Тэлмидж Пауэлл: The Second Talmage Powell Crime MEGAPACK™: 20 More Classic Mystery Stories

“Hey,” Biff said, “what’s the idea?”

Uncle Joe crossed a finger on his lips for silence. He stood listening for a moment, then said, “Can’t hear her from here, like I could from the windows of my room. Come on.”

Before Biff had a chance to question him, Uncle Joe had crossed the room and was sliding back the glass panel that yielded on the patio. A breeze had freshened with the coming of darkness, and now it was sighing almost angrily through the stand of royal palms whose shadows marked the twining driveway. Far beyond the swaying banana plants and poinsettias of the profuse garden, a glimmering necklace of light marked the causeway connecting the island of plush estates with the mainland, where Sarasota cast a diffused glow against scudding clouds.

The shadows folded about Uncle Joe as he stalked toward the greenhouse where Aunt Ethel had grown her prize orchids.

“Uncle Joe,” Biff said, tagging behind, “what in blazes...”

“Shhh! Listen!”

Biff bumped into him as Uncle Joe jerked to a stop. From beyond the greenhouse, a woman’s voice was calling: “Joseph... Dear, the orchids... Don’t let my flowers die, Joseph...”

“Somebody,” Uncle Joe muttered tightly, “is a darn good mimic. Sounds just like Ethel.”

“What are you talking about, Uncle Joe?”

“The voice, of course.” Uncle Joe snapped. “Listen... there it is again!”

From the darkness came a thin wailing, a disembodied plea for Uncle Joe to give the orchids tender care.

Biff winced as Uncle Joe grabbed his arm. “Biff, I know blamed well you heard her that time!”

“Not a thing, Uncle Joe. Just the wind...” Biff touched Uncle Joe gently on the shoulder. “Just take it easy. You’re having a tough time believing Aunt Ethel is really dead, that’s all.”

Uncle Joe shook Biff’s hand away. He gave Biff a strange look. “I’m more aware of the fact than anyone else,” Uncle Joe bit out. “I also know that the dead don’t come back and talk!”

“Sure they don’t,” Biff agreed smoothly, “at least so that just anybody can hear them.”

Uncle Joe kept staring at Biff, and Biff had a satisfying glimpse of glinting, clammy sweat on Uncle Joe’s pale face.

“Biff, why would you pretend not to hear that voice?”

“I wasn’t pretending. But if it’ll make you feel any better, I’ll pretend that I did.”

Uncle Joe’s gaze drifted to the shadows of the greenhouse. “ Somebody was out there. Biff...”

“Yes, Uncle Joe?”

“Where is Reena?”

“Reena?” Biff echoed. “Why, in her room of course.”

“You certain about that?”

“Certain,” Biff said glibly. “She had a headache — too much sun on the beach today — and went to bed early. I looked in on her just before you busted into the Florida room.”

Biff enfolded Uncle Joe’s taut shoulders with his arm. “Have a nice tall toddy, Uncle Joe. Relax. Get some sleep. You’ll feel better tomorrow.”

Later, Biff watched Reena brush her hair at her dressing table. He stood behind her with a nightcap drink in his hand. Their eyes met in the mirror.

“You were perfect darling,” he grinned.

Her brush paused in mid-stroke. “I heard what he said out there, Biff. Sounded for a second like he was onto us.”

“He was scared and desperate for a logical explanation,” Biff assured her. He patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry, baby. He’s a tough old codger, but by the time we’re through with him, he’ll be walking on his hands!”

Uncle Joe kept to his room most of the next day. Just before nightfall, Biff, from the Florida room, saw Uncle Joe sneak to the greenhouse, and he smiled thinly as he watched Uncle Joe prowl about. It’s getting to him, Biff decided with warm satisfaction; he’s less sure of himself with every passing hour.

Shortly after midnight, Biff heard the sound for which he was waiting — a yell from Uncle Joes room, the banging of a door — and he entered the hallway as Uncle Joe rushed past.

Biff took a leaping step, caught Uncle Joe’s arm. “What is it, Uncle Joe? Prowler in the house?”

“Out there, hovering over the far end of the greenhouse,” Uncle Joe was breathing hard. “Ghostly figure... wearing a white lace dress. Ethel’s dress. I’d recognize it anywhere.”

Uncle Joe broke away, and Biff had to run to catch up with him in the patio.

Uncle Joe jarred to a stop, jerked up an arm, and pointed. “Look, Biff, going around the side of the greenhouse!”

A white figure seemed to flow along the side of the greenhouse in supernatural silence.

“What is it, Uncle Joe? I don’t see a thing.”

A stiffness settled through the old man’s body. He drew in a breath. “Biff, I know what I saw. And I’m not crazy. I tell you, I’m definitely not crazy!”

“Of course not,” Biff soothed. “Come on. We’ll have a drink. It’ll relax you and you can get some sleep.”

Biff led the way into the kitchen. While he mixed a pair of stiff drinks and pressured one into Uncle Joe’s hand, Biff chatted about the weather, the upcoming regatta at the yacht club, and Uncle Joe’s Friday golf dates with Dr. Ned Barringer, the wealthy psychiatrist who was Uncle Joe’s oldest friend.

“Maybe,” Biff said mildly, “you ought to ask Barringer about these voices and visions.”

“I don’t need Ned Barringer in a professional capacity,” Uncle Joe snorted. “Never have. Never will.” Biff smiled to himself. Uncle Joe’s quick vehemence was a clue to the uncertainty and fear growing within him.

Uncle Joe finished off his drink, then snapped his fingers as a sudden thought came to him. He wheeled and hurried out.

Biff followed. “What is it, Uncle Joe?”

Uncle Joe didn’t answer. He strode across his bedroom to the adjacent dressing room, yanked open a closet door, and then just stood, staring at the white lace dress.

“It was positively scrumptious,” Biff told Reena when they were alone in their room, “that look on his face.”

“Good thing you kept him in the kitchen and gave me plenty of time to put the dress back,” Reena said. She wriggled more comfortably in her boudoir chair and sipped a drink.

Biff leaned down and kissed her lightly. “We’re a terrific team, darling. It was wonderful, really inspired, your standing on the ladder at the far end of the greenhouse for the first appearance. Seemed as though the figure in the lace dress was hovering against the sky.”

Reena reached and tousled his hair. “I do believe you’re enjoying the game, darling.”

“Who wouldn’t, with a fortune on the table? Aren’t you?”

“More fun than a Beaux Arts masquerade,” Reena assured him.

Biff paced the carpet, rubbing his palms together. “Sure you’ve got everything in order for tomorrow?”

“To the last detail,” Reena promised. “I’ve the photograph of Aunt Ethel. The artist in Sarasota is a genius, no less, as well as money hungry and most discreet. Don’t worry. By tomorrow night we’ll have a death mask of Aunt Ethel so lifelike you’ll expect it to speak.”

“Luminous, don’t forget,” Biff said. “One that glows in the dark. While you’re across the bay tomorrow getting the mask fixed up, I expect I should phone Dr. Ned Barringer. It’s time for the worried and solicitous nephew to ask a question or two about his uncle’s condition...”

Biff timed his phone call to intercept Barringer as the doctor was preparing to go to lunch. Biff chatted about Uncle Joe’s golf game for a moment, then his voice broke lamely, “To tell you the truth, doctor, I’d like you to make the usual Friday date this week something more than a round of golf.”

“In what way?” Barringer had a quiet voice that, even so, suggested substance and command.