic determinism, that’s why. You’ve got to understand the class angle.”
“I haven’t got any angles,” she murmured. “Just curves. And frankly, I’ve got plenty of class.”
“I guess we don’t need to ask no more questions,” Sheriff Judson said.
“Just one,” Bingo said, avoiding Doc Svensen’s glowering eyes. “You told us your name was Henrietta Siller. Where did you get that from?”
“I made it up,” she told him. “One thing I never did get out of Elayne, what her real name was. But Clancy told me her old man’s name was Henry Siller. So—I thought it would flatter him—”
“Will you get out of here?” Doc Svensen growled. “She’s tired!”
They went out into the hall. Bingo looked at his watch and said, “Guess we better go. We got a dinner date.”
“I’ll see you there,” Herb said.
Sheriff Judson was already walking toward his office. He looked very frail and weary.
On the way to the car Bingo said, “Well, I guess we know about everything.”
“Yep.” Handsome said.
“Except, of course, who did the shooting. We don’t know that.”
“Nope,” Handsome said.
“And where the money is.”
There was a silence that lasted till Handsome had started the car.
“One more thing we don’t know,” Handsome said. “Where’s Clancy’s body?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“This is something we can tell about in Hollywood,” Bingo said happily. “Sunday dinner in a real Midwest farmhouse. It doesn’t happen to everybody.”
Handsome slowed down the convertible, glanced at the mailbox. “Halvorsen. This here’s it.” He turned up the driveway.
Bingo glanced curiously at the house. He’d been here once before, but it had been night. There were a large white farmhouse, a larger red barn, and a collection of sheds and outbuildings. There were big green trees shading the farmhouse. There was a collie dog sleeping by the front door. There was a pair of small white ducks wandering about on the lawn.
“This is the real stuff,” he said. “This is wonderful!”
Christine greeted them at the door. “Oh, I’m so glad to see you! Come right in!” She had on a white dimity dress, and there were blue ribbons in her golden hair. “This is just a plain, ordinary family dinner, but—”
“That sounds just perfect,” Bingo said.
“Come right into the sitting room,” she said. “I know you don’t want to sit in the parlor, even if it is Sunday.” She giggled. “You just pretend you’re ordinary farm folks like us, and make yourselves at home!”
Bingo glanced around the sitting room. Flowered wallpaper. A red velvet sofa. A big rag rug on the floor. Rocking chairs. A fern box by the window. A decorative plaque on the wall hiding the place where, when winter came, the stovepipe would be fitted in. Enormous tinted photographs, in wide gold frames, of departed Halvorsens. A sewing basket on the table, and a cat sleeping on the rug. An upright piano in the corner.
“Take the plush rocker,” Christine said. “It’s the most comfortable. I’ll call Ma.”
Handsome was frowning. After she’d tripped out the door, he whispered, “Bingo. I’ve seen this room before. I’ve been in it before.”
“Of course you have,” Bingo said. “You were here the other night.”
“No. That ain’t what I mean. It was all mussed up, then. Besides, I wasn’t paying much attention. I mean, I’ve been in this room exactly the way it is right now.”
“You’re crazy,” Bingo said.
“Maybe I am,” Handsome said. He looked puzzled. “Because I can’t remember exactly where it was.”
Christine came back into the room with Ma. Ma was a handsome woman with snow-white hair. She had on a yellow linen house dress, a white apron, and there was flour on her hands.
“Well,” she said cheerfully, “I’m real glad to meet you. Hope you don’t mind an old-fashioned country Sunday dinner.” There was a wonderful smell of frying chicken from the kitchen.
“An old-fashioned Sunday dinner,” Bingo said ardently, “is what I’ve been dreaming of all my life! Can we come out in the kitchen and help?”
“No such thing. You just sit right where you are.” She started back toward the kitchen and said, “Christine, call your pa.”
“Yes, Ma,” Christine said. As she went out, Bingo noticed she was wearing high-heeled blue slippers on her pretty feet.
“Bingo,” Handso
me said in a low voice, “I have too been in this room before.”
“You dreamed it,” Bingo said. He looked around and sighed with contentment. He’d dreamed it too, not in every detail, but something very like it. Even to the farmer’s wife’s silvery hair. He remembered suddenly that Mrs. Halvorsen was the “mail-order” wife, and that Christine’s mother had run away with another man. Oh, well. The present Mrs. Halvorsen certainly fitted right into the picture.
Chris Halvorsen came into the room, hearty and beaming, and shook hands warmly with Bingo and Handsome. There had been a change in him overnight. The color was back in his broad face again, and he wasn’t frightened any more.
“Well, well,” he said cordially. “Well, well, well. So you got them escaped convicts, all right!”
“It was really the sheriff and Herb and Earl who got ’em,” Bingo said modestly. “We just happened to find out where they were.”
Chris Halvorsen shook his head. “They never would of got ’em if you hadn’t of found ’em,” he said.
There didn’t seem to be any answer to that. While Bingo was trying to think of one, the doorbell rang. Ma Halvorsen bustled out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.
It was the sheriff, Herb, and Ollie, all of them conspicuously dressed in Sunday best.
“’Morning,” Sheriff Judson said. “Just dropped in to say hello. Herb’s car broke down, so Ollie ’n’ me rode him out. We’ll come back and pick him up this evening.”
“You’ll do no such thing.” Mrs. Halvorsen said in indignation. “You’ll stay right here and have dinner with us, that’s what you’ll do.”
“Oh, no,” the sheriff said. “No. We couldn’t do that. Ollie’ll fix us something, back to the jail.”
“I never heard of such a thing!” she said. “Here, you give me your hats! Now! You just sit right down and talk with Pa and the boys. Dinner’ll be on in a jiffy.” She went out, calling, “Christine! Put two more places on!”
Sheriff Judson grinned. Bingo grinned back at him and all but winked. Of all the shameless ways to wangle an invitation to dinner! Though, from the way dinner smelled, it was well worth the wangling.