Where There's a Will (15 page)

I blotted it, went out and descended to the library, and handed it to Wolfe, saying:

“I doubt if that's it. It's the only one I left in the living room.”

As he read it I got myself into a chair, this time one at the end of the desk, as far as practical from our own Daisy. I glanced at her sitting there behind her screen, and then looked somewhere else.

Wolfe grunted and passed the paper back to me. “It can wait. Mrs. Hawthorne and I have been discussing the matter of the will. It is her opinion that it expresses the wishes of her husband and his deliberate intention to deprive her of her rightful share of his fortune. She is not surprised at her husband's duplicity, but strongly resents the fact that Mr. Prescott did not inform her of the will's contents at the time it was drawn, though I have told her that had he done so it would have been a flagrant breach of ethics. Please make a note of these remarks. I asked Mrs. Hawthorne if she has dealt, or attempted to deal, directly with Miss Karn in the matter, and she says she has not and would not. I believe that covers the points we've discussed, madam?”

“Yes.” The veil inclined slightly forward and straightened up again.

Wolfe regarded it with half-closed eyes. “Well. Has Mr. Dunn told you that he has asked me to investigate your husband's death?”

“No, but his wife has. My sister-in-law June.”

“Have you talked with the police?”

The veil was inclined again. “Last night. The district attorney. Mr. Skinner.”

“Are you willing to discuss it with me? I want to say, Mrs. Hawthorne, that I realize I am in your home, this is the library of your home, and I thank you
for allowing me to work here. I assure you I shall clear out at the earliest possible moment. The luncheon—I shall not impose upon you for another meal if I can help it. But I do have a few questions to ask.”

“I am perfectly willing to answer them. I don't believe—I doubt if I can help your investigation any, although I know quite well who killed my husband.”

“Oh. You do?”

“Yes. April.”

She had a special way of saying “April.” Anyone hearing her and not knowing what was meant would have guessed that April was a cross between a cockroach and a rattlesnake.

“I should think,” said Wolfe, “that will help my investigation a good deal. Provided you can give any reasons.”

“I can. April is sunk in debt and expected a legacy. She intends to marry Osric Stauffer. She pretends she's playing with him, but she isn't, she intends to marry him. She knows her beauty is going and she'll need him. She thinks he'll succeed to my husband's partnership in Daniel Cullen and Company. She hated Noel's influence over Andy. She wants Andy to marry that little blond fool Celia and be an actor. She knew Noel was leaving me next to nothing in his will, and she wanted me to have that blow too.”

She stopped. Wolfe asked, “Is that all?”

“Yes.”

“But you can't have both ends, Mrs. Hawthorne. If she knew your husband was leaving you next to nothing, she must also have known what she was to get. A peach.”

“Not at all. Noel fooled them too. He told her what he was doing to me, but not what he was doing to her.”

“Do you have evidence of that?”

“I don't need any.” The strain in her voice was more intense. “I know what my husband was like.”

“Do you possess any evidence that April Hawthorne did shoot her brother?”

“I don't possess any, no. But she did.”

“You know, I suppose, that she says she was upstairs sleeping at the time it happened.”

“I know,” said the veil contemptuously. “But she wasn't.”

“Did you see her leave the house or sneak into the woods?”

“No.”

Wolfe sighed. “I was hoping perhaps you had. I understand you were out in a field picking black-eyed susans.”

“I was picking daisies.”

“All right, daisies. I haven't seen a map of the grounds, so I wouldn't know whether you could see the house or the border of the woods from where you were. Could you?”

“Not the house actually, on account of trees around it. Besides the woods skirting the hill, there are clumps of trees all around there. They shielded me—that is, they shielded the house from my view, and the woods too. The reason I made that slip of the tongue—I am accustomed to regard myself as being in need of shielding.” A long thin finger touched the edge of the veil.

“Of course. I wouldn't call that a slip. From where you were could you hear all three of the gunshots?”

“I don't know whether I could or not, but I didn't. The first shot was when we were finishing tea on the lawn; we spoke about it. Soon after that I went to the field for daisies. I heard no more shots. Often when I am alone like that my mind is on—on myself. That may be comprehensible to you. Perhaps I could have heard the shots, but I didn't.”

“I see.” Wolfe closed his eyes. After a moment he opened them again and directed them at the veil. “If I were you,” he suggested, “I'd be a little circumspect about stating what you know, when you possess no evidence. After this thing gets in the papers it will be pretty nasty.”

“Nasty?” That awful little laugh fluttered the veil. “You mean what I said about April.”

“Yes. If she committed murder she'll probably pay for it. In the meantime—”

“But she did! I know she did! I possess no evidence, but someone else does!”

“Indeed. Who?”

“I don't know.”

“Where is it?”

“I don't know.”

“What is it?”

“I know that, but it wouldn't do any good to tell you.”

“I'll decide that,” Wolfe snapped. “Did you tell Mr. Skinner about it.”

“No. It wouldn't do any good to tell him either.” The high-pitched voice went higher yet. “They would just deny it! How could I prove it? But I heard them, and I saw it!”

“Maybe I can prove it, Mrs. Hawthorne. I'd like to try. What was it?”

“It was a cornflower. Andy found a cornflower there near Noel's body! And April had a bunch of them stuck in her belt when we were there having tea on the lawn!”

W
olfe let out a little growl and made himself more comfortable in his chair. He said nothing.

Daisy spoke again. Her voice had been shrill with excitement, but now it went flat. She muttered, “I didn't intend to tell you that.”

“Why not?” Wolfe demanded.

“Because it won't do any good. I can't prove it and they'll deny it. But if I had kept it to myself …”

“You might have found an occasion to use it. Was that the idea?”

“Yes. Why shouldn't I?” Her voice went up the scale again, in defiance. “Even though they knew I couldn't prove it—and like a fool I blurt it out to you.”

“It can't be helped now.” Wolfe's tone was smooth, even sympathetic. “I doubt if you could have used it effectively, anyway. They're a pretty tough crowd. You say April had a bunch of cornflowers in her belt while you were having tea on the lawn Tuesday afternoon?”

“Yes.”

“You might as well tell me about it. Maybe we can figure out a way of proving it.”

“You can't. How can you? Osric Stauffer picked them in the garden and brought them and gave them to her and she stuck them in at her waist. She had on a green blouse and yellow slacks. We commented on the blue of the cornflowers with the other colors.”

“Did Mr. Stauffer keep one for himself?”

“Why, I—” She considered. “No, he didn't.”

“Or give some to anyone else?”

“No. He gave them all to April.”

“Did she leave the gathering on the lawn before you? Or was she still there when you left?”

“She was still there. They all were except Noel and John.”

Scribbling along with my pen, I allowed myself a satisfied grin. Wolfe was working at last, picking up all the pieces he could find, methodically and patiently. He spent twenty minutes with her getting the complete picture of the tea party, and another ten with her in the field, collecting black-eyed susans, daisies to her and nothing at all to me. She had returned to the house with her arms full of them, more than an hour later, and was making arrangements in vases, when Celia Fleet burst in asking for Dunn in an agitated voice. She had followed Celia, unobtrusively, and had been within earshot when Dunn received the news of what Andy had found in the briar patch beyond the woods.

“I wasn't eavesdropping,” she declared, not defensively, merely imparting information. “I was later, when I heard Andy telling them about the cornflower. I actually saw it.”

Wolfe inquired, “What time was that?”

“It was late that evening, about eleven o'clock. Even then I—well, I won't say I suspected that Noel had been murdered, but I knew of the feeling between him and John on account of that Argentina loan business, and other feelings there were around there, and I was curious and vaguely suspicious. So after the sheriff and doctor had gone away, I went to my room but I didn't go to bed. I noticed some of them hadn't come upstairs, and I went down without making any noise and out the back way. It was a hot night and windows were open everywhere, and there was a light from the dining room. I could hear low voices as I got closer, and then I could see them, John and June and Andy. Andy was telling them about finding the cornflower, and took it from his pocket and showed it to them. He said it had been there about fifteen feet from Noel's body, caught on a branch of a rose briar, and he had taken it and put it in his pocket. He said it hadn't occurred to him at the moment, but it had since, the idea that April had been there for a private talk with Noel and had lost it from the bunch she was wearing. But of course, he said, that wasn't how it got there, because April had stated that she had been in her room taking a nap. John said calmly that it was true the cornflower couldn't have been dropped by April, since she hadn't been there, but that Andy had been quite right to bring it away and thereby avoid the possibility of a lot of unpleasant and irrelevant questions just because a cornflower had been found hanging on a briar. They were very casual about it, but they knew better. Their tone and the way they looked—they knew. And so did I. I knew then, as I
went back up the dark stairs, that April had killed Noel.”

Wolfe wiggled a finger at her. “You knew nothing of the sort, madam.”

“But I tell you—it's no wonder you—you're on their side—”

“Rubbish. I'm not on anybody's side; I'm hunting a murderer. I admit the cornflower is evidence, probably extremely important evidence, but of what? Of April's guilt? Perhaps. Or of an attempt by the murderer to incriminate April by getting a cornflower from the garden and leaving it near the body? Perhaps. Rather inconclusive, but fairly ingenious at that. Do you by any chance know what happened to the cornflower?”

“No. I suppose John destroyed it. I said I couldn't prove it. But you must believe—you must—you signed that paper promising to safeguard my interests—”

“Oh, I believe you all right. But my commitment in that paper was limited to the negotiations regarding the will. Please understand that. There is, after all, a remote possibility that you killed your husband yourself. I should think you might measure up to that cornflower trick.”

“Now you're talking rubbish.”

“Perhaps. You ought to know. How long were the stems of the bouquet Stauffer presented to April?”

He got patient and methodical again. As I listened to them chewing away, putting down their syllables automatically on the unruled paper which had been the best I could find, I reflected that this appeared to be shaping up for a honey. The only nugget in the
pouch so far was this cornflower on a briar, and that was certainly nothing to write home about, with a garden right there full of cornflower bushes, provided they grew on bushes. Not to mention the chance that Daisy had made it all up just to keep her brain occupied. I was idly considering alternatives when the phone buzzed, and I went and got it. It was Saul Panzer. By the time I got through taking his concise but detailed report, Wolfe had finished with Daisy and she was arising to leave.

I opened to door to let her out, and returned to the desk.

“If you ask me,” I remarked, “we would have been a hell of a sight better off if we had stuck to the last will and testament and let the murder go. Of all the—”

“That was Saul?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well?”

“He has been conferring with elevator operators and bootblacks et al. Johnny got orders for five beauty outfits before he was tossed out on his ear, and he had a date to buy a lady a dinner at the Polish Pavilion this evening. That will cost you dear. Davis is married and lives with his wife, at least nominally. He and Naomi had a romance when she was his secretary. The sort of thing May Hawthorne comprehends intellectually. L'amour. He has gone moody and taken to drink. So far information very sketchy; nothing particular on Prescott yet, except that he gives people expensive cigars, pays good salaries, and is not a knee-toucher. Saul has lines out that are promising. No start on Prescott's confidential stenographer in March, 1938.”

Wolfe had his lips compressed. “I hate to waste
Saul—” He shrugged. “It can't be helped. What time is it?”

“Five after five. Would you care to go into the matter of the duplicate Daisy?”

“Not now. Mr. Prescott wants to see me. First some beer. Then see if Miss Karn is still down there, and who is with her. Then Mr. Prescott.”

I trotted out and descended to the main floor. There was no one around the entrance hall, so I opened a door leading to the rear of the house and yelled, “Turner!” In a moment a maid appeared and said he was upstairs, and I said all I wanted was to order three bottles of beer for Mr. Wolfe in the library. Then I proceeded to the living room for a glimpse of Naomi Karn.