Red Gardenias (14 page)

"I was worried about you being alone, too."

"Oh, I was all right." She smiled at him. "But I'm glad you worried."

"And then I wondered..."

"Yes, Bill."

"I wondered if you'd let me... have a martini."

"Why, you..." She threw the book at him. It missed him, went into the fire. "That's really why you came home."

"No. I was lonesome. But I wanted a cocktail, too."

"Remember your promise not to drink?"

"Can't I have one? Please?" He looked at her beseechingly. "I'm tired. I've had a hard day."

"I'm sick of hearing that," Ann said. "All you do night after night is come home tired, wanting to take off your shoes and drink martinis."

"I don't care about taking off my shoes," he said. "I just want some martinis."

"Am I supposed to slave all day over an ice-cold shaker?"

"I slave over an ice-cold ice box, don't I?"

She admitted that was true. "I'll let you have just one." She got bottles and a tray of hors d'oeuvres, put them on the end table by the couch. She mixed vermouth and gin in a ratio of one to three and one half added a drop of orange bitters and ice. She stirred with a long spoon, poured into a cocktail glass with an olive in the bottom. "Just one, now," she warned him.

Refreshed by the drink and some anchovies, he told her of his interview with Simeon March. "He's bound and determined to hang Carmel," he said.

Ann said, "I wonder what Mr March would say if he heard her side of the case."

"He wouldn't believe her."

Ann said, "If she kills anybody it'll be Alice March. I wouldn't be surprised if she took a sock at her someday."

"Oh no," Crane said. "She's too much of a lady."

"Anyway, I think Donovan's in this." Ann's voice was determined. "And I'm going to find out."

"It'd be better if you went back to New York instead of getting mixed up with a lot of gangsters."

"No."

Crane saw it was useless to argue with her. He admired her courage, and, anyway, he thought Donovan was bluffing. He was probably sore about Delia and wanted to scare him away so he couldn't make another pass at her. If you were really going to kidnap somebody you didn't warn them first. He turned the conversation to Peter March, pretended not to notice a sudden chill in Ann's attitude.

"He's a fine candidate for the noose," he said, not without satisfaction.

"I'd rather not discuss him," Ann said.

"It was clever of Williams to discover he looked like John," Crane continued.

She didn't say anything.

Crane said, "Of course, Talmadge is a good suspect, too." She didn't seem to be interested, but he went on, "He's always trying to pin the odor of gardenias on Carmel and he tipped off Donovan I was back at the Crimson Cat. The only trouble is I think only one person did the murders."

"You think Talmadge suspects you're a detective?"

"Nobody does," Crane said. "Least of all Simeon March."

"Then why did Talmadge warn Donovan?"

"Because of Delia. He didn't know she had gone. He wanted to tip off Donovan; he thought, from the gossip • he'd heard, that I was chasing her."

"He was probably right," Ann said. "And I think you're missing the most important thing, not going after Slats Donovan."

"You'd better concentrate on Peter March, and stop worrying about me and Donovan."

"I'm going after him." Her face was determined. "I'm not afraid of him, even if you are."

"Don't tell me you've given Peter March up?"

She didn't answer.

"Or are you afraid he is guilty?" he taunted her. "Carmel's a fine motive. Peter killed Richard because Carmel loved him, and John because she was married to him."

After a time she said, "You're nasty. I try to help, and you make it seem as though I was out after Peter... or his money."

"He does have a lot of money, doesn't he?"

She said, "I think you're horrible." She walked out of the living room with quick, short steps.

In a corner of the Country Club ballroom Crane found Ann talking to Alice and Talmadge March. "May I have this dance, madam?" he inquired. He hadn't seen her since dinner.

She was wearing an evening gown of black satin which clung tightly to her body and then, halfway to her knees, flared out to the floor. The black contrasted well with her taffy hair. She fitted very nicely in his arms. She smelled very nice, too. She smelled of English lavender.

"You're a swell dancer," he said.

The music was on the sweet side, with lots of muted brass in the orchestra. He saw Carmel and Peter on the floor. They danced as gracefully, as effortlessly as professional dancers, but neither of them seemed to be having a good time. Peter's black brows were drawn into a scowling V. He stared at Crane without recognition.

Crane asked, "What's wrong with the guy?"

"He quarreled with Talmadge," Ann said.

"What about?"

Ann didn't know. "I saw them just as it ended," she said. "They were both white with rage. I think, if they'd been alone, they'd have fought."

Crane frowned in thought. "That's a swell family, the March family. Simeon hates Carmel; Alice and Talmadge hate Carmel; Simeon hates Richard; Peter fights with Talmadge; Carmel almost betrays John with Richard; Peter likes..."

"Well, go on," Ann said.

He said, "I think you're the prettiest girl here."

The orchestra wasn't bad, even if it was a trifle corny. It played some of the old pieces Crane liked: "Sweet Sue,"

"Who,"

"Star Dust,"

"Three O'Clock in the Morning" and "Melancholy Baby."

It was nice dancing with Ann, even though she probably wished she were somewhere else. She danced beautifully.

After a time he said, "I'm sorry I've been so nasty about Peter. Maybe I won't have him hung after all."

"I don't think you can," she said. "You do like him, don't you?"

"Yes."

The familiar pieces the orchestra was playing made him a little bit sad. He thought it was a good thing she liked Peter. He had plenty of dough and he was young. And Ann would be a swell wife. It'd be tough on a gal like that (any gal, for that matter) to hook up with a detective who suffered from chronic hang-overs. He sighed. He felt a lot older than thirty-five.

"What's the matter?" Ann asked.

"I don't know." He evaded a man and a girl in a filmy violet dress, moved into a clear space by the wall. "Ann..."

"What?"

"Would it help any if I explained to Peter that we aren't married?"

"No."

"I mean that we're working together... nothing immoral."

She said, "I'm tired of hearing you talk about Peter."

"I'm sorry." The music paused and they stood facing each other. "Look, Ann. I think you're swell. I really haven't meant to hurt you, chasing Delia and drinking too much."

The music started again; it was an old-fashioned waltz. The noise of the violins was sad. The dancers were more graceful than they had been, moving in smooth arcs, like ice skaters.

"I wanted you to know. Anything you do is O.K."

He took her in her arms, began to waltz. "It's my fault we've been fighting. I'll try to be nicer."

"I'll try, too."

He swung her toward the center of the floor. "Look, let's pretend... since we have to work together... that we like each other. I mean, as far as our conversation."

"All right."

He grinned at her. "I'm nuts, but a detective doesn't have a hell of a lot of family life." Her body, scented with lavender, was slender, supple. "I'd like to see what it's like."

She didn't say anything. He felt a little ashamed of himself. A slick-haired youngster cut in on them. He said, "So long, Ann," and cut in on Alice March.

She said, "You don't drink, do you?"

"A medicinal drop now and then."

"I need a drink."

"Come to the taproom."

"No. I don't want a crowd."

"Lady, you know this place better than..."

She pressed his arm, said, "Meet me at the entrance to the Ladies' Locker Room," and left him.

Ann was getting a rush from the collegiate stag line, so he went down to the taproom. At the table in front of the open fire sat Judge Dornbush, the March &

Company attorney, Dr Woodrin, Simeon March and two other men. They were drinking brandy. In the light of the blazing logs, the judge's face was brick red; he looked like a regency three-bottle man.

They were talking about the duck shooting in the morning, assuring each other the cold weather would bring the birds down from Canada.

"We'll see you, won't we?" Dr Woodrin called to Crane.

Crane said, "Sure." He refused an invitation to have a drink.

He got a bottle of scotch, some seltzer, two glasses and a bowl of ice. He had promised Ann not to drink, but this was business. His feet echoed on the stone corridor leading to the locker rooms, and he tried to walk on his toes. He found a green screen on which there was a sign: Ladies' Locker. He leaned against the cement wall and waited. He waited five minutes, ten minutes, nearly fifteen minutes before Alice March appeared. Her canary-bird-colored hair was disarranged, her plump face was white. She looked ill.

"Let's go in here," she said.

"But my goodness! That's the Ladies'..."

"Nobody comes down here." She pushed him past the screen.

He was relieved to discover a small anteroom with wicker chairs and a magazine-covered table in front of the lockers. He could see white tile and shower curtains at the other end of the long room. He sat down so that his back was toward the white tile, mixed two drinks.

Alice March said, "Here's how," and emptied half her glass.

"Hey!" Crane said in alarm. "You'll get tight that way.

"I want to."

She wore a brown evening gown. Her eyes were pink from weeping; her nose was a trifle red. She finished her glass, handed it to Crane. She had good legs, but the rest of her body was too plump.

They finished a second drink, and a third. Crane began to feel philosophical. It must have turned very cold outside, he decided, because the small, square windows in the locker room were frosted. Or maybe there was frosted glass in them. In that case you couldn't be sure about the weather. It could have turned cold without his knowing it. He fixed two more drinks. He was surprised to see the bottle was only half full.

He asked Alice, "Why have you been weeping?"

"I haven't," she said.

"Yes, you have." He closed one eye and looked at her through the other. "Is it because of Talmadge?"

"What if it is?"

"He's a nice fellow."

"He's a rat."

"Why, I didn't know that." He opened both eyes. "I can hardly believe it. A real rodent?"

"You'd believe it if you knew what I know about him."

"What do you know about him?"

"I know he's trying to protect Carmel."

"Carmel?"

"Peter and Carmel. He knows something about them, but he won't tell."

"Is that why he had a quarrel with Peter?"

"Yes." She laughed bitterly. "He had a quarrel with me, too. I wanted him to tell what he knows about them."

Crane waited for her to continue.

"He told me to mind my business," she said.

"This seems to be Talmadge's night to fight."

Her voice suddenly softened. "It's his cold. He has a terrible cold."

"What does he know about Peter and Carmel?" Crane asked.

She shook her head. "He wouldn't tell me. I think he threatened Peter with it tonight. They had such a quarrel. It must be about Carmel." Her plump hands trembled. "Peter's a fool. He ought to know she's out to destroy the March family."

Crane nodded wisely. A girl was singing with the orchestra in the ballroom. He hoped he would be able to remember what Alice was saying. He took a sip of whisky to clear his mind, leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He no longer felt embarrassed about being in the Ladies' Locker Room.

She continued in a voice harsh with passion. "You don't know it, but Richard March was in love with her. She made him love her; then she killed him."

His eyes popped open. "Killed him?"

"She was responsible." Defiantly, she finished her drink. "Oh, she didn't kill him herself. She hasn't the courage for that, but she was responsible." Her glass slid across the wicker table, was nearly deflected to the floor by a pile of golfing magazines. "Richard wasn't so bad, either."

"A lot of girls thought he was swell."

"Sure they did." Her words sounded like sobs. Crane realized she didn't care who she was talking to; she was simply having a good emotional blowoff. "Sure they did," she repeated. "Why not?"

"He had appeal, hey?"

"There wasn't a girl in town who didn't want him."

He nodded to show he understood.

"And then, when he did fall in love himself, he had to fall for her."

Crane said, "Don't tell me you still love him?"

"I don't know." Her eyes glowed. "I loved him like hell once. I would have done anything for that man."

This was the second time Crane had heard a woman say she loved Richard. Delia, and now Alice, who should hate him. He was beginning to have an acute admiration for Richard.

He asked, "But what about Talmadge?"

She thought for a moment. "I like him, but in a different way."

Crane closed his eyes again. He seemed to be able to hear better with them closed. He groped for his glass, found it, had a drink. The inside of his mouth was numb, he could hardly taste the whisky.

"Why do you think he ought to turn up Peter?"

"I'll tell you. He — " She hesitated for so long a time that, thinking she might have left the room, Crane opened his eyes. " I don't know why I'm saying all this."

"Hell!" He poured her a good shot of whisky. "It's just between us girls."

"I don't care, anyway." She reached for the glass. "Peter hasn't any claim on me."

"Peter?"

"Yes." She looked like an angry cat. "I think he killed Richard. I don't believe it was an accident."

"Peter?" He realized he had said this before, and asked, "Why?"

"Because of Carmel."