Jonathan Latimer - Red Gardenias

"Old Jonathan March s idea," Talmadge explained, "was to provide a backlog for the family, a place they could return to when defeated by the outside world."

"He didn t know his grandsons would nick the world for about twenty million dollars," Dr Woodrin said.

"I think it s a nice idea," Crane said. "Is the land worth anything now?"

"About five thousand dollars," Talmadge said.

"It s swell for duck shooting," Dr Woodrin said.

"We wouldn t sell it if we could," Talmadge agreed. "Besides, the doctor wouldn t let us. He s been appointed trustee for the Jonathan March Estate."

"It s a responsible job," Carmel said, smiling. "Administering an estate worth five thousand dollars."

"Five thousand is a lot of money as far as I m concerned," Dr Woodrin said.

Charley brought them their drinks. Crane was surprised to see Alice March had switched to pernod and water. He had had one unfortunate experience with this substitute for absinthe and he had respect for anyone who could drink it.

Pouring his ale into a tilted glass, Dr Woodrin inquired, "What kind of a shot are you, Crane?"

"I m fine with a machine gun."

Carmel laughed. She appeared, no doubt because of the martinis, quite gay. "I don t believe we have a machine gunner in Marchton s upper set."

Alice March downed half her pernod, looking as serene as the plump mothers old Italian masters put on canvas. Admiring her fortitude, Crane drank his double scotch.

Carmel said, "I do my best work with a pearl-handled automatic."

"That s fine for close work," Crane said. "Nothing like it for a hand-to-hand encounter with a duck." Alice March said, "Carmel s noted for her close work."

A bellhop in a maroon uniform with two vertical rows of gold buttons halted by the table. "Mr Crane?"

Crane said, "I believe I am."

"Telephone," the Bellhop said. "Telephone what?"

"For you, sir."

"For me? A telephone? What kind of a telephone?"

"A telephone call, sir."

"How disappointing!" He stood up, made a sweeping bow. " Kindly pardon me." He followed the bellhop.

He heard Talmadge say, "A bit high, I d say." He heard Dr Woodrin say, "Makes Richard look like a teetotaler." He heard Carmel say, "I like him."

He felt very pleased he had fooled them into thinking he was drunk. He giggled a little at the thought of his cleverness, bumped into a man, said, "Excuse me many times." He carried out his role so thoroughly he had to be helped into the phone booth.

He spoke into the phone. "Crane amp; Company, novelties, knickknacks, knickers."

It was Ann Fortune. She said, "I thought so."

"I can t help it," he said. "I ve been plied with drinks by a mysterious Russian lady."

"I bet."

"And by a man named Talmadge March. He s going to foreclose our mortgage." Ann said, "I ve traced Delia."

"Unhand us, Talmadge March," Crane said. Ann said, "I ve traced Delia."

"Huh? Delia? Oh, Delia. How?"

"Simple deduction."

Crane groaned. "Please. You sound like Philo Vance. Pretty soon you ll be dropping your g s."

"If you come home I ll drive you to the Brookfield house."

"In whose car?"

"Peter March left one here for us."

"For us," Crane repeated ominously. "I suppose you ve been roistering with him all afternoon?"

"Why, yes, I have."

"Why isn t he at work?" he demanded. "Why does he have to fiddle around our little dovecot while I freeze, careening from ice cube to ice cube?"

"Aren t you getting your metaphors a little mixed?"

"What s a metaphor, if not to mix?"

There was no answer, and Crane considered the telephone mouthpiece darkly for a moment. "I suppose I can come out. I suppose you called the office and got everybody aware of the fact I wasn t there, anyway."

"I didn t call the office," Ann said. "But, how did — "

"I simply asked the telephone operator to ring the best bar in town."

That morning, after she had conferred with Beulah about dinner, Ann Fortune put on her black caracul coat, freshened her lipstick and called a taxi.

"The nearest dairy," she told the driver.

This was her first attempt at detection and she felt a little excited. She wondered if the trail would lead her into one of those situations she had so often seen in the William Powell-Myrna Loy movies: possibly to a penthouse with a suave villain from whom she would be saved in the nick of time by the arrival of Bill Crane.

The only trouble was that she felt no confidence in the arrival of Bill Crane anywhere in the nick of time; he was more likely to stop for a drink on the way and come too late.

Not that she didn t like Bill Crane; it was just that he didn t seem to take things seriously. Take the case they were working on: Richard March and John March dead from gas, and Simeon March accusing Carmel, his daughter-in-law, of having murdered them. It was a serious affair! But Bill, apparently, wasn t doing anything about it. He acted as though they were on one of those Long Island house parties he used to take her to in New York when he wasn t working. He acted…

"This do, miss?" the driver asked.

It was the Prima Dairy. She smiled a little at the squat white building. It didn t look like the sort of place Myrna Loy would be detecting in.

However, she did find out something. Her smile almost disorganized the young clerk who took her order for milk and cream, but he retained possession of enough faculties to tell her that the dairy had the only rural service for Brookfield and Blue Lake in Marchton.

Delia s note telling Richard to shut off milk deliveries must have been written two summers ago since Richard had been dead since February. Ann asked the clerk if he could find a Brookfield account in which the milk had been shut off for a week end around the middle of July of that year.

The clerk discovered that a Saturday two summers ago had come on July nineteenth. Under Delivery Stop Orders on that date he found one for a Raymond Maxwell, 12 February Lane, Brookfield.

Under the M file in the regular account book, the clerk found the house on February Lane was owned by a Charles G. Jameson, Brookfield real-estate operator.

Bills had been paid by postal money orders, but there was a letter from Mrs Maxwell, opening the account. Ann s heart jumped when she caught sight of purple ink and Delia s large handwriting.

The clay road to Brookfield was so thickly lined with trees it seemed as though the sedan was going through a long tunnel. Crane brooded over the lecture he had just been given on the evils of strong drink. A warm afternoon sun sent saffron rays angling through elms and oaks and maples, spotlighted bright masses of party-colored leaves. In the air there was a smell of smoke.

He had to admit, though, Ann had done a neat piece of detection in tracing Delia through the dairy. "I guess I owe you a bottle of milk," he said.

"Champagne," Ann said.

"All right. What kind of champagne do you like?"

"Demi-sec, in magnums."

"You ll get it," he said, and added, "I hope it makes you very sec."

This terrible pun made him feel better and he told her what he d heard in the taproom.

He told her about the discovery of Richard s body, of the lipstick on his face, and of the smell of gardenia on his coat. They wondered why Talmadge March had tried to trap Carmel. Or had it been his idea of a joke?

"I m beginning to think Richard was having an affair with Carmel," Crane said.

"In addition to our Delia?"

"Richard was a gay dog."

"Do you think Carmel d deceive her husband with his first cousin?" Ann asked. "I don t know."

A break in the tunnel of trees brought them out into bright sunlight. On the right was a black field, stacked evenly with Indian tepees of cornstalks, and dotted with plump, bright pumpkins. A black-and-white calf, chained to a fence post, grazed in the ditch beside the road.