A. Fair - Bedrooms Have Windows

She looked at me and shook her head.

“You didn’t hire him to shadow your husband?”

“No! Heavens sake, no! I didn’t think for a minute there was anything wrong.”

“You thought your husband was working at the office?”

“Not at the office, but out on a job somewhere.”

“Did he seem as devoted to you the last two weeks as he had before that?”

“Yes — even more so. Just a few days ago when Dover came home I was thinking how fortunate I was. He was complimenting me on the way I looked and... well... it must have been yesterday. It seems like it was ages ago.”

Sellers looked at me.

“How about the insurance?” I asked.

Sellers said to me, “What’s the idea, Master Mind?”

“Nothing,” I said. “Only you’ve been around here churning up the woman’s feelings, and I thought it might be about times you did something constructive for a change.”

“Well, I’ll do the thinking,” Sellers said

Irene Fulton said, “I had him take out insurance just a few months ago. The way the cost of living has been going up he couldn’t save anything — well, not enough. So I had him take out something that would give us protection, fifteen thousand apiece for the children, to put them through school, and ten thousand for me.”

“That’s good,” Sellers said.

“How long ago?” I asked.

“Last fall — and I called up the insurance people and they told me the policies were no good in case of suicide within one year from the date the policies were issued. I get back the first premiums and that’s all. And that’s going to be every cent I’ll have.”

“How about the house?” Sellers asked.

“We own it subject to a big mortgage. I suppose we could get something out of it for our equity. But that would take time — and I’ve got to live somewhere. And then the children…”

She stopped for a moment to appraise the situation.

There was sheer panic in her eyes. “What am I going to do now? How am I going to — good heavens, there won’t be any monthly income at all! There won’t be — there won’t...!”

“Take it easy,” Sellers said.

“Those policies,” I asked, “were they straight life insurance?”

“Yes. They provided for double indemnity in case anything happened to him. You know, in case he died in an automobile accident or anything of that sort. Until he took them out I hadn’t been able to sleep nights wondering what would happen to the children and me in case anything should — well, then it was a load off my mind — and now they won’t pay.”

“That’s right,” Sellers said, “they don’t pay off in case of suicide. Not when it’s within one year.”

There was silence for a moment, then Sellers said, “I’m awfully sorry, Mrs. Fulton, but you’re going to have to take a little ride with me. You’re going to have to go to see a person.”

“Well, if I have to, I have to,” she said. Her voice sounded as though she welcomed the chance to get away.

“You can leave the house all right?”

“Yes, I’ll just lock up. The children are over at the neighbours’.”

“Okay,” Sellers said. “Get ready and come on.”

He glared belligerently at me and said, “And I can get along without any of your comments for a while, Master Mind.”

“Okay by me,” I said. “I can tell you right now you’re going to draw a blank.”

“Never mind the comments,” he said angrily. “I don’t know exactly what I’m going to do about you. I–I wish it had been a murder, then I could have thrown you in the hoosegow.”

I didn’t say anything. Sellers wasn’t in any mood for argument.

Mrs. Fulton got her hat and coat, dashed cold water in her eyes, put on some make-up and joined us.

Sellers drove to the KOZY DELL SLUMBER COURT. The woman came out, looked at Mrs. Fulton and shook her head.

“No?” Sellers asked.

“No,” she said, “The woman who was with him was smaller, a well-formed pint-sized kid, with long hair, high cheekbones, big, darkish eyes, and very full lips.”

“You’re sure you weren’t fooled, not seeing her get out of the car?” Sellers asked.

“Not a chance in the world,” the woman said. “This woman — well, she knows her way around. She’s married. The other one was slinky, well, a little bit frightened. She’d done a little playing around, but she wasn’t accustomed to spending the night in auto camps.”

“Thought you said she was a tramp,” Sellers said.

“Well — put it this way. She was a damn little hypocrite, and she was frightened about something that was due to happen. I thought it was about maybe getting caught on an all-night party. I don’t know. It was something.”

“How do you know this woman’s married?” Sellers asked.

“I can tell ’em as far as I can see ’em. This woman’s settled down. She’s quit thinking of herself. She’s got a home, a kid, probably a couple of ’em. This little tramp last night hadn’t got her man yet and she wasn’t thinking of anybody but herself.”

Sellers said, “You talk like a mind reader.”

“I am,” the woman said. “In this business you’ve got to be.”

“How old was this girl last night?” Sellers asked.

“Younger than this woman, a lot younger.”

“Smaller?”

“Smaller.”

“Lighter?”

“A whole lot lighter.”

Sellers sighed and started the car. “Okay,” he said wearily. “That’s just the way it goes. You have to investigate all of these angles.”

While we were driving back to San Robles, I said casually to Sellers, “What time do you figure the shooting took place, Sellers?”

“Right around ten-fifteen, as nearly as we can determine. You know how it is in a case of that kind. No one pays enough attention to look at the time, and then they have to approximate it afterwards, but it was right around ten-fifteen.”

“Checked up on everybody?” I asked.

“Uh huh,” he said wearily.

“How about Mrs. Fulton?”

“What about her?”

“Checked up on her?”

“What are you getting at?” Mrs. Fulton said.

Sellers cocked a quizzical eyebrow at me.

I said, “You must have had quite a shock last night, Mrs. Fulton. When did you learn your husband was dead?”

“About one o’clock in the morning. The police came and got me out of bed.”

“That’s tough. Of course,” I said, “you thought you had insurance. That must have helped soften the blow.”

“Yes,” she admitted, “I thought I had insurance until I talked with that insurance man. What’s all this about checking up on me?”

“He just wants to know where you were,” Sellers said, grinning. “He’s taking an indirect way of finding out.”

“Where I was! Why, I was home, of course.”

“Anyone else with you?”

“Certainly not. My husband was away. I was there with the children.”

“Where were the children?”

“In bed.”

“I mean at ten-fifteen.”

“That’s when I mean.”

Sellers glanced over at the woman, then looked at me again. “Lam,” he said, “you do get some of the damnedest ideas.”

“Don’t I?”

Sellers said, “Okay, Mrs. Fulton, I hate to rub it in, but just for the record, you could have slipped out of the house, gone down to the KOZY DELL SLUMBER COURT, found your husband down there, made a scene and…”

“Oh, bosh!” she interrupted.

“And that scene,” Sellers went on, “could have been the thing that caused your husband to shoot his sweetheart and commit suicide.”

“Don’t be a sap.”

“There’s something cockeyed about it.”

“In the first place,” she said, “how would I have got down there? I didn’t have a car.”