Tooner Schooner (15 page)

“They will find something many times more valuable than gold.”

“Oil?” Ethelbert’s voice was eager.

“The most valuable commodity in the world today. Do not let it slip through your fingers, my dear. You have earned your right to share in the wealth that is rightfully yours. You will lose it all by one false move. Your associate is not free to make all this legally yours, so that no one can ever take it away from you. The world is full of men who are birds of prey, waiting to swoop down on her, especially at this time in her life when she is starving for flattery. One of them will force her into divorcing her husband and remarrying. Where would you stand then? The lines in your hand that run to the mound of material wealth and security stem from the marriage line. You have never been married.”

“Oh, I’m free, all right,” Ethelbert boasted. “But I’d be in an awful mess if all this money didn’t pan out the way you say.”

“I’m sorry.” Madam’s voice was very kind, but carried overtones of shutting-up-for-the-night. “I am so sorry I was not able to help you. You deserve it.”

“Now wait a minute, Madam! I never said…”

“I am sorry. But you have not the faith. You do not qualify, if you will forgive me for saying so. One of my most successful clients sold all her real estate holdings when I told her to. Less than six months later she held the controlling block of stock in an international merger that is now history.”

“That’s for me!” Ethelbert cried. “That’s the ticket, Madam.”

“It is,” Madam Gazza agreed, “for those who believe in me.”

“Well…if you say so, Madam. What the hell? I could always get a divorce if it didn’t pan out.”

“You may manage to get yourself a legal claim to a share of her holdings, but it will not be easy.”

“I’ve wondered about that some myself. What she’s getting out of him is just peanuts.”

“You would hate to see yourself losing what you have worked so hard for. You must make her think marrying you is all her own idea.”

“Oh, that’ll not be hard. She’s had that idea for quite some time.”

“If there were some means by which you could make her feel jealous.”

“He’s fingerin’ the bite Velma give him,” Mrs. Feeley whispered.

“She almost made a rumpus in a night club the other night just because I complimented an artist,” he said.

“Excellent!”

“I should kind of play the other dames off against her?”

“And you must do it convincingly,” Madam Gazza said. “You may ask me three questions.”

“I want to know the quickest way to make some dough.”

“I have already answered that question,” Madam Gazza said.

“You mean marry Chartreuse?”

“That is correct.”

“What’s the best way to make money in the stock market?”

“Buy low and sell high.”

“What’s the best stock?”

“Stock in a company that makes something that costs a dime to make, sells for a dollar and is habit-forming. Think well over everything I have said to you. Keep your secret. That will be twenty-five dollars. You may put it in the vase by the door on your way out.”

Mrs. Feeley and Mrs. Rasmussen straightened their cramped backs. The lights were almost all out as Madam Gazza’s gold draperies closed in front of the wire screen that separated her from the client. Not a sound came from the salon of the sybil. In a few seconds they heard the sound of Velma’s car as it turned the corner.

“I don’t give a damn, I’m going in there an’ see what become o’ Miss Tinkham.” Mrs. Feeley still whispered.

“I’m goin’ with you.” Mrs. Rasmussen took her hand and they slid up the steps of Red One and peered into the dark.

“Do come in.” They heard Miss Tinkham’s own voice, a welcome sound. “I don’t suppose you have a beer on you?” she said. “I’m positively parched after all that palaver, especially with these quarters of apples in my cheeks like a chipmunk.” She snapped the lights on and tossed aside her mandarin robe. Mrs. Feeley stared goggle-eyed at the inflated rubber life jacket Miss Tinkham was untying. She removed the bits of apple from her cheek pouches and took off the bead-trimmed headpiece.

“Your own mother’d never know you.” Mrs. Feeley gaped. “How’d you know she was seventeen years older’n him?”

“Velma stepped out and glanced at Chartreuse’s driver’s license the other night. I always thought it was stupid to have them strapped to the steering wheel.”

“What about them guys prodding them rocks in Arizona?” Mrs. Rasmussen said.

“Just forest rangers looking for fruit-flies and gypsy moths. You remember what nit-pickers they were as we came into Arizona.”

Mrs. Feeley sat down on the hassock:

“My knees give out,” she said. “Damn if it didn’t sound true.”

“The success of the plan depends on the power of suggestion. Almost self-hypnosis: we must force him to make the whole thing come true.”

“You mighta knew all that stuff, but who done the spielin’? That wasn’t you talkin’,” Mrs. Rasmussen said.

Miss Tinkham smiled and pressed something behind the crystal ball.

“Wasn’t it, Mrs. Rasmussen?” Madam Gazza’s voice boomed again through the public address microphone. “I always knew these inventions of the devil were good for something because they distort out of recognition every voice that comes near them. Dear Red’s passion for high fidelity! See if this message comes through:

“Fill me with the old familiar juice!

Methinks I might recover by and by!”

“S
URE
GRITTY-EYED
this mornin’,” Mrs. Feeley said to Mrs. Rasmussen as they got into the taxi Tuesday to go to the charter schooner. “Madam Gazza can use some sleep after that job she done.”

“Sunshine, too,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. “I coulda swore he brought her home last night. Late, too.”

“Who?”

“Tooner.”

“Coulda been one o’ the fellers.”

“Ain’t many got that rumbly voice like Tooner,” Mrs. Rasmussen said.

Mrs. Feeley grinned. “I thought Chartreuse had him hemmed up down at the boat.”

“She was most likely out scroungin’ around tryin’ to see what Ethelbert had got into. I bet she went to the Pango Pango lookin’ for him while Velma brought him out here. Reckon he’ll believe Miss Tinkham?”

“You an’ me had best put our heads on the plain wreckin’ job that’s ours.”

Mrs. Rasmussen grinned. “That clam juice! Wasn’t they sick! Hope we can do as good today. Look at that thunder cloud!” She pointed to the captain who was pacing the deck. He had on his shoregoing rig. His face was grim.

“‘Mornin’,” he said stiffly.

“How many, Captain?” Mrs. Feeley decided to be politic.

“Not a goddam one.” He clenched his teeth until the muscles stood out along his jaw. “They called it off.”

Neither of his helpers said anything.

“The paintwork in the main cabin needs scrubbin’. All that smoke yesterday.” He turned and gazed over the side into the water. “Swear I feel like tyin’ a rope’s end on the hull thing!”

“Nothin’ but a coupla bad breaks,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. “Things bound to change soon. Miss Tinkham was the best at gettin’ customers on board.”

“What the hell her’n Velma up to ennahow?” the captain said. “Thicker’n thieves. Velma makin’ goo-goo eyes at that massoor of Chartreuse’s. Downright disgustin’.”

“Can’t get the one you want, you’ll take what you can get,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. “Velma ain’t old, if she has got white hair.”

Captain Dowdy scratched his head. “I don’t get it. Even Sunshine…”

“That why you brought her home last night?” Mrs. Feeley said.

“You’re a nosy packer,” he said.

“Nosy, hell,” Mrs. Feeley said stoutly. “If anythin’ happens to Sunshine, it ain’t gonna be by no married man.”

The captain’s face was mahogany-colored with rage and outrage. He banged his fist on the hatch cover. His anger dissolved quickly.

“You’re dead right,” he said. “I didn’t go to fall in love with her.”

Mrs. Feeley looked kindly at the captain. “Long as you love her, whyn’t you make a clean break, boy?”

The captain kicked viciously at the deck with the toe of his topsider.

“’Cause I ent got a thing, not a goddam thing, to offer her.” Mrs. Rasmussen opened her mouth and then thought better of it. “I hate to do it,” Elisha Dowdy said, “but things are so bad I’m goin’ up street an’ get that broker. He wrote me sayin’ he’d get me some passengers if I let him inspect the boat. Try to get it shipshape, will you? I’ll be back soon’s I can.”

“Aye aye, sir!” Mrs. Feeley saluted and scuttled down the ladder. Mrs. Rasmussen sighed as she stood for a moment watching the captain step determinedly down the dock.

Mrs. Feeley had a sponge and bucket of hot water. She seemed to be getting more of it on the upholstery of the bunks than on the paintwork. “These cupboard shelfs is pot-black,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. “Scuttle or not, I’m cleanin’ ’em.” She got on the step-stool and took down all the canned goods from the shelves. It eased the pain in her heart to do a job like washing the shelves with hot water and cleanser. The big trash bucket beside her filled up with discards quickly. “Don’t seem like I’ve cleaned good ’less I find somethin’ to throw out.” Mrs. Feeley ran the sweeper over the carpets and polished up the ash trays and the ice bucket. Mrs. Rasmussen went topside to dump empty pickle bottles and old fruit jars over the side. She came back down quickly. “Here they come,” she said. “I ain’t near through. No paper on the shelfs yet…an’ all the canned goods tore down! Best shove ’em just anywhere I can for now.” She scurried about pushing cans and jars into lockers. “Just so long as they’re outa sight.”

“Ayah,” Captain Dowdy spoke to the broker as he came down the ladder, “I got a power take-off, thirty-two-volt system for the vackum, an’ the refrigerator. Lights are fine.” He flipped a switch to show how well the generator worked. “This is pa’t o’ my crew.” The captain waved his hand at the busy ladies. They went right on with their cleaning and scouring.

“Seems like a good lash-up,” the broker said. “Those gas tanks…”

“Ship-to-shore telephone.” Captain Dowdy pointed it out hastily. “Come topside an’ I’ll show you the electric winches…”

“Shouldn’t they be in a separate compartment?” the broker insisted.

“Finest kind. Never see ennathin’ to beat ’em …” Captain Dowdy’s voice diminished as the broker followed him up the ladder.

“Guess he’ll be bringin’ him plenty o’ trade,” Mrs. Feeley said. “We might’s well have a beer. Killin’ ourselfs all mornin’.”

“A
NY
NEWS?”
Mrs. Feeley shoved the door open and sat down by Miss Tinkham on the sofa. Mrs. Rasmussen brought a tray from the kitchen.

“Ethelbert was at Velma’s office bright and early. He is definitely convinced of Madam Gazza’s psychic powers. This will amuse you: he was noticeably cool to Velma.”

“How come?” Mrs. Feeley said.

“It seems Chartreuse had been hunting all over town for him.”

“I figgered that,” Mrs. Rasmussen said.

“But not for the obvious reason,” Miss Tinkham said. “She received a telegram from the president of some mining company, offering ten thousand dollars for a thirty days’ option to purchase.”

“Then them guys
was
there!” Mrs. Feeley’s eyes grew round.

Miss Tinkham shook her head.

“Velma sent the telegram. That is known as the rivet. My prediction of Chartreuse’s wealth was proved by the arrival of the offer. Chartreuse wanted to make the appointment. He said she must not sell under any circumstances. Velma said he’ll never let her sell it now, and she is positive he is coming back this evening for more information.”

“He’ll marry Chartreuse now.” Mrs. Feeley rubbed her hands.

“She and Ethelbert came to blows,” Miss Tinkham said. “She says that Velma and Ethelbert have a hideaway and threatens all kinds of dire things.”

“Velma better watch out,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. “That bite on Ethelbert’s cheek did it.”

“She has done a masterly job,” Miss Tinkham said. “This is extremely important. Have Jasper or one of the boys go to the Pango Pango in time to bring Sunshine home. It is absolutely essential that Captain Dowdy be kept out of this picture. The headwaiter told Velma that the captain took Sunshine off somewhere in a cab last night.”

“I’d go an’ get her myself but I can’t miss this show.” Mrs. Feeley chuckled in anticipation.

“One of the men must go because the captain will be miffed, and that’s what we want.”

“He allowed to us today that he loved Sunshine,” Mrs. Feeley said.

“Unless I have miscalculated horribly,” Miss Tinkham said, “you should hear some interesting things tonight.”

“Let’s borry three o’ them little foldin’ TV stools from Jasper,” Mrs. Rasmussen said. “That floor’s hard kneelin’.”

“Red will be in the room with me. We got a folding screen up today. Frankly,” Miss Tinkham poured out the rest of her beer, “I shall be grateful for his presence.”