I groaned.
“
But it was amazing, old top.
Instead of a polite smile and eyebrow roll as you might expect,
it’s as if I’d validated her by the remark. I noticed in Mrs.
Arnot’s interior eyes a small, crazed flash of respect and
reappraisal. As if to say that before she’d considered me a mere
cypher. It was very strange, old socks. And I must say a little
unnerving.”
I felt that my first talk with Mrs. Arnot had
been fairly straightforward. So I was a little annoyed that Walter
could have picked up on something I might have missed. I glanced
over at him to make sure he was earnest in what he said.
He went on, “I also find it a bit odd that Mrs.
Arnot would retell that Sally Miller story again so soon. Generally
people only do that when a matter is particularly close to their
heart.”
“
Well, Walter, maybe it is. She told
me she and the girl were very close.”
“
No doubt. But, what happened to her
friend Sally took place some thirty years ago. By the furnishings
of her home and her modern attire, she doesn’t strike me as someone
who cares to live in the past. And Mrs. Arnot is far from her
dotage and the reminiscences that accompany it.”
“
So what are you trying to say,
Walter?”
“
I guess I don’t know, old thing.
But I’ve just got a hunch that Mrs. Arnot may be every bit the
actress that your Miss Anderson seems to be.”
“
You think she’s lying to us about
something?”
“
Something’s definitely amiss. You
told me that Mrs. Arnot had made Christine Johanson out to be a
girl of poor judgment. But from your own encounter with the girl,
she seemed to be quite shrewd. Wasn’t that your
conclusion?”
I agreed.
“
It suggests that Mrs. Arnot was
trying to color your perception of the murder victim. Recall, she
described Mr. de Carter as a harmless drugstore cowboy. Later,
another source made him out to be a ruffian. And a ruffian he was,
indeed.” Walter added, “And, you must admit, Mrs. Arnot did appear
more than willing to put Miss Anderson in a bad light.”
“
But I’m the one who brought up
Britt and her aunt.”
“
True. You gave her opportunity. All
the same, casting aspersions is not something a person readily does
regarding a genuine friend. Not without some hesitation, anyway.
Especially when she’s talking to someone investigating a murder,
and her words might indict that friend.”
I weighed his words.
“
Another thing, Gunnar. We’d clearly
interrupted her departure when we arrived. Yet there was no taxi
waiting outside. So, unless she’d planned to take a
walk—”
“
She was planning to drive the
Packard.”
“
That would be my surmise, old
top.”
Walter’s words had a strange and soothing
effect on my psyche. All of a sudden, my discarded first draft
started to look salvageable—at least parts of it. Enough so as to
pick it up off the floor and dust it off.
Maybe, I thought, Blanche Arnot
was
involved with this whole mess after all. Ordinarily money would
have been motive enough, but I sensed there had to be another
factor with Blanche Arnot. While Britt hadn’t exactly come out from
under suspicion’s shadow, I now had some reason to hope that she
might. At least that’s the attitude I had when we parked near the
Vista Court Apartments.
“
Any suggestions, for when we talk
to Britt?” I asked.
“
There’s still reason to harbor
misgivings about Miss Anderson, of course. For all we know, Mrs.
Arnot telephoned her immediately after we left. And, if she has
been warned, I doubt we’ll find her at home. If she is home, and
she
is
somehow in league with Mrs. Arnot, then clearly Miss
Anderson has been hung out to dry, as they say. But if she’s
completely ignorant and innocent, I believe we can quickly
determine it by asking her a few simple questions.”
I
t wasn’t the need for a
drink of water or a pee break or a question from Kirsti that got me
to stop talking this time. It was the anguished look on her
youthful face. My pause prompted her to say:
“
Man, Gunnar, I’d think at this
point … I mean, with what had gone on between you and Britt
and all … you’d want to talk to her in private.”
I shook my head. “Believe me, I was tempted to
suggest as much to Walter, but I didn’t dare.”
“
Why not?”
“
By then I didn’t trust myself, is
why not. Besides, Blue Eyes, Walter seemed to have figured out how
to cut this Gordian knot.”
“
Gordian knot?”
“
It refers to a complicated problem,
which like a knot is hard to unravel but that someone clever might
know how to quickly cut through, so to speak. And right then I felt
I needed Walter along with me, because he seemed to have just the
right questions in mind to ask Britt to get things
unraveling.”
“
You make him sound like some kind
of psychologist.”
I laughed. “No. Walter Pangborn really liked
people. He was a keen student of them. And it also didn’t hurt that
he was well read.”
“
For sure.”
“
Now where was I? Oh
yes ….”
We stood on the small enclosed porch. Walter
admired the hanging fuchsias and carefully fingered a few of the
blossoms.
Britt opened the door and wore that far off,
besieged look she’d had while sitting at her desk the day we met.
She flinched infinitesimally on seeing Walter’s face but recovered
beautifully. When she saw me her troubled face transformed into a
smile beaming nothing but warm welcome.
I introduced Walter as one of my good friends.
“I sometimes consult with Walter in some of my
investigations.”
She invited us in, no questions
asked.
“
I stopped at the market after
work,” Britt explained. “I just finished putting a few things away
and was changing clothes when I heard your knock. Would you like
some coffee? Or perhaps something stronger?”
Thanks but no thanks, we said.
Britt was wearing red denim pedal pushers and a
white halter-top with yellow polka dots. She looked marvelous in
spite of my suspicions about her. Walter and I sank deeply into the
balloon cushions of her daveno. She plunged into the club
chair.
“
I hoped you’d get back to me,
Gunnar,” she said. “I was really worried when you went after Guy de
Carter alone. I trust the police have him in custody.”
“
You could say that,” I
said.
Britt studied my face and one blond eyebrow
lifted, telling me she sensed something was wrong.
“
What’s the matter, Gunnar? You look
like you’ve come from a funeral.”
“
In a way. Someone shot and killed
Guy de Carter.”
She looked genuinely alarmed. “How dreadful.
Is … is
that
how you found him?”
“
Not exactly,” I said. “Before I
explain more, Walter and I would first like to ask you a few
questions, if you don’t mind.”
She looked puzzled but readily
agreed.
“
Miss Anderson,” Walter said, “in
your dealings with Christine Johanson, would you have characterized
her as a shrewd young woman?”
“
Yes, I suppose so,” Britt said.
“Yes, I’d say Christine was fairly bright.”
“
Have you ever been driven anywhere
by Blanche Arnot?” Walter asked.
“
What … what’s this all about?”
she said, looking from Walter to me.
“
We’re not sure yet, Britt,” I said.
“Humor us. Please.”
“
About Mrs. Arnot’s driving ability,
Miss Anderson, would you say she’s a
good
driver?”
“
Yes … I suppose so. Perhaps a
little on the slow side for my taste. Maybe a little too quick on
the brakes. But yes, overall I’d say she’s a good driver.” Walter
signaled me with a look.
“
Britt, could you tell us how
Blanche Arnot viewed the Darcy men after young Addison ended his
relationship with your aunt?”
“
I … I don’t understand. Where
are you going with all this?”
“
Please, Britt. It’s important. What
was Blanche’s reaction?”
She hesitated, her face grew pale. “I … I
suppose she was upset with them.”
“
You
suppose
? Only suppose?”
I said.
“
No. They upset her.”
“
That was it? They upset her? She
had no other emotion?” I asked.
“
Gunnar … why—?”
“
Indulge me. Please.”
She sighed. “All right. Blanche hated them. She
despised them.” I looked in vain for any sign of lying.
“
And when Alexis died?”
“
Even more so. But I suppose I did
too, for a time. Why wouldn’t we?”
“
Did Mrs. Arnot ever speak of
wanting to exact some sort of vengeance?” Walter asked.
Britt didn’t say anything for a moment but then
nodded. “But it was all just talk. You know how people go on
sometimes. She loved my aunt as much as I did. We were both
extremely agitated. You know how people say things. We all say
things we don’t really mean.”
“
But she talked about it often,
didn’t she?” Walter said.
“
Yes. Yes, she did. But she would
never do anything rash—if that’s where you’re going with this. It
was all just talk.”
“
What was Blanche’s husband like?” I
asked.
“
Henry? Henry was a kind and
mild-mannered man.” Britt laughed. “He used to say he was a mare
yoked to a stallion. But he was good for Blanche. Blanche respects
few men. She really respected Henry.”
“
A stabling influence on her, would
you say?” Walter asked.
“
Yes. Yes, that would describe it, I
think. Definitely.”
“
Stabling in what way?” I
asked.
Britt thought for a few seconds. “Blanche used
to laugh and say that Henry kept her reined in and on track. She
still says he kept her an honest woman. Why, she said as much less
than a week ago. As I told you the other day, Gunnar, I sensed the
difference in her since her loss. It’s one of the reasons I offered
her a job.”
As the saying goes, it takes some time to see
the patently obvious. What’s right in front of your face takes even
longer. An eerie notion jolted me. Blanche Arnot’s quaint,
otherworldly air took on another meaning. Apparently the same
notion had also struck Walter.
“
Did Blanche Arnot ever tell you the
sad story of her friend, Sally Miller?” he asked.
Britt was jarred by the question.
“
Yes. Often.”
“
Did she ever tell you the name of
Sally’s lover? The man who treated her so shamelessly?” I
asked.
A gleam of troubled realization showed in
Britt’s eyes. “Oh, yes. Right after my aunt took up with Addie. Oh,
yes. She mentioned him many times.”
“
T
his was
that bolt out the blue you talked about earlier, wasn’t it?” Kirsti
said. “We’re talking critical mass time, aren’t we?”
“
Uh-huh. None of us is that
remarkable, Kirsti. It doesn’t matter how exceptional a person
feels they are. Most everything we all do is totally foreseeable,
if the interested onlookers are armed with a few particulars. The
trick is coming up with those particulars. And we three had come up
with those particulars.”
“
And then it must have seemed so
obvious, huh?”
“
Without question.”
“
I’m just glad Britt turned out to
be on your team.”
“
Uh-huh.”
“
Mrs. Arnot had to know that we’d
probably confute her story rather quickly,” Walter said. “So the
only reason for her to lie so brazenly and cast suspicion on Miss
Anderson here—”
“
Is if she were planning some
immediate and drastic action,” I said, standing up. Walter rose
with me. “She was getting ready to leave when we showed
up.”
“
Precisely,” he said heading for the
door. “She knew that whatever she told us wasn’t going to matter
one whit.”
I followed after Walter with Britt trailing
behind me, demanding an explanation. We told her there was no time.
She insisted on coming along.
The three of us crammed into my Chevy, with
Britt in the middle. I headed the coupe in the direction of The
Highlands. En route we gave Britt the thin version of our
suspicions regarding Blanche Arnot and the blackmail racket. She
sat between Walter and me, and I caught snatches of her face in the
rearview mirror. She listened calmly. She interrupted only with an
occasional clarifying question. Her mouth looked pale and she
searched my face when learning a horrid detail. I soon recognized
her working-woman compartment—the pragmatic, reserved, and
well-behaved box that probably helped keep her sane at such
moments.