James Chase - Lay Her Among the Lilies

“Hello,” I said, and it irritated me that my voice had gone husky.

Her fat fingers chased after a plum, found one and hoisted it into sight.

“It’s Mr. Malloy, isn’t it?” she said, as polite as a minister’s wife meeting a new member of the congregation.

“That’s right,” I said. “The last time we met we didn’t have the time to get matey. Who are you?”

She chewed for a moment, turned the stone out into her cupped hand and transferred it to the paper sack.

“Why, I’m Mrs. Salzer,” she said.

I should have guessed that. She really couldn’t have been anyone else.

“I don’t want to seem personal,” I said, “but do you like your husband, Mrs. Salzer?”

The vague look was chased away by surprise which in turn gave way to a look of weak pride.

“Dr. Salzer is a very fine man. There is no one in the world like him,” she said, and pointed her soft, round chin at me.

“That’s a pity. You’ll miss him. Even in our enlightened jails they still separate husbands and wives.”

The vague look came back again.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Well, you should do. If they don’t sit your husband in the gas chamber, they’ll give him twenty years. Kidnapping and murder earn a sentence like that.”

“What murder?”

“A woman named Eudora Drew was murdered on your husband’s instructions. I have been kidnapped, and there’s a girl across the way who I think has been kidnapped, too: Anona Freedlander. And then there’s Nurse Gurney.”

A sly little smile lit up the woman’s fat face.

“He has nothing to do with any of that. He thinks Miss Freedlander is a friend of mine who has lost her memory.”

“And I suppose he thinks I’m a friend of yours, too?” I said sarcasticallv.

“Not exactly a friend, but a friend of a friend of mine.”

“And how about Eudora Drew?”

Mrs. Salzer shrugged her shoulders.

“That was unfortunate. She wanted money. I sent Benny to reason with her. He got too rough.”

I scratched my jaw with my thumb-nail and stared at her. I sensed more than believed she was telling the truth.

“Where’s Nurse Gurney?” I asked.

“Oh, she met with an accident,” Mrs. Salzer said, and peered into the sack again. She brought out a plum, offered it to me. “Will you have one? They are good for you when you are in bed.”

“No. Never mind the plums. What happened to her?”

The face went vague again.

“Oh, she was going down the fire-escape when she slipped. I put her in the car, but I think she must have broken her neck. I don’t know why, but she seemed very frightened of me.”

I said in a tight voice: “What did you do with her?”

“I left her in some bushes out in the sand.” She bit into the plum, waved vaguely towards the window. “Out there in the desert. There wasn’t anything else I could do with her.”

I ran my fingers through my hair. Maybe she was crazy, I thought, or else I was.

“Was it you who arranged for me to come here?”

“Oh. yes,” she said, leaning against the doorway. “You see, Dr. Salzer has no knowledge of medicine or of mental illness. But I have. I used to have a very big practice, but something happened. I don’t remember what it was. Dr. Salzer bought this place for me. He pretends to run it, but I do all the work really. He is just a figure head.”

“No, he’s not,” I said. “He signed Macdonald Crosby’s death certificate. He had no right to.

He’s not qualified.”

“You are quire wrong,” she said calmly. “I signed it. We happen to have the same initials.”

“But he was treating Janet Crosby for malignant endocarditis,” I said. “Dr. Bewley told me so.”

“Dr. Bewley was mistaken. Dr. Salzer happened to be at the Crosby house on business for me when the girl died. He told Dr. Bewley I had been treating her. Dr. Bewley is an old man and a little deaf. He misunderstood.”

“Why was he called in at all?” I demanded. “Why didn’t you sign the certificate if you were treating her?”

“I was away at the time. My husband did the correct thing to call Dr. Bewley. He always does the correct thing.”

“That’s fine,” I said. “Then he better let me out of here.”

“He thinks you are dangerous,” Mrs. Salzer said, and peered into the sack again. “And you are, Mr. Malloy. You know too much. I’m sorry for you, but you really shouldn’t have interfered.” She looked up to smile in a goofy sort of way. “I’m afraid you will have to stay here, and before very long your mind will begin to deteriorate. You see, people who are continually drugged often become feeble-minded. Have you noticed that?”

“Is that what’s going to happen to me?”

She nodded.

“I’m afraid so, but I didn’t want you to think unkindly of Dr. Salzer. He is such a fine man. That’s why I have told you so much. More than I should, really, but it won’t matter. You won’t get away.”

She began to drift away as quietly as she had come.

“Hey! Don’t go away,” I said, sitting forward. “How much is Maureen Crosby paying you to keep me here?”

Her vague eyes popped a little.

“But she doesn’t know,” she said. “It’s nothing to do with her. I thought you knew,” and she went away rather like a tired ghost after a long and exhausting spell of haunting.

Hopper was better tempered after his bath, and while we were having breakfast I asked him if he had ever tried to escape.

“I haven’t anywhere to go,” he said, shrugging. “Besides, I have a handcuff on my ankle and it’s locked to the bed. If the bed wasn’t fastened to the floor I might have tried it.”

“What’s the bed got to do with it?” I asked, spreading marmalade on thin toast. It wasn’t easy with one hand.

“The spare key of the handcuff is kept in that top drawer,” he explained, pointing to a chest of drawers against the opposite wall. “They keep it there in case of fire. If I could move the bed I could get to it.”

I nearly hit the ceiling.

“What! In that drawer there?”

“That’s right. No one’s supposed to know, but I saw Bland take if out once when he lost his key.”

I judged the distance between the foot of my bed and the chest of drawers. It was closer to me than to Hopper. If I was held by the ankle I imagined I could reach it. It would be a stretch, but I reckoned I could just do it. But handcuffed as I was by the wrist made it impossible.

“How is it you’re fastened by the leg and I by the wrist?” I asked.

“They fastened me by the wrist at first,” Hopper said indifferently, and pushed his tray aside. “But I found it awkward to read so Bland changed it. If you ask him he’ll change yours. You don’t mind not talking any more, do you? I want to get on with this book.”

No, I didn’t mind. I didn’t mind at all. I was excited. If I could persuade Bland to unfasten my wrist, I might reach the key. It was a thought that occupied me for the next hour.

Bland came in a few minutes to eleven o’clock carrying an enormous vase of gladioli sprays. He set it down on top of the chest of drawers and drew back to admire it.

“Pretty nice, ugh?” he said, beaming. “That’s for the councilmen. It’s a funny thing how these guys go for flowers. The last bunch never even looked at the patients. All they did was to stand around and yap about the flowers.”

He collected the breakfast-trays and took them away, and returned almost immediately. He surveyed us critically, straightened Hopper’s sheet, came over and smoothed out my pillow.

“Now keep just as you are,” he said. “For Pete’s sake, don’t get yourselves untidy. Haven’t you a book?” he asked me.