Miss Shumway Waves a Wand (25 page)

I jumped to my feet. “Can I see her?” I asked anxiously.

He looked at me gravely. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But I did all I could for her.”

My heart went cold. “She’s not …?” I began, but the look in his eyes told me.

“She wouldn’t fight,” he said. “I can’t make it out. She just didn’t seem to have the will. I pushed past him and went into the room.

A nurse had pulled the sheet over Myra’s face. She glanced at me sympathetically and left the room.

I stood looking at Myra’s small form under the sheet and I felt pretty bad.

“So she quit,” Arym said, suddenly appearing at my side. “Can you beat that?” she jerked the sheet off Myra’s face.

Myra looked very peaceful. Her hair framed her small white face and there was a faint smile on her lips.

“Of all the smug, two-faced, prissy-mouthed fugitives from a convent,” Aryrn said in disgust. “She’s it.”

“Don’t,” I said, sitting wearily on the bed. “She wanted to live, but we were too late to help her.”

“Phooey!” Arym snapped. “She’s putting on an act. Cut it Out, Myra,” she went on. “Or I’ll grab that body and leave you without one.”

“Try it and I’ll haunt you,” Myra’s voice said close to me.

I looked round with a startled gasp. Standing at the foot of the bed I could make out a filmy shadow.

“Don’t materialize any further,” Arym exclaimed. “You haven’t got any clothes on.”

“As if I didn’t know,” Myra sounded annoyed. “Where have you two been? I was just going to look for you.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “Aren’t you dead after all?”

“Of course, she isn’t,” Arym said. “I told you not to worry.”

“Has the darling been worrying?” Myra asked eagerly.

“You know how men are,” Arym replied airily. “But never mind him. Get back into your body. We have things to talk about.”

“I’ll be right with you,” Myra said, and the shadowy figure climbed on to the bed and melted out of sight.

A second later what had been Myra’s remains sat up abruptly in bed.

I shied away from her. This, I felt, was a little too much.

“He wants me to come back to you,” Arym said sulkily. “That’s the only way he’ll marry me.”

“Certainly not,” Myra said firmly. “I’ve bad enough of your influence to last me a lifetime. I’d rather be dead.”

I pulled myself together. “Myra,” I said, taking her hand, “you must be sensible. The new moon rises in an hour. If Doc was right, that’s when you’ll lose your supernatural powers and then it’ll be too late to do anything. You have to take her back. Think of me. Think of having her around all the rest of our days. Think of the mischief she could do us if we thwarted her.”

“That’s all very well,” Myra returned. “But what about Doc? She did kill him. I draw the line at sharing a body with a murderess.”

She had something there.

Arym pouted “If I fix Doc, will you do it?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t kill the old fool. I wanted to have a hold on you so that Ross would work for Andasca.”

“Now look here, Arym, it’s no use lying. You did kill him. I saw him die,” I said coldly.

“You thought you saw him die,” Arym said, smiling. “Haven’t you heard of mass hypnotism?”

I ran my fingers through my hair, “What are you getting at?” I said. “Mass hypnotism? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re not being very bright, are you darling?” she said patiently. “All I did was to put Doc in a coma and hypnotize you and Sam into believing he was hurt. The letter and the dress were planted to give the right atmosphere.”

“I don’t believe it,” I said, “the cops saw him too.”

“So what?” she returned “I was there all the time, although you couldn’t see me. It was as easy to hypnotize the cops as you.”

“Do you really mean Doc’s alive?” I still couldn’t believe it.

“Of course, but he doesn’t know it,” she said airily. “Right now he’s in the City morgue and he thinks he’s as dead as George Washington but we can soon fix that.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” I exclaimed “Look at the time, we’ve only a half an hour before midnight.”

Arym looked over at Myra, “Are you going to take me back?” she asked.

“I suppose I’ll have to” Myra said, a little doubtfully “Are you going to behave?”

“She’ll behave,” I said, “I know how to handle her.”

“All right,” Myra said, “I’ve missed her too. Come on back,” her eyes lit up, “it’ll be just like old times.”

Aryrn hesitated, then she came over to me. “You won’t ever see me again,” she said sadly, “not as I really am.” She put her arms round me. “This is the last time I’ll hold you like this.”

I pulled her to me and kissed her. “Be good,” I said, “I’m trusting you.”

“I’m ready when you two are,” Myra said, a little waspishly.

Aryrn gave me a quick hug and pushed me away. “Look out of the window,” she said, “I have to undress.”

I hadn’t turned my back for ten seconds when the door opened and Clancy walked in.

“So she’s dead, eh?” he said, “well, Bud, I’m sorry.”

I took a quick look at the bed and then stiffened. Myra and Arym were lying side by side, their blonde heads sharing the same pillow. Even though I knew what was happening, the sight unnerved me.

Clancy saw them at the same time. He blinked and passed his hand over his eyes. Then he had another look and went pale.

“She looks nice, doesn’t she?” I said, deciding to bluff.

Clancy made gurgling noises. Beads of perspiration appeared on his forehead. He moved closer to the bed and stared. “Yeah,” he said, in a cracked voice, “but it ain’t the kind of thing I want to see every day.”

“Nor do I,” I said feelingly, “but she does look happy.”

“That’s more than I do,” Clancy said, supporting himself against the bed rail, “my eyesight’s giving me a little trouble. You wouldn’t say there are two dames in that bed, would you?”

“No,” I said firmly, “I wouldn’t say that at all.”

“I didn’t think you would,” he returned, with a groan, “Maybe I’ve been working too hard.”

“You’d better go away some place quiet and lie down,” I said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Clancy said, “but I can’t imagine any place quiet enough,” and he went out of the room with dragging steps.

I turned back to the bed in time to see Arym merge into Myra.

“I’ll sure be glad when this business is over,” I said, mopping my face with my handkerchief.

Myra sat up in bed. “Wait for me,” she said, “I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”

“Don’t let them see you,” I said, and went out into the corridor.

Clancy was sitting in a heap with his head in his hands. The two cops were watching him uneasily.

“Don’t worry him,” I said to them, “he has a lot on his mind right now.”

“We ain’t worrying him,” one of the cops returned uneasily, “he’s worrying us.”

I moved down the corridor and stood waiting. Myra didn’t keep me long. Her voice sounded in my ear after a few minutes, “Let’s go,” she said.

We reached the city morgue a quarter before midnight. A thin, querulous looking bird with a heavy moustache and a network of veins over his sharp, hooked nose sat behind the counter. “What do you want?” he snapped.

“You have a body here I want to look at,” I said, taking out a
Recorder
press card and handing it to him, “a guy named Ansell. Doc Ansell.”

He flipped the card back to me, “Come to-morrow,” he said, and picked up his newspaper.

“Wait a minute,” I said, “I have to see this guy right now.” The morgue attendant glared at me over his glasses, “No one’s going in there to-night. Beat it,” he said.

I turned to Myra, “One of those nice helpful guys,” I said, “maybe you’d better do something about it. Look at the time.”

It was ten to twelve.

Myra said, “I’m on my way,” and she vanished.

On the floor where she had been standing were her clothes in a neat little pile. Her hat rested on top and her shoes were at the bottom of the pile.

I lit a cigarette and watched the effect on the morgue attendant with interest.

He got up deliberately and peered at the pile of clothes with glassy eyes.

“Astonishing how little these girls wear,” I said chattily, “just a handful of silk here and a wisp of silk there and yet they look marvellous.”

“Where is she?” he whispered, clawing at his throat.

“In the morgue by now,” I said, “but, she’ll be back.”

He gave a long sigh and fell down behind the counter. I didn’t blame him. It was a shock for a guy his age.

I left him there and ran round the counter. As I reached the head of the stairs that led to the morgue I saw Doc Ansell come stumbling up.

I ran down and grabbed him, “Doc!” I cried, “am I glad to see you!”

“Take care of him while I dress,” Myra’s voice said, “he’s still a little dazed.”

“Don’t hold that against me,” Doc said, gripping my hand, “I’ve had a very trying experience.”

The morgue attendant still lay behind the counter, but as we passed he sat up and peered at us.

“You won’t want this stiff any more,” I said to him. “I’m going to take it away and buy it a meal.”

Myra flashed into her clothes.

“Come on, Doc,” she said, slipping her arm through his, “let’s get out of here.”

As we went out, the morgue attendant gave a low wail and collapsed once more on the floor.

The only defence I offer is that strange things do happen. I’m not suggesting that you should believe everything you read or hear, but if you make a habit of doubting everything you will miss much of the fun in life.

It was nice to have Doc Ansell with us again. It was nice for me to have Myra without Arym and to know that she wouldn’t suddenly shoot into the air or vanish without warning. She meant a lot to me and if I’d had to have her with her black magic, I wouldn’t have hesitated. But after the new moon she settled down to normal life again.

There was no trouble in getting Bogle out of jail. Summers was so pleased to have Kruger and his mob on ice that he was willing to give way of a small matter like releasing Sam.

I cannot close this story without telling you what happen to Whisky. The police rescued him from Peppj and held him for us. At midnight as we were hurrying with Doc to the police headquarters, there was a sudden uproar in the room where they had put Whisky. On going in they found Whisky trying to gnaw an immensely fat Mexican Who had mysteriously appeared out of thin air.

The Mexican had been so abusive and violent that the police kept him for us to see. You can imagine our feelings when Pablo was brought in, looking as if he could make mincemeat of us all.

Yes, Pablo had come back. He wasn’t any nicer and I can’t say I blamed him. To have been turned into a sausage and then eaten by a large wolfhound is a pretty harrowing experienced. He was inclined to blame Myra and me for it, and I felt, that if he were at large, he might resort to his horn trick some dark night when we weren’t expecting him.

I had a word with Summers and he sent Pablo back to Mexico under an armed escort. There, he was handed over to Mexican authorities who put a rope around his neck and strung him several feet into the air.

I never liked Pablo anyway.

Now that his influence had been removed from Whisky the dog was unable to talk. We regretted this because Whisky had been a sensible kind of dog and he invariably had a number of sensible things to say.

At first, Whisky was depressed because he couldn’t express himself, but, fortunately, he ran into a lady dog who took to him and they settled down quite happily together.

Myra and I decided to set up home on the Pacific coast. This decision was largely influenced by finding among Myra’s clothes twenty-four thousand-dollar bills. It was the reward that Arym had hidden on the night she met me for the first time on the stairs, three days after we had arrived in New York.

It seemed a waste of good money to return the money to Maddox. He had plenty of his own and we could use it to advantage ourselves. Besides, Maddox never really forgave me and as he spent much of his time making inquiries about lunatic asylums, it seemed safer to have a change of air.

Doc set himself up once again as a herbalist and Sam helped him. They insisted on sharing our house. It seemed only right to have them after all we had been through together and we invited Whisky and his lady friend to join us.

It is an odd thing, but I never did meet Myra’s father. We heard he had married a midget from a travelling circus, but we never had confirmation of this. Anyway, he dropped out of Myra’s life which was a good thing. I had enough on hand without having a midget for a mother-in-law.

I found a profitable market as a short-story writer and Myra was busy preparing for Ross Milan junior.

I always wanted a son. And, after the inevitable alarming span of months, a son arrived. He was a nice-looking kid, more like his mother than me. We were all crazy about him.

On the face of it, it looked like we had finished with black magic, policemen and hoodlums and were all set for a nice quiet trip to old age, but it didn’t work out like that.

One Sunday morning I was sitting at my desk trying to invent a situation for a story, when a sudden wild scream brought me to my feet. Throwing down my pen, I rushed into the garden.

Myra, Doc and Sam were staring into the sky with horrified expressions.

I followed their gaze and my reason almost crumbled.

Thirty feet or so in the air sat Ross Millan junior. He waved his toy Mickey Mouse excitedly when he saw me.

“Look, Pop,” he shouted happily, “I’m flying!”