Brett Halliday - Murder and the Married Virgin

Ignoring her father, Clarice went on, “That’s my theory. I don’t believe the necklace was stolen in that robbery. I think somebody in this house snatched it yesterday thinking it would be laid to the burglar. Why, it might have even been someone in the house working hand in hand with the burglar,” she added, as though the idea had suddenly come to her.

“Clarice!” her father repeated sharply.

“Isn’t it a good theory?” she demanded of Shayne.

“It makes sense,” he agreed. “Who’s your candidate?”

“Katrin,” she said viciously. “She was always snooping around. She helped mother change that night and must have known it wasn’t locked up in the safe. And she cleaned up mother’s room afterward.”

Mrs. Lomax said languidly, “That’ll do, Clarice. What do you think, Mr. Shayne? Why did the poor girl commit suicide on the eve of her wedding?”

“I had hoped some of you could help me figure that out,” Shayne told her.

“Katrin stole the necklace, I tell you,” Clarice said sullenly. “She was in love with some poor man and was frantic to marry him before Lieutenant Drinkley got here. Then she had an attack of conscience after doing it.”

“What makes you think she wasn’t in love with the lieutenant?” Shayne’s voice was harsh.

Clarice frowned. “Are you going to give us the third degree or something? Maybe she was in love with him, but I think she knew their marriage wouldn’t work out. Ted Drinkley didn’t really love her, you know,” she ended smugly.

“That’s what you think,” an ironic voice interrupted. “After all the passes you made at him, you keep kidding yourself he’s in love with you.”

“Eddie!” Mr. Lomax chided warningly.

Shayne jerked himself around to face a young man of medium height with pudgy features and a pimpled, unhealthy complexion. A mop of ash-blond hair grew low on his forehead and his eyes were pale blue like his father’s. He wore dark blue trousers and a shirt emblazoned with big red poppies, the short tail of which hung outside his trousers. He looked like a college boy who wanted desperately to be tough. His shoulders sloped forward and he swaggered as he advanced to join the group around the fireplace.

“Mr. Shayne,” said Nathan Lomax, “this is our son, Eddie.”

“You’re the detective? You got any clues yet?” The boy flopped into a chair and let his knees fall wide apart and put the toes of his shoes together. His mouth stayed open after asking the questions. He looked up at Shayne and his blond lashes touched his thick, overhanging brows.

“I’m gathering a few clues,” Shayne told him. “Where were you last night?”

“Me?”

“You.” Shayne took a step toward him and his voice was hard as he continued, “You folks act as if none of this touches you. A necklace worth a hundred and fifty thousand dollars has been stolen and a girl has been murdered…”

“Murdered!”

Shayne turned quickly to see Mrs. Lomax sitting up. There was a look of terror, or of horror, in her black eyes. She sank back immediately, saying, “Oh-no. Katrin committed suicide,” and her eyes grew languorous again.

“You seem to be very certain of suicide, Mrs. Lomax,” Shayne said, “perhaps you can tell me the reason.” He looked steadily down at her.

Mrs. Lomax avoided his gaze. “I don’t know the reason,” she answered, “but anyone can see that it couldn’t have been murder.”

The muscles in Shayne’s cheeks quivered and a frown trenched his brow. He wondered whether the fleeting terror in her eyes was intended to distract his attention from Eddie, or shock at his announcement that Katrin had been murdered. Her lowered lashes made her eyes inscrutable.

He turned again to Eddie and repeated, “Where were you last night?”

Mr. Lomax had been politely standing while Shayne stood. He sank into his chair and ran a trembling hand over his bony scalp.

Eddie shifted his eyes to his father and murmured, “Murdered,” in a stricken tone.

Shayne made a savage gesture. “Katrin Moe may have turned on the gas with her own hand, but she was forced into it by something-or someone. Where were you last night?”

Eddie dragged his gaze from his father and along the carpet to his pointed-in toes. “It’s none of your business,” he burst out. “I didn’t-”

“If you’ve nothing to hide you’d better tell him, son,” his father advised.

“And for heaven’s sake close your mouth,” Clarice said scornfully. “You’re drooling.”

“Keep your own trap shut,” Eddie snapped. “What is this? A pinch? What right has he got to know where I was last night?”

“I think this is what they call routine,” Mrs. Lomax said in the short silence that followed.

“You didn’t come home to dinner last night, Eddie,” Mr. Lomax reminded him.

“I didn’t get home until two o’clock,” Eddie admitted sullenly. “The cops say Katrin was dead by that time, so what does it matter where I was?”

“How old are you?” Shayne asked.

“I’m twenty-one.”

Shayne stood on wide-spread legs before him. “For the last time, where were you last night?”

Eddie cowered away from him. “Different places just bumming around,” he mumbled, “from ten till two. I was at the Laurel Club most of the time,”

Mr. Lomax said, “Eddie!” reproachfully.

“Well, that’s about the only place in town where I’m welcome with the money I get to spend,” he snapped. “Dan Trueman’s a good egg.”

“Anybody see you at the Laurel Club?” Shayne interposed.

“Sure. Lots of people. Dan saw me leave just before two o’clock. Sis knows he did.” He glanced angrily at Clarice.

Clarice glared back.

“Clarice-at the Laurel Club?” Mr. Lomax frowned, “You know that’s not true. Clarice was at the Country Club dance.”

“Maybe she started out at the Country Club,” Eddie told him, ignoring his sister’s warning look, “but at two o’clock she was at the Laurel Club. The sedan was parked in the driveway and Neal was waiting for her. That’s how I came to see Dan. He was talking with Neal when I came out.”

Shayne stepped back nearer the grate and watched the trio narrowly.

Mr. Lomax’s white hands lolled on his emaciated legs, but there was anger in his murky eyes. He asked, “Is this true, Clarice?”

Clarice’s eyes flashed. She said, “You act as if I should be kept wrapped up in cellophane. Sure, I dropped by there. I was bored at the dance. There wasn’t anybody to dance with, so I asked Neal to drive me some place where there was a little excitement.”

Mrs. Lomax’s face was passive. She lay inert on the chaise longue with her eyes half closed.

“I’ll have a talk with Neal,” Mr. Lomax said after a short silence. There was a harsh implication in his voice that caused Shayne to glance hastily at him. He looked white and shaken, and blood pulsed in the raised purple veins on his chalky hands.

“I’m sure it wasn’t Neal’s fault, Nathan,” Mrs. Lomax said calmly. “He’s just the chauffeur and has to drive where he’s told.”

“When Neal takes Clarice out I expect him to look after her,” her husband stated flatly.

“You sound so dreadfully Victorian, Dad.” Clarice laughed shrilly and got up. She smoothed her skirt over her slim hips and stretched her torso upward, accentuating her small pointed breasts. Glancing at Shayne, she said, “I’m sure you find this discussion just too, too interesting.”

“I’m learning a lot.” Shayne’s mouth was grim. “Did you see your brother at the Laurel Club?”

“No. I didn’t go back to the gambling room. I just had a cocktail and came on home.” She gave a sniff of disdain and added, “The Laurel Club was pretty tame, too.”