Puzzle for Fiends (9 page)

“Me, baby? You know me. Five seconds after I said goodnight I was dead to the world.”

She pushed the hair up from the nape of her neck. “Oh, Marny, I had a divine idea last night. I made Gordy learn two verses of your father’s poem against drink. To help him remember.”

“Do any good?”

“No.”

“But it’s a super idea.” Marny’s enthusiasm was a shade too well-trained. “Absolutely super. Where’s the book? Let’s make him learn some more.”

She saw the book on the bedside table, grabbed it up and started to leaf through it. Crazy as it seemed, I started to feel that there was something important about that poem. They seemed unnecessarily eager for me to learn it.

To test them I said: “No more poem, Marny. I’m suffering enough as it is.”

“You’ve got to, Gordy.”

“Yes, baby,” Selena was snuggling against me. “Please, don’t be dismal. Even if it doesn’t help, it’s such fun.”

“First,” said Marny, “repeat the verses you already know.

“I’ve forgotten them,” I lied.

A momentary but a very real alarm showed in Selena’s eyes. I knew then that I’d been right. My learning the poem was part of their plan. I considered carrying on with my pretended forgetfulness. Then I abandoned the idea, I still knew so little. It was dangerous to force an issue at this early date. I grumbled, made a few false starts and then recited the verses.

Their satisfaction was obvious. Marny read a third verse. When I learned that, they were positively purring.

All the time that I was playing this only dimly understood game with them, I was hoping that they would leave before Netti brought my breakfast tray. My plans were no more than half formed, but I knew that my way out of the trap could only come through Netti.

“ ‘Oh, haunt of the Lost and the Losing,

Vile Saloon of Squalorous Sin,

Satan sits there, the wine list perusing,

Luring lads to Damnation with gin.’ ”

Marny was reciting this fourth and even more lugubrious verse when the door opened. Mrs. Friend—I didn’t call her mother in my mind any more—came in. A faint chill settled on me as I saw that she was carrying my breakfast tray.

Gently chiding the girls off my bed, she set the tray down in front of me and kissed me.

“Good morning, darling boy. I hope the girls aren’t worrying you.” She surveyed me with serene affection. “You look better, dear. More rested. Any memories yet?”

“No,” I said.

“We’ve been teaching him Father’s Ode to Aurora, though,” put in Marny. “He’s wonderful, Mimsey. He’s learned four verses.”

If this information was of any importance to her, Mrs. Friend was completely successful in concealing it. She smiled and started to straighten the things on the breakfast tray.

“How very clever of him. He can recite the poem to Mr. Moffat tomorrow. It would be a charming gesture.”

“Mr. Moffat?” I queried.

“A very old friend of your father’s, dear.”

“You know, darling,” said Selena. “The Aurora Clean Living League. I told you.”

“He’s coming tomorrow?” I asked.

Mrs. Friend sat down on the bed, patting at refractory wisps of hair. “It’s the anniversary of your father’s death, Gordy. Just exactly thirty days. Mr. Moffat is making a sort of ceremonial visit of respect. I’m afraid it’ll be on the dismal side, but the least we can do for your poor dear father is to show Mr. Moffat a decent courtesy.”

Both the girls were standing at her side. Mrs. Friend surveyed Marny’s tousled red pajamas and Selena’s white frothy negligée.

“My dears, don’t forget. Plain black tomorrow, mourning black. And no lipstick. I don’t want you denounced as harlots.”

She laughed her deep, amused laugh.

“And Gordy will recite your father’s poems. Yes, that would be delightful, most delightful.”

Selena twisted away, picked up the book of poems and opened it at random.

She chanted:

“ ‘Whether weary or woeful, Aurora

With her amber Olympian arms

Will charm and caress…’ ”

“Listen, isn’t that wonderful? He’s lusting after Aurora now.” She giggled suddenly. “And he can’t even spell. He spells whether W-H-E-T-H—instead of W-E-A-T-H. Really....”

“Really, indeed,” broke in Mrs. Friend with a sigh. “Sometimes I am gravely disturbed by your lack of education, Selena.”

Selena’s face fell. “You mean he spells it right?”

“Of course, dear.”

“Oh, God, I can never remember.” Selena moved to me, grinning. “Darling, do you mind having an illiterate wife?”

I was hardly listening because a plan had come—a small one. The vase of irises had meant something. The vase of irises had been removed when I was asleep. The spaniel, Peter, had meant something too. Where was Peter now?

I grinned at Mrs. Friend. “I’m kind of lonesome for my dog. How about sending him up?”

Mrs. Friend’s expression changed to one of gentle concern.

“Oh, dear, I was so hoping you wouldn’t ask about him.”

“What’s happened?”

“A fever, dear. In the night. The poor little mite, he was shivering like a leaf. And such a hot nose. I do hope it isn’t distemper.” Her steady glance moved from one to the other of the girls. “I had Jan take him in to the vet this morning.” She patted my hand and smiled. “But don’t you worry, dear. The vet’s wonderful. I’m sure he’ll be back with us right as rain in a day or two.”

She rose from the bed. She could even invest the undignified act of getting up with a stately beauty.

“Now, girls, let’s leave poor Gordy to his breakfast. Ours is being brought up to my room so you needn’t bother to dress.”

Ritualistically, one after the other, they gave me a Judas kiss. Mrs. Friend slipped her smooth heavy arms around the two girls’ waists. The three of them, lovingly embracing, moved out of the room.

Alone with my orange juice, coffee, scrambled eggs, and carefully cut squares of toast, I tried to piece together the scraps of information I had obtained. They were so eager to keep me from remembering my real identity that they had removed the irises and disposed of the dog the moment they seemed to provide me with a clue. They were lying to me about the old woman. They wanted me to learn the late Mr. Friend’s ludicrous poem. I was to recite it to Mr. Moffat. Mr. Moffat was arriving tomorrow. My father had died thirty days before—suddenly without warning.

I felt a dim but sinister pattern was there if I only could find it.

I was recovering from the initial shock now and wild schemes started to form. A citizen in a jam calls the police. But how could I call the police, when I was in bed, unable to move without the assistance of the people who were my enemies. No. It would have to be something more practical than that.

As I toyed listlessly with my breakfast, I thought of Netti again. I couldn’t be entirely sure of Netti. She might be as much part of the plot as the others. I had nothing but a hunch and I would have to move cautiously. But Netti had known the old cook, the cook who had been working here when my father died, who had known Gordy Friend and who had hinted dark hints. Selena had said that all the fired servants had been paid by Mr. Friend to spy on them. That meant the fired servants would be against the Friends and potential allies for me. If only Netti knew where the old cook was now and somehow could get in touch with her…

I finished my breakfast and lay back in bed smoking a cigarette from Selena’s platinum case. It seemed a threadbare hope, that deliverance could come from an unknown, fired cook, but... with growing impatience I waited for the sound of footsteps outside which would herald Netti’s arrival to remove the tray.

Because it had to be Netti who would come for the tray.

After a while I heard footsteps outside. The door opened. My hopes were dashed. It was Jan.

The huge Dutchman wore the same navy swimming trunks and blue polo shirt that he had worn the day before. He looked even larger, if possible, and even more amiable. His unruly straw hair tumbled over his forehead. His lips stretched in a smile.

“Hi,” he said.

He gave me the works that morning, carrying me into the bathroom, sponging me all over with warm water and generally tidying me up. The almost loving tenderness with which he ministered to me seemed more ominous than it had the night before. The victim image was in my mind now. As he sprinkled lilac talcum powder over me and rubbed it gently into my skin, he seemed like some priest’s giant slave preparing the Chosen One for sacrifice.

At length I was back again in the smoothed bed with its meticulous hospital corners. He laughed and asked his questioning: “Jah?”

I shook my head. I could think of nothing I could ask Jan with safety.

He tossed back his hair and strode towards the door. He had almost reached it when he turned and, crossing to a side table, picked up the breakfast tray.

“No,” I called.

He turned his head, watching me guardedly over his massive shoulder.

“No,” I said. “The tray. Leave the tray.”

His tanned forehead wrinkled with concentration. He looked at the tray and then at me. Suddenly a grin of understanding came. He brought the tray over to me and pointed down to an unfinished piece of toast.

“Jah?”

“That’s it,” I said.

He continued to stand by the bed. I realized he was planning to wait till I had eaten the toast and then to take the tray.

I shook my head again. “No,” I said. “Leave it. Scram.”

He looked sulky.

“Scram,” I said. I pointed at the door.

He followed the direction of my pointing finger. He seemed to get it then. With a vague shrug, he went out, shutting the door behind him.

It was my first victory. That tray gave me one more chance of Netti.

And my feeble stratagem worked. A few minutes later there was a tap on the door and Netti slipped into the room. Her white maid’s cap was slightly askew on the peroxide hair. In spite of the formal, frilly uniform there was a distinctly blowsy air to her plump figure. Over her left hand and forearm hung a napkin as if she were trying to caricature a headwaiter.

“Jan forgot your tray, Mr. Friend. They sent me up.”

She glanced over her shoulder and then moved conspiratorially to the bed. The gums stretched in an intimate, rather leering smile which, at that moment, was far more welcome to me than Selena’s most alluring blandishments.

Suddenly she whipped the napkin from her left hand, revealing a jigger of liquor clutched between thumb and first finger. She held it out to me.

“Gin,” she said. “Cook sent me to the liquor closet. Had a snort myself. Then you was the first I thought of.”

“Thank you, Netti.”

I took the jigger. She stood watching me with the satisfaction of a mother robin who had just presented her baby with a particularly juicy worm.

The Friends didn’t want me to drink. I was pretty sure of that. I was pretty sure too that even they could not be devious enough to have sent Netti up to tempt me to do something against their own interests. I felt I had Netti summed up then. She was a rummy and she thought I was. The bond between two rummies is a very real one—and exploitable.

I swallowed the gin at one gulp and then winked at her appreciably. She liked that. Giggling, she said:

“Goes down good, don’t it?”

“Sure does.” I stared down into the glass, stalling, forming the right approach.

“I sneaked out a whole tumbler full,” she said suddenly. “I was saving it for my afternoon. But if you could go for another....”

“No, Netti. This’ll hold me.” I looked up at her then. “Know something? Everyone in this house is trying to get my memory back but you’re the only one that helped me so far.”

“Me, Mr. Friend?” She was rubbing her hands up and down the front of the frivolous apron as if they were wet and she was expecting me to shake hands. She giggled. “Why me?”

“Remember yesterday you told me about the old cook? The cook that was fired the day you came here?”

Her face fell. “Oh,” she said, “that old Emma.”

“Emma!” I repeated. “That’s just it, Netti. After you’d gone I suddenly remembered the cook’s name was Emma, and you didn’t tell me. You just talked about the old cook. See?”

She didn’t seem interested.

“Yes,” I said. “That’s very important. That’s the first thing I’ve remembered.” I paused. “Emma was the one who told you about me going off on that toot, wasn’t she?”

“Sure.”

“Guess she didn’t think much of me, did she?”

Netti grimaced. “Oh, her. Church wasn’t holy enough for her. She didn’t go for you at all.” She grinned. “You were sinful.”

“And the rest of the family were sinful too?”

“Your mother? Selena? Marny?” She laughed. “Scarlet women, she called them. No better than street walkers.” She winked. “Gee, I was glad she left. What’d she of called me if she’d stuck around for a couple of days?”

I took her sticky hand and squeezed it. “You’re my pal, aren’t you, Netti?”

She squirmed. “Your pal? Sure I’m your pal, Mr. Friend. You and me’s got things in common.”

“Then maybe you’d do something for me?”

“You bet your life. Want another slug of gin after all?”

I shook my head. “Just tell me what she hinted about me. After all, if she made accusations, I’ve got a right to prove they’re wrong, haven’t I?”

She looked nervous. “What Emma hinted at?”

“You told me yesterday she’d hinted at something about my going off after Father died.”

She laughed suddenly. “Oh, that. That wasn’t nothing. Nothing real. Just crazy foolishness.”

“Even so...”

“It wasn’t nothing. Really.” She patted her back hair and giggled. “I was laughing myself silly inside while she was talking. She said—” she paused, “— she said with you going off real quick like that and your father dying sudden—well, it just looked very funny to her. Maybe you bumped him off. Or if you didn’t, one of the others did.”

She yawned. “That Emma, she couldn’t think of nothing but your father. Thought he was Jesus Christ himself, she did... Jesus Christ with a lot of Satans ganging up on him. If you ask me, she was stuck on him, the dirty old thing.”