Margaret Maron - The Right Jack

"I can only stay a minute," warned Dr. Gill as Sigrid approached. "We finished our round early, but they'll be starting again soon." She smoothed her long red-and-black striped skirt around her short legs. "Five minutes late and it's an automatic forfeit."

"I won't keep you," Sigrid assured her. "Just tell us what happened last night."

"Okay, but if you expect the trained-scientist-notes-all shtick, forget it," she said, brushing back the blonde bangs that threatened to flop over her turquoise glasses.

"I was a little late getting here. You know me. Missed out entirely on the hot canapés and barely had time to grab a glass of wine and find my place before La Ronay gave her little welcome speech and left."

"Did you pay any attention to the people at the far end of your table?"

"Not really. I looked them over, of course. Recognized Professor Sutton. Couldn't put a name to him, but I remembered his face from seeing him interviewed on television last spring. Sounded intelligent. Shame to lose him. Vanderlyn College, wasn't he? Do you suppose Oscar knew him?"

"They were friends," Sigrid said, without expression. "Did you notice anything out of the ordinary? Anything at all?"

"Not really. Well, yes, come to think of it. The woman sitting beside him-Commander Dixon? Very attractive.

Her hair was completely white-bleached, do you suppose?" she wondered aloud. "Because her face was very youthful. At that distance anyhow. I noticed because she kept looking in my direction instead of at the front."

"You thought she knew you?"

"Oh no, she wasn't looking at me. Merely in my direction. Past me, in fact. Toward the refreshment table. But the only people down toward this end were the busboys, the head steward, and that tall, brown-haired girl who just left with that absolutely gorgeous Navy officer. Is he a hare or one of your hounds?"

"He's working with us," Sigrid nodded, "but-"

"My dear, if I were twenty years younger!" her blue eyes twinkled at Elaine Albee behind the rakish swoop of her glasses. "Now you're young enough to set your cap at him," she grinned.

Albee grinned back at the bubbly scientist. "I'm afraid he's already taken, Dr. Gill. You missed his wedding band."

"A bad sign," Jill Gill agreed. "Men who wear their wedding rings always feelm arried. Too bad."

"Could we get back to last night?" Sigrid asked patiently. "Commander Dixon kept looking toward the refreshment table and Ms. Baldwin, and then-?"

"Or the head steward," Dr. Gill reminded her. "He was there, too. Steward… Navy? Perhaps he was a mess steward on her ship once. Or do women officers serve on ships yet?"

"Jill, please?"

"All right, all right," the older woman laughed. "Keep to the subject. La Ronay finished welcoming us. I won't waste a single minute describing how it feels to see a woman the same age as me looking that smashing," she said mischievously. "Even Liz Taylor had the grace to start showing her age when she hit fifty. Not Lucienne Ronay, though. Isn't it disgusting?

"Anyhow, after she left, Mr. Flythe-who's not exactly Homely Henry either, is he?-he reviewed the official rules and then we started to play. I had fantastic luck: three double-double runs in a row! We'd finished our first game and my opponent was shufflingw hen I glanced down the table and saw that Commander Dixon had pushed her chair back and was looking under the table as if she'd dropped something. That's precisely when the bomb went off. After that, it was merry hell for a few minutes."

All laughter had faded from Jill Gill's plump face. "I'm not a medical doctor, but I've had first aid training, of course. There were a pediatrician and a chiropractor in the room. We did what we could until the ambulances came-made a tourniquet for Commander Dixon's arm, lifted the table off that police detective, put a pressure bandage on another man's head-but those two at the very end of the table, Professor Sutton and Mr. Wolferman-they must have died almost immediately. It was hours before the ringing in my ears went away."

She took a deep breath. "Anyhow, your people arrived soon after, so you know the rest."

"Thanks, Jill," said Sigrid. "Too bad you didn't get here when the doors opened. You might have noticeds omeone changing the boards at your table.".

Sigrid had known Jill Gill long enough to discount her disclaimers about her powers of observation. She had learned, to her occasional discomfort, that very little went on in front of those absurd glasses that the scientist didn't notice.

"I've never been early for anything in my entire life," Jill Gill said regretfully.

A small hand bell tinkled at the front of the room to signal the beginning of a new round and she stood reluctantly. "Better go now. Why don't you and Oscar come for dinner next week?"

"You're going to be late for your next deal," Sigrid said.

Dr. Gill laughed. "You don't get out of it that easily. I'll call Oscar tonight."

She trotted away on bright red high heels, her long wool skirt twirling around ankles surprisingly trim for such a plump woman.

Elaine Albee promptly assumed her most professional attitude and tried to look as if she hadn't found Dr. Gill personally interesting as she summarized for the lieutenant the statements she and

Jim Lowry had collected in the blast few hours.

The smudged seating chart lay on the table before them. Albee had highlighted with a yellow marker the names of every one questioned thus far.

A contestant near the end of Table 5, on the opposite side from Jill Gill, had noticed that Tillie had bent down under the table immediately before the explosion.

"That's probably what kept Tillie from being killed outright," Albee speculated. "The table was between him and the bomb when it went off."

So far, no one seemed to have seen the cribbage boards switched.

They had located Haines Froelick's opponent, though, a young electrician who spoke of the older man's politeness and told the detectives that nothing in Mr. Froelick's demeanor had indicated nervousness or jumpy anticipation. The electrician was of the impression that Mr. Froelick had not immediately realized his cousin's proximity to the blast, but admitted that once the explosion occurred, he hadn't noticed Mr. Froelicka gain. Everything was too chaotic.

Val Sutton's opponent, a Japanese businessman named Eisaku Okawara, offered similar testimony when Jim Lowry brought him over to the witness table between rounds. Mr. Okawara spoke excellent English and conscientiously tried to answer their questions, but confessed that occidental facial nuances were a mystery to him. Mrs. Sutton had played skillfully; she had been friendly and smiling. When the blast occurred, she had immediately jumped to her feet and cried, "John!"

Mr. Okawara thought she had rushed toward the back of the room. He himself had prudently made for the main doors and was standing just inside when Madame Ronay and other hotel staff arrived. There had been much screaming and confusion. Madame Ronay had tripped over the little gilt tripod that held the seating chart. Busboys had rushed past, trampling it beneath their feet as they hurried with fire extinguishers to put out the flames. Then had come the firemen, police, and medical personnel, and Mr. Okawara had slipped away toh is room on the sixth floor without seeing Mrs. Sutton again.

He had been distressed this morning to read in the papers that her husband was one of those killed in the blast.

They let him return to his cards. In the lull, Sigrid caught the eye of one of the busboys and requested a glass of water.

"I could bring you juice, coffee, or tea if you'd rather," offered the slim young black man in a soft Southern voice.

"No, thank you, water's all I want," she said, and when he returned with it, she asked, "Were you on duty here last night?"