Howard Fast - The Case of the Poisoned Eclairs

“I’m not certain. But whoever the killer is, he links the four of you together. Apparently, he knows all of you, what your tastes are, what your habits are. Now tell me, do you know William Fuller, the director?”

She hesitated just a moment. “Yes, I do.”

“Do you know Monte Sweet?”

“No, not personally. I never met him.”

“Do you know Monte Sweet?” he asked Nancy Legett.

She shook her head.

He turned to Mitzie Fuller.

She smiled and shook her head. “No; not really.”

“What does that mean, not really?” Masuto asked.

“You’re worse than my analyst,” Mitzie said. “It means just that-not really.”

He turned back to Laura Crombie. “We have three women whose ex-husbands have motives, if not for murder at least for hatred. What about your ex-husband, Mrs. Crombie?”

She shrugged. “Since this is naked time, I’ll let down my hair with the rest. When I married Arthur Crombie three years ago, he didn’t have a red penny. I’m a very wealthy woman. Even then, I was not poor. I put Arthur into the real estate business. Oh, he isn’t stupid. He’s damn smart, but he just loused up everything he touched. This time, for some reason, it was different. He got into it just as property values out here began to skyrocket. He had been a real estate agent before, so he knew the ropes, and he specialized in very expensive homes. Today he has one of the hottest businesses in town. Then, six months after we were married, my father died. I was the only heir, and the estate came to something over seven million. Arthur got his share of that, since it was I who was pleading for the divorce, not him. In other words, today Arthur is a millionaire because the lady you are looking at is a damn fool. Murder me? He ought to erect a monument to me.”

Masuto nodded and waited.

“That’s it.”

“Do you have any children, Mrs. Crombie?”

“No!” hard and short.

Nancy Legett was staring at her. Masuto watched her, then looked at Laura.

Beckman came back into the kitchen. Masuto guessed that he had searched every corner of the house. Beckman would do it that way. He looked at Beckman, and Beckman said softly, “Okay.”

Masuto waited. Finally, she said, “Yes. I told you. But what difference does it make? How does it come into this?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know how anything comes into this. I’m trying to find out.”

“I had a daughter,” Laura said bleakly. “She’s dead. I told you that this morning.”

“Please tell me more about it.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m trying to save lives.”

“She’s dead. It has nothing to do with this.”

“I don’t want to go elsewhere and pick up shreds of gossip. I want you to tell me.”

“There’s nothing to tell. My daughter was killed in an automobile accident. Have you ever lost a child, Sergeant Masuto? Would you find it amusing to discuss?” With that, she leaped to her feet and strode out of the room.

“She can’t talk about it,” Nancy Legett said to him. “It was over three years ago, and it doesn’t get any better. Kelly was a beautiful, wonderful child.”

“Kelly?”

“They called her Kelly. Her real name was Catherine. Laura lived for the child-especially after Laura’s first husband died. We don’t all make rotten marriages. Laura’s first marriage was a good one,” Nancy said.

“Do you know whether Arthur Crombie was in the army?”

“Yes, he was a pilot in Korea. He still flies. He has his own plane now.”

“And did you know Arthur Crombie?” Masuto asked Mitzie.

“Yes-not too well. About a week ago, he called me and then came to my house.”

“Why?”

“You know what’s going on in the real estate market here in California. It’s even worse in Beverly Hills. The moment word gets around that you might want to sell your house, they descend on you like scavengers. Crombie heard that I wanted to sell my house, and he came by to look at it.”

“And do you want to sell it?”

“I think so. It’s a huge barn of a place on Palm Drive, and it makes no sense for me to go on living there. My life with Fuller was quick and merry. We were married only six months. Things still aren’t settled. As soon as they are, I’ll sell the house.”

“And when he was there, did anything out of the way happen? Anything he might have asked you?”

“About my house?”

“About anything.”

She shook her head. “No. Nothing unusual. Just the general questions-you know, how is the plumbing and does the roof leak and that sort of thing. It’s an old house, a big Spanish Colonial, so it’s far from perfect.”

“And that’s the only time you saw Arthur Crombie?”

Did she hesitate? Was there something in her large blue eyes? If it was there, it was gone instantly. She was an amazingly self-controlled young woman, Masuto decided.

“Yes. The only time.”

Laura Crombie returned to the room. “I’m sorry,” she said to Masuto. “I behaved like an emotional fool. But this has been a terrible day, Sergeant.”

“I know that.”

“There are pains that go away. The loss of a child is not one of them,” she said.

“I know that too.”

“How long are you going to keep us here in this house?”

“I’m not keeping you here. I have no authority to keep you here. I suggest very strongly that the three of you spend the night here, and that no one leave the house tomorrow until I see you.”

“And when will that be?”

“Some time tomorrow afternoon, I hope.”

“I have a luncheon date and a hairdresser appointment,” Mitzie Fuller said, “not to mention a date that I broke tonight and put off until tomorrow.”

“I hope you’ll be able to keep your date. I suggest you cancel the luncheon and the hairdresser appointment.”

“Who’s going to scragg me at Tony Cooper’s?”

“Stop it, Mitzie,” Nancy said. “He’s deadly serious.”

“Can you put up Detective Beckman? I want him to stay here tonight.”

“If I have to give him my own bed,” Laura said. “Right now, the only men in the world who interest me are oversized policemen. But must I have that uniformed policeman standing outside my door?”

“He’ll leave,” Masuto told her. “Detective Beckman can take care of anything that might come up.”

Beckman walked with him to the front door. “Well?” he asked.

“It takes shape. Not too clearly, but at least it begins to take on some shape,” Masuto said.

“You wouldn’t like to tell me about it? Because for me it don’t have any shape at all.”

“Not yet.”

“The house is wired with an alarm system,” Beckman said. “The downstairs windows are locked. For that matter, so are those upstairs. The place is air conditioned. You don’t mind if I get some sleep?”

“Not at all.”

“You’re all heart, Masao. When can I leave this place?”

“Some time tomorrow.”

“When?”

“When I’ve picked up that murderous bastard.”

The Zen Master

It was just past one o’clock in the morning when Masuto pulled his car into the driveway of his house in Culver City. He closed the car door softly and turned the key in the lock of the kitchen door just as softly. The light was on in the kitchen, and on the kitchen table a note that said, “If you are hungry, there are things in the refrigerator.” It was neither a friendly nor an unfriendly note. There was no greeting and no word of affection.

As quietly as he had entered the house, Masuto undressed in the bathroom, and then he slid into bed next to Kati, who appeared to be asleep. One session had apparently changed her. On other nights, she would somehow have managed to remain awake and have a hot drink and hot food waiting for him. Tonight, nothing.