Authors: Peter Held
"You've got it bad," said Cathy. "Sewing already for him."
Cathy leaned back and closed her eyes. "I'd just as soon stay home. I know I'm not going to have a good time."
"Sure you will. Think of all the romantic men you'll meet. 'May I have this dance, mademoiselle?' Then they'll sweep you up, whirl you breathlessly around the floor—"
"—and all turn out to be Carr."
"Why don't you bust up with him definitely?"
Cathy shrugged. She had been over the ground a hundred times. She could always rely on Carr. If nothing better offered, she might eventually marry him . . . He wasn't bad-looking—a little inclined to softness around the jowl, but no one was perfect. The Pendrys had plenty of money
... If only Carr weren't so spoiled, such a sulky pill when he couldn't get his way.
They fell to talking about their costumes for the Mountainview Masque. It was to be held on the grounds of the new country club, the first of an annual series of costume balls. This year, the theme was Black and White Fantasia. The costumes were to reflect nothing but sheer fantasy, and they must be pure black and white.
Julie was sewing herself a skin-tight coverall, black in front, white behind. A casque came up tight over her dark blonde curls, swerving down to a widow's peak at the bridge of her nose. The costume was definitely daring.
"I've never seen anyone look so nearly naked while fully dressed," said Cathy.
"Oh, come now," said Julie. "It's not that bad."
"It's disgraceful. You look like a young imp from hell, a sexy little imp."
"That's exactly what I am."
"Julie!" said Cathy.
Cathy's costume had something of an ancient Egyptian look: a bare-armed tunic of black and white stripes, belted at the waist, with a slit at either side of the skirt. When she walked, her slender olive-skinned legs flashed.
"If it came to a competition for enticing cos-
tumes," said Julie, "I hardly think yours would be out of the running."
"Oh, nonsense. Everybody knows I have legs."
Lucia came in. She had brought her costume over to show them. It was Spanish—a stiff flat-crowned matador hat, a short black jacket, a white blouse, black breeches, stockings and buckled black shoes. She looked graceless, rigid.
At four, Carr dropped by and refused to answer questions about his costume. He had spent the day at the Republican Headquarters in Paytonville making contacts. Already, Pelton Pendry was hinting in the Herald-Republican that young blood was needed in Sacramento; that California and the nation needed positive leadership, dynamic thinking.
Carr revealed that he was thinking of going for a master's degree in economics or law at Cal, in preparation for his future.
"As a public servant?" Julie asked jocularly.
Carr made a smiling grimace. "That's a sanctimonious bit of cant that we ought to expunge. A politician has to lead! He can't be worried about popularity! That's why we're in this new-deal, fair-deal, bum-deal mess today! The politicians buying popularity with relief and job-insurance and medical insurance—"
"Come, come, Carr," said Lucia. "You're beating a dead horse."
"I think we ought to divide everything up and start over again," said Julie with a perfectly straight face. Carr took a deep breath and leaned forward in his chair. Julie burst out laughing. "Carr, you're really a dear, but you're such fun to tease."
Carr sat back, not quite sure how he felt.
At four-thirty, Lucia said she had to be going, and Carr offered to run her home. Lucia accepted; she and Carr departed.
"You know something?" said Julie. "I think Lucia's got a case on Carr."
Cathy looked startled. "She's never done anything about it."
"Maybe we just haven't noticed."
"Somehow," said Cathy, "I just can't see it."
"You're jealous," said Julie. "You're so used to having Carr around you think he's yours."
"No, no," protested Cathy.
"You'll end up marrying him, see if you don't."
Cathy shook her head. "No. But he thinks I will, and that's what makes it so bad." She blushed. "He thinks he's a modern young man, and keeps wanting me to—well, all kinds of things ... I guess I'm just not modern."
"Maybe Lucia's modern," said Julie.
Cathy laughed.
CHAPTER X
Mountainview Masque! It was a wonderful warm evening; breezes smelling of hay and dry odorous weeds rustled through the oaks.
A white canvas pavilion had been erected near the site of the new clubhouse, supported by poles wound with black, red, and white ribbon. Booths to right and left functioned as bars; in the center of the pavilion was a tall round stage for the orchestra, like the calliope of a merry-go-round.
Candles furnished the sole illumination: black and white candles in chandeliers made from wine bottles wired together in artistic clusters.
Darrell and Margaret Hovard appeared at eight o'clock with Mrs. Hutson, who was Chairman of the Social Committee. At eighty-thirty, Julie and Joe arrived in Joe's Plymouth; at nine came the members and their guests.
At nine-thirty the pavilion was crowded; the orchestra, in black and white harlequinade, tuned up and began to play for dancing.
Julie said to Joe, "One of your major shortcomings is that you are hardly a good dancer."
"I admit it," said Joe. He wore black puttees, black boots, a white tunic with black frogs, and flaring black epaulettes, and a black and white kepi. Julie called it a space-admiral's uniform.
"Oh, you're not that bad . . . There's Cathy!" cried Julie.
"Where?"
"Dancing with that man in the black cloak."
"Almost everybody's in a black cloak."
"We're unimaginative in San Giorgio. What do they wear in Boston?"
"Darned if I know."
Julie scrutinized Cathy's dancing partner. "I don't think it's Carr . . . It's too tall for Carr."
"Carr's over by the bar. In the pirate costume, with the black beard."
"Isn't that odd?" said Julie. "I wonder what ever possessed him to come as a pirate."
"Costumes are symbolic—you dress as something you'd like to be."
"What does that make me? Black in front and white behind."
"That's your character—innocence behind a front of evil and vice."
"What a laugh!"
"Let's go to the bar," said Joe. 'Will your father hate me any worse if I buy you a drink?"
"Get Coke highs, then I can pretend it's straight Coke. If anyone bothers to ask."
They found seats; Joe brought over drinks in paper cups. Cathy came over with the man in the black cloak. He said, "Thanks, Cathy," and moved off.
A black-bearded pirate, frowning after Black Cloak, joined them. "Who was that?"
"I don't know. I've seen him somewhere."
"I think it's Murray Jones," said Julie. "He walks like Murray."
Carr snapped his fingers at Cathy; she rose. Carr put his arm around her, swung her out on the dance floor with a flourish.
"Poor Cathy," Julie sighed.
"All she's got to do is say no."
"It's not easy for someone like Cathy." A man in tremendous black pantaloons and a billowy white shirt asked Julie to dance; she finished her drink, rose to her feet.
The evening proceeded. Photographers for the Herald-Republican moved here and there, pointing glass eyes, discharging gouts of white light, capturing Black and White Fantasia for the Sunday Society Section.
Julie danced with twenty men; she enjoyed herself thoroughly. Joe danced with Lucia and got stuck with her. The bartenders worked un-
ceasingly. At midnight the Masque had taken on life of its own; it was clearly a success.
Unmasking was scheduled for two o'clock. At one, Cathy sought Julie out, where a Cossack was buying her a drink and making arrangements to kiss her. Julie was a trifle high.
"Carr's taking me home," said Cathy.
"Taking you home? Why? The party's just started!"
"He's got a headache."
"Humph." Carr was jealous.
Cathy smiled wanly. "I know. But I'd just as soon. I'll give you a ring in the morning and tell you everything. Good night, Julie." She slipped away. The Cossack resumed where he had left off. Julie looked around for Joe; he was nowhere in sight, but presumably with Lucia in the other bar across the pavilion.
The Cossack was placing a new drink in her hands. She noticed with surprise that she had finished her last.
Time passed. The Cossack kissed her. She found herself with still another Coke high. She resolutely put it aside. "You'll get me drunk!" she told the Cossack.
"Money well spent, you lovely."
There was a sudden hush; a rumble, a roar of voices, a rush of feet. Julie craned her neck to see.
Into the circle of candlelight came a black pirate. He staggered out on the dance floor. Men and women in black and white gave way. Carr was bloody, his eyes dull and bleared. His mask hung around his neck.
Ralph McDermott, pulling off his own headdress, pushed over to him. "Carr! What's happened?"
Carr muttered two or three words. Ralph McDermott stood like a post. Then he turned and looked off through the darkness in the direction from which Carr had come.
The Masque dissolved into a group of men and women with frightened faces in foolish costumes.
The orchestra disappeared. The crowd milled, talking in uneasy voices, then trickled to their cars in clots of five or six.
Dr. Federico, Ralph McDermott, and William Biers, the district attorney, went in the direction Carr had indicated.
They found the Chrysler sedan half a mile down a dirt road leading to the far end of the country-club property. Biers supported Ralph McDermott—they did not let him look inside the car—while Dr. Federico made an examination. A glance into the back seat was enough.
He turned slowly away. "There's not a thing we
can do." He looked at McDermott. "You'd better go home, Ralph."
Biers said, "Come along, Ralph," and led him away.
Sheriff Clyde Hartmann arrived with his assistants; the horrid task began. The sheriff returned to San Giorgio to take Carr's statement.
The bruise on Carr's head had been cleaned and bandaged. Dr. Harvey was just finishing, and he gave Hartmann permission to ask a few questions. "Try not to keep him too long; he's had an awful shock."
Hartmann nodded. He was a tall, rangy man with silver hair and a handsome deeply lined face.
He said, "I'm sorry I have to intrude on you, Mr. Pendry."
Carr struggled to sit up, then gave up and lay back. He looked pale and drawn; his eyes were like black grapes in two dishes of milk.
"Just what happened, Mr. Pendry?"
"There was somebody in the back ..."
"This was when you left the party?"
"That's right . . . Cathy and I are—well, engaged. I wanted to sit in the car—to park. I drove up the back road. She wasn't feeling well; she wanted to go home." Carr's words came in hoarse spasms. "I started down the road. I looked in the
rearview mirror, and saw—this dark shape in the back seat. He must have been down on the floor when we got in." Carr stopped, closed his eyes. Hartmann waited.
Carr spoke with his eyes shut, his head back on the pillow. "I was scared . . ."
"Of course," said Hartmann.
"I drove for a hundred feet or so; I stopped the car, swung around on the back seat. Cathy turned, too; I think she screamed ... It was a man in a dark hat and a dark cloak. He had a mask on."
"Did you recognize him at all?"
Carr's eyes opened, roved over the ceiling. "It came so fast—like a nightmare."
"Tell it as you remember it."
"He hit me ... I think, twice. Or maybe just once. I can't remember." He was silent a full fifteen seconds. "I don't remember waking up. Except that I was lying on the floor in the front, and it was very quiet. I sat up, looked in the back. I saw Cathy . . . And I guess I went a little crazy."
Hartmann nodded. There was a pause.
Carr asked in a weak voice, "Was she attacked?"
Hartmann nodded again. "It looks like it, from the condition of her clothes."
Carr said huskily, "How did she die?"
"Choked," said Hartmann. "He did the work on her face afterward." He consulted his notes. "Was the car locked when you first got in?"
"No."
"Do you have the impression the man was in costume? Or ordinary clothes?"
Carr shook his head. "I don't think it was costume. It couldn't be."
"Why not?"
"I know everyone who was at the party."
"You saw enough to be sure it was no one you knew?"
"No," said Carr. "I know who did it."
Hartmann said in a dry voice, "You do? Who?"
"The same man that killed my sister," said Carr in a cracked voice. "And mutilated her. Robert Struve."
"Robert Struve." Hartmann looked at him thoughtfully. "The name is familiar."
"The boy with the scarred face. Class below me in high school. About five years ago he got in trouble—tried to attack Julie Hovard."
"I remember. Out at the old Martin house. We sent him to Las Lomas. What makes you think it was Struve?"
"He killed my sister," said Carr in a weak voice.
Hartmann was puzzled. "Didn't they convict her husband?"
"He didn't do it."
Hartmann rose to his feet. "Well, I'll look into it."
Joe Treddick telephoned Julie about two o'clock Sunday.
"Oh, Joe," cried Julie, "I was hoping you'd call. Won't you come over? I've just got to talk."
"I'll be over."
She was waiting for him on the front steps. "Come around to the back," she said. "I didn't want you to ring the bell."
She took him to the terrace. "Mother and Father are just about crazy. Cathy was part of the family ..." She took his hand, held it tight. "Joe, when I think of it—I want to scream—to shut my eyes as hard as I can and scream and scream and scream!"
"I know how you feel."
"I missed you last night—but in the confusion—"
Joe shrugged. "Lucia got tight and I took her home. I got back just about the time the excitement began."
She pressed her head against his shoulder. "Oh, Joe darling, I wish . . . How could anyone be so horrible?"