The Quick Red Fox (12 page)

“You are a little overwhelming, Dana.”

“You could do it all just as well. But why should you?”

“Okay. Thanks. You’re very good.”

It was not gracious. Most of my women have not been particularly useful outside the home. I looked at her emotionless profile and sighed and said, “Aw come
on
, Myra.”

Reluctantly her mouth softened. “You get these ugly moods, Frank.”

“I keep worrying about how things are going back at the office.”

“Honey, I bet they hardly know you’re gone.”

“Oh, thanks. Thanks a lot. That’s a big help.” She was laughing with me. Her eyes laughed too. It went deep. That kind of affection is seriously underrated among the hack and grab set. To whom should they give trust? To someone who likes them. When she laughed or smiled broadly I could see that one of the eyeteeth, the one on the left, was set in there aslant, making a little overlap with the tooth in front of it. When an imperfection looks very dear to you, heed the message. Lysa Dean’s teeth were mercilessly perfect. No message there. Maybe some of my awareness made a little mark. Dana Holtzer suddenly stopped the real laughter, and went along for a little while on some fake laughter, and then folded herself back into herself, out of sight and out of reach, becoming once again the secretarial presence beside me, smart in wool, laced, girdled, hammocked and erect, her neck severe, eyes distant, seat belt pulled tight for takeoff.

Alexander Armitage Abbott, A.I.A., lay dying in room 310 of University Hospital in San Francisco. There was a waiting room at the end of the corridor. A gray rain which was going to continue forever streaked the waiting room windows, obscuring the view of gray hills. It was Friday afternoon. Dana and I sat like dulled passengers in a heavy train sidetracked at the end of noplace. She put a frayed magazine back in the rack and came over to sit beside me on the couch.

“You’re doing fine,” I told her.

“I don’t like that young man. Or his wife.”

“It shows a little. It doesn’t hurt anything. They’re not anxious to be liked.”

The young man came back. Not as young as he looked, or perhaps tried to look. Nancy’s brother. Alex. Meaty, dark, bland. The kind who have a smell of pine and a perfect manicure. He gave us a smile of measured sadness and sat facing us. “Sorry about the constant interruptions. You know how it is.” He shrugged. “One or the other of us should be with him. It seems to help him a little. Elaine is being so good about it. You have no idea.”

“I guess he wouldn’t want to see Nancy,” Dana said innocently.

“God, no!” Alex said. “I believe, I really believe that he might have lived years longer if it wasn’t … for all the shame and heartbreak she’s given him. She’s my only sister. But I can’t be the least bit sentimental. Some people are just born rotten.” He made a helpless gesture. “Nothing we’ve tried to do for her has done any good. She’s made life difficult … for all of us.”

“You understand our viewpoint in this, Mr. Abbott,” I said.

“Of course. Of course. I appreciate the fact you want to handle this on a completely informal basis. I think I understand her present condition, as well as Mr. Burley’s concern. And I am perfectly willing to write to him personally guaranteeing the thousand dollars a month for as long as … as she can remain there. Frankly, I was responsible for the selection of the retreat. I wanted her just as far from San Francisco as possible. Dad is leaving her nothing, of course. But I can tell you in confidence that the estate is … sizable. And I would consider it a moral obligation. I’m very glad you and Miss Holtzer had to come here on another matter. It’s good to talk this over.”

I sensed that he was trying to brush us off. Thanks and goodby. He was an elusive fellow. “We haven’t settled it yet, Mr. Abbott,” I told him. “Mr. Burley has certain moral obligations too, and he is aware of them. He is not set up to give her the mental care she needs. Under the present arrangement, he can’t afford to bring someone there at regular intervals to treat her there. We are functioning here merely as … friends of Hope Island, Mr. Abbott.”

“I understand, but …”

“If the monthly fee could be doubled …”

“That’s out of the question,” he said with a regretful air. “I guess it would be better if Mr. Burley did arrange commitment to a mental institution, if that’s what he thinks she needs.”

“There’s just one small problem,” I said. “At times she seems perfectly healthy and rational. And she has built up a whole structure of conspiracy. We understand that it isn’t true, of course, but it does sound very plausible, and if she went to some other place, they might think it necessary to make a complete investigation.”

“I don’t believe I understand,” he said.

I glanced at Dana and nodded and she took over. “Nancy insists that a year and a half ago, you put her in the custody of some people in Carmel named M’Gruder.”

“In the custody!” he said indignantly. “It wasn’t like that at all. They were just helping me out. They knew Nancy, of course. They knew she could be a problem. It was just a case of getting her away from a very unsavory group she was running with, and …”

“I am just telling you Nancy’s story. We all know she isn’t well, Mr. Abbott. She claims that the M’Gruders, as a favor to
you, got her drunk and got her into a situation where certain pictures were taken of her under compromising circumstances. These pictures were then sent to your father so you could be certain you would be the sole heir. She claims you and your father then tried to put her away, but she fled and remained at large for quite a while until you caught up to her and sent her to Hope Island.”

Dana did beautifully with it. I watched his face. He had a big choice of reactions. He tried for amused indignation, and almost made it. But not quite. You have to watch for the not-quites.

“Do you mean to tell me she could make anyone believe such nonsense?”

“Not necessarily,” I said. “They might want to check it out.”

“But why?”

I nodded to Dana. She took the picture from her big purse. I slipped it out of the envelope and leaned and handed it to Alex Abbott. He held it in two trembling hands and stared at it. He swallowed convulsively. In a small voice he said, “This one wasn’t …” He caught himself. “She had this? My sister had this?”

“This is one of several. Mr. Burley has them in his safe.”

“But where would she get them? She didn’t have them when she was taken down there?”

“They came to her in the mail,” I said. “Mr. Abbott, what was it you started to say? This one wasn’t … This one wasn’t what?”

He opened his eyes very wide. He smiled sadly. “I guess I should be frank with you people.”

“We would be most grateful,” Dana said.

“I will admit that I made a mistake when I … arranged her visit with the M’Gruders. I knew them as a lively couple. I thought they would keep her amused and out of trouble. I had no idea they went in for this sort of thing.” He handed it back to me.

“I would think you would act a little more angry,” I said.

“To tell you the truth, there were other pictures of Nancy. They were mailed to my father, with a note demanding money. He had a very nasty scene with Nancy. She left. He showed me the pictures. He was wretched. Heartbroken. He asked me to destroy the pictures and I did so, very gladly. Several days later, after Nancy was gone, someone phoned my father about the money. He told them to go to hell, that they could do any damn thing with the pictures they pleased.”

“He didn’t contact the police?”

“No.”

“Did the man on the phone threaten him with anything?”

“No. Dad said the man was quite polite. He seemed to have some sort of lower-class English accent. He said he might phone back later on, but as far as I know he never did. In one of the pictures it was … well, it was Vance M’Gruder and my sister. I can tell you that I was furious with him. I went down to see him. He was alone at the house. Patty had left him. I learned later their marriage was being annulled. He didn’t seem guilty or ashamed or anything like that. Just terribly indifferent. I couldn’t make a dent on him. He said he was not and had never been in the nursemaid business, no matter what impression I may have had. He did not know or care where Nancy was. I actually thought I might find her there with them. I wanted to know who had taken the pictures at that … circus.”

“Did he know?”

“He said that nobody at the party had taken them. He said it had to be someone with a long lens.”

“Did he seem surprised to know pictures had been taken?”

“No. I wondered if he’d been approached for money also.”

“Did you ask him?”

“No. He seemed cross and impatient and anxious for me to go.”

“Did you know any of the other people in the pictures you saw?”

“Aside from the M’Gruders, just one fellow, an artist I …” He stopped suddenly, frowning at us. “Why are you so curious about the pictures, Mr. McGee?”

I shrugged. “I guess it’s only natural. Mr. Burley was curious too. They do have some bearing on the girl’s evaluation of herself. I suppose if she feels it was a conspiracy, a trick, she feels better about it.”

“Mr. McGee, if Nancy ever had any hopes of inheriting half the estate, she spoiled her chances long before those pictures were taken, believe me. Naturally I’ll support her as long as she lives. But what you ask seems …”

“Oh, I don’t think she could cause you much trouble, Mr. Abbott.”

“I don’t see how she could cause any.”

I smiled and shrugged. “An institution might call in somebody to give her legal advice. You know how it is. Contingency basis. And you say the estate is sizable. She does sound plausible. All it could do, I guess, would be delay the probate.”

He studied his thumbnail. He bit a small piece out of the corner of it and got up and went to the steel window and teetered back and forth, heel to toe.

“You say she seems happy there at the Island?”

“She has friends there. And the illusion of freedom.”

Without turning, he said, “And this deterioration you mention. It is progressive?”

“From all indications.”

“I imagine that if I footed the bill for additional care for … say another six months, by the end of that time she …”

“Let’s say eighteen months.”

“I’ll take my chances on a year. No more.”

“I will so inform Mr. Burley.”

He looked at his watch. “Elaine gets nervous if I leave her in there too long. Uh … thanks for the report. Goodby.” He walked out without looking directly at either of us.

On the way down in the elevator, Dana looked at me and slowly shook her head. “You are very damn good, Trav. You are better than I realized. You are shameless. You are a bastard, Trav. You know very damn well he thinks you are going to split the increase with Mr. Burley. He thinks you are going to bring suit in her name if he doesn’t play. And you sat there, so righteous and kindly. Oh boy, oh boy.”

“A man like that can’t believe anything that doesn’t sound crooked.”

“A man like that makes me want to go scrub. They better not leave him alone with dear Dad. He’s impatient.”

Before I started the car I turned to her and said, “Itemize.”

“What? Oh. He didn’t have the pictures taken. The man who took them or had them taken has a cheap British accent. M’Gruder knew about the pictures. And something else. Let me think. Oh, the M’Gruder marriage was annulled. Did I miss anything?”

“You are very good too.”

“I am afflicted with an orderly mind.”

And so we drove back to the heart of the city. San Francisco is the most depressing city in America. The come-latelys might not think so. They may be enchanted by the steep streets up Nob and Russian and Telegraph, by the sea mystery of the Bridge over to redwood country on a foggy night, by the urban compartmentalization of Chinese, Spanish, Greek, Japanese, by the smartness of the women and the city’s iron clutch on culture. It might look just fine to the new ones.

But there are too many of us who used to love her. She was like a wild classy kook of a gal, one of those rain-walkers, laughing gray eyes, tousle of dark hair—sea misty, a lithe and lively lady, who could laugh at you or with you, and at herself when needs be. A sayer of strange and lovely things. A girl to be in love with, with love like a heady magic.

But she had lost it, boy. She used to give it away, and now she sells it to the tourists. She imitates herself. Her figure has thickened. The things she says now are mechanical and memorized. She overcharges for cynical services.

Maybe if you are from Dayton or Amarillo or Wheeling or Scranton or Camden she can look like magic to you because you have not had a chance to see what a city can be. This one had her chance to go straight and she lost it somehow, and it has been downhill for her ever since. That’s why she is so depressing to those of us who knew her when. We all know what she could have been, and we all know the lousy choice she made. She has driven away the ones who loved her best. A few keep trying. Herb Caen. A few others. But the love words have a hollow tone these days.

Investigating a cold cold trail can be deadly dull and very discouraging. This one worked pretty well, perhaps because there were two of us, two sets of hunches, two sets of ideas, two methods of approach.

We found Caswell Edgars in Sausalito. He looked twenty pounds heavier than in the pictures. He was living in a pigpen litter in the expensive home of a skinny drift-wood blonde on the far side of fifty. She was there too, in extremely tight pants and a high girlish giggle. Any minute now Cassie was going to start working hard getting ready for a one-man show she was going to arrange for him. They had a music system that would have blown the walls out of a less substantial structure. She had soiled ankles, a grubby neck, and a black eye which had faded to saffron. They were hooked on something. From the way they acted, I suspect one of the hypnotics. The house smelled like old laundry. There was a loose and dangerous and desperate flavor
about the alliance, and it was easy to imagine that in their blundering they would sooner or later manage to set fire to the place and scream with laughter until they found all exits blocked. She kept talking about poor little ole Henry, who seemed to be a husband, but I could not determine if he was living or dead. If dead, it was conceivable he was buried in the yard, under the weeds. Edgars knew absolutely nothing about any pictures. But he had no difficulty remembering the occasion. He had musician talk which he didn’t do too well. “Man, that was a bash. That little movie piece was pure stone fox. The boss fox of all time. Somebody trying to scuffle her with the pics? You never said, man.”