Brett Halliday - Dolls Are Deadly

“It would upset anyone. Now think hard. Do you have any idea who might want to kill you?”

Shayne had expected a bewildered and positive denial. He was surprised when she said, “Yes.”

“Who is it?”

“It might be-Madame Swoboda.”

“Why should she want to kill you?”

“Maybe she doesn’t. Maybe she’s only trying to frighten me. But she does hate me.”

“Why? And why do you attend her seances then?”

“Because of my husband,” she said sadly. “Because he wants me to-or did at first. Dan’s always been interested in the occult. And he’s superstitious, like all gamblers.”

“Is that his profession-gambling?”

“Oh, no. He’s a real-estate broker. Gambling is his-hobby, he calls it.”

“You don’t call it that?”

“I call it a disease! Lately he’s been burning ‘success candles’ that he gets from Madame Swoboda-the pink ones.” She leaned forward, snuffing out her cigarette in an ash tray with unnecessary violence. “But Dan isn’t the only reason I’ve been going to the seances. Since their son was killed, my sister, Mabel, and her husband have been going to Madame Swoboda’s, too-in the hope of talking to Jimsey.”

“And have they?”

Clarissa smiled wryly, the first change her face had shown. “They think they have. There’s a voice. It doesn’t sound much like Jimsey’s to me, but Madame Swoboda would claim that’s because of the cosmic distance it has to travel. The voice says characterless things like, ‘I miss you Mommy and Daddy, but I’m happy here.’ And garbled things that start out as if they’re going to be important, but that never quite come off. There’s nothing to prove it’s Jimsey. He doesn’t answer questions. After a few sentences he’ll say he’s tired from breaking through and wants to go back. That sort of thing.”

She paused, clenching her hands again tightly in her lap. “It outrages me to see them so taken in.”

Shayne rubbed his lean jaw and turned his eyes to the window for a moment. “Still, even if your husband and your sister and her husband go, why do you have to, if you believe Madame Swoboda is a fake? And especially if you suspect that she sent you the doll? Incidentally, you haven’t told me yet why you think she might want to-at least-frighten you.”

Tears welled suddenly in the woman’s eyes and she seemed, in that instant, unable to move. She let them form and roll down her cheeks before she brought up the handkerchief to wipe them away. “I’m losing my husband,” she said in a barely audible voice. “I thought at first that if I did what Dan wanted, if I attended the seances and tried to see things his way, it would give us a mutual interest that might bring us close again. Now-” she swallowed hard to quell the rising sob-“I think he’s in love with Madame Swoboda.”

“In love with Madame Swoboda?” Shayne’s incredulous eyes rested on the classic loveliness of Clarissa’s face.

“Yes. She isn’t what you think, Mr. Shayne. Madame Swoboda is no raggle-tag gypsy. I don’t know what her real name is, but she’s young-younger than I am-and devastating, from a male point of view. I’ve watched Dan look at her, and other men too. She’s beautiful and cool, but there’s fire underneath. She’s not spiritual, she’s earthy. And she’s soulless!”

“She sounds dangerous,” Shayne murmured appreciatively. “Did your husband tell you he was in love with her?”

“No, but he’s asked for a divorce.” She fell silent, then said, “I wouldn’t-I couldn’t! — give it to him. I love him too much.”

“Might he have left you the doll?”

Clarissa raised one pale hand uncertainly to push a wisp of gold hair back into the bun. “I don’t know. Dan believes in black magic himself to some extent. He’s like a child that way. That’s why, at first, I didn’t want to come to see you. I think I was afraid of what you might find out. You see, Mr. Shayne, I’m heavily insured.” Her voice trailed off.

“Assume for the moment that Swoboda left you the doll. Why did she? To frighten you off so she can marry your husband? Is she in love with him? Could she profit financially or any other way by marrying him?”

“I don’t see how she could profit in any other way, and I don’t know if she is in love with him or not. I only sense how Dan feels about her. But Madame Swoboda hates me for another reason that has nothing to do with Dan. I was concerned about Mabel, my sister-she’s been so terribly upset since Jimsey was killed and so has Percy-and I didn’t want them to live on the false hope they get from seances. The strain is awful and I was afraid they might crack up. So I went to Madame Swoboda the other day and accused her of being a fraud and capitalizing on people’s tragedies and fears, and I threatened to turn her over to the police.” Clarissa paused thoughtfully. “It was curious. My threat seemed to frighten her more than I expected it would.”

“She didn’t agree to stop the seances, though.”

“No. She refused to accept any responsibility for Mabel or Percy or any of her clients, I guess you’d call them. She insisted that it was the spirits who spoke through her, and she was only the host, the medium through which they spoke. And then I made a beaut of a mistake. I said the spirits spoke to me, too, and they told me she was trying to steal my husband. I said she’d never do it, except over my dead body.

“She said, ‘It would be a pleasure that way!’ So you see, if she didn’t already have the idea of getting Dan away from me, I gave it to her.”

Clarissa fumbled unsteadily in her purse, took out a pack of cigarettes and offered one to Shayne, waiting until he had lit them both before she added, “The worst of it is that now I’m so jealous I can’t bear to let Dan go to the seances alone. So I’ll have to face her again.”

“Tonight?”

Clarissa nodded and, for the first time, allowed anger to creep into her voice. “It outrages me to see her victimize Mabel and Percy, but they refuse to miss a night. That’s another reason I go. If she plays too much on their emotions, if they break down or go to pieces, I want to be there to help them.”

“I understand. Now, let’s go back to something you said a minute ago. When you threatened to turn Swoboda over to the police you say she seemed frightened.”

“Yes. She laughed, but it was a nervous laugh-too loud and too long. Then she began to defend herself. She said she was operating scrupulously within the law. She was an entertainer, nothing more. I thought she protested too much.”

“She might have a criminal record,” Shayne said. “I’ll check on it.”

“Then you will take the case?”

“I’ll take it.” He smiled reassuringly. “I’ll be at the seance tonight too. What time does it start?”

“At eight. But you have to be there at a quarter of. They won’t let you in after it starts.”

“That doesn’t leave me much time, but I’ll make it-with a reporter from the News. We’ll blow this thing wide open.”

She looked up gratefully, her eyes warm. “I’m glad I came to you. It was for myself at first-I wanted to find out who sent the doll because I was afraid-but if you can help Mabel and Percy too by exposing this criminal fraud…” Her voice trailed off into a little sigh of weariness.

“A last question before you go, Mrs. Milford.” From the first, the circumstances of two such dissimilar people as Henny Henlein and Clarissa Milford receiving the voodoo dolls had intrigued Shayne. “Does the name Henry Henlein mean anything to you?”

She thought a moment and said, “No.”

“Or Henny Henlein? He’s a local hoodlum, or was.”

“I’m sure I never heard of him.”