Say Yes to Murder, Todhunter Ballard [affordable ebook reader .TXT] 📗

The house in which Nancy Hobbs had made her home was an unpretentious white box with green shutters and two-story pillars, built, as she said, in the best Vermont M.G.M. tradition.

But inside she had managed to inject the full force of her personality. The library-den, which served as a workroom, was lined with books. Not standard sets, such as one found in all the better movie establishments, but books to read, books kept by one who loved reading for the joy that only reading can afford.

He was thinking of this now as Sam Marx swung the small coupe into the driveway and pulled around the house. For two hours, he and Marx had played tag with traffic, trying to lose the two shadows who, under Spellman’s orders, were attempting to make Bill’s private life their own.

Nancy met them at the steps and led them across the big service porch, past shelves of fruit, of her own canning. There was a domestic streak in this girl, who could hold her own in appearance with any of the glamour maidens of the screen. It pulled him, wordlessly, giving him a nostalgic feeling as for something which he had forever lost.

His character had too many divergent qualities for him to be ever fully content. Like most men, he wanted to eat the cake and yet to keep it forever. His mind was more fully engaged on his own shortcomings than on the immediate problems which confronted him, and, In his present mental state, it was with distinct shock that he saw Jean Jeffries curled up like an expensive kitten on the divan in Nancy’s den.

Here the furnishings were of leather, comfortably worn, chairs rescued from Doctor Hobbs’ old-time study. Jean Jeffries did not belong. There was a polish about her which called for more modern surroundings.

And yet there was definite attraction, a force which pulled Lennox toward her despite his knowledge that she might be cheaply had. Other women in Hollywood had had the same attraction for him.

He was like a trained whisky drinker viewing the siren greenness of a daiquiri.

But the girl on the divan sensed none of this. With a glad cry of welcome she was on her feet and had flung her arms about his neck. “Darling! I’ve been so worried.”

Both Nancy and Sam Marx were unwilling witnesses to the scene, and the little lawyer’s hawklike face was tense in its displeasure. He was no more than Lennox’ age, but something in the tension of his small body gave him the stature of a disappointed parent.

Lennox flushed. He put her away from him without a kiss and said, to cover his confusion, “Everything is lovely. There’s nothing to worry about.” He dared riot trust himself to look at Nancy Hobbs.

Marx’ words were an expressive snort. “Lovely, and you are out on five-grand bail.”

Lennox ignored the little man. Jean Jeffries’ dark eyes took on a serious look. “Bill, what do you want me to do?”

He considered her. “Look, Jean”—his tone was grave—“your grandmother is sick. She can’t stand any more shocks. I’m hoping she doesn’t learn that the police are hunting you.”

“But why should they want me?” She was a little scared. “I can’t tell them anything unless I tell them about you moving Leon’s body. I wish that you hadn’t done that, Bill. It would have been better if we had made a clean breast of the whole thing from the first.”

Marx said: “What is done, is done. What we have to do now is to straighten out the mess. If we could explain Heyworth’s death; why he was in your apartment; who knew that he was there…”

She said, slowly. “I… I’m afraid that I’m not much help. I didn’t even know him very well.”

“You didn’t!” Marx said explosively. “Then why did you force your way to his table at the Derby? Why did he take you home last night?”

She stalled, apparently trying to decide. “I… I guess I won’t be doing any harm in telling now… now that she’s dead.”

“Who’s dead?” Even with his sharp mind, Marx could not follow her words. “Who are you talking about?”

“Tina Kingstone. She gave me a note for Leon Heyworth, a note I was supposed to deliver if I saw him at any of the night spots. I was to get it to him without anyone else knowing.”

Marx glanced at Lennox, then asked, “What was in the note?”

Jean Jeffries shook her head. “I don’t know. You see, at one time, Tina had been Leon’s friend…” she fumbled a little ever the word.

“Anyhow he wasn’t coming to see her any more and she felt bad about it I guess the note must have sounded desperate—something about killing herself. At any rate, Leon managed to read it without Kitty Foster suspecting that he had a note.

“I thought for a moment that he was going to get up and rush out of the restaurant. Then he got control of himself and said he’d take me home—an excuse to get away from that Foster woman so he could see Tina.

“That’s what happened, anyway. We drove to my apartment and had trouble finding a parking place’. We had to walk nearly a block down the side street. When we got up to my place Tina was there, and they started to quarrel at once. It got worse, and I finally couldn’t stand any more.

“The keys to Tina’s place were lying on my desk. I picked them up and went to her apartment. She didn’t come up all night, so I supposed they had made up and were…” her face flushed, “were… making up. I waited all morning before I returned to my place. I hadn’t been there long when you came in, Bill.”

“And the Kingstone woman?” Marx asked.

Jean shook her head. “I didn’t see her. I don’t know where she went. I never saw her again alive. I stayed at home worrying about her all evening. Finally when I couldn’t sleep I went up to see if she had returned, and I ran into Mr. Lennox again.”

Sam Marx turned around and spread his hands. “That,” he said in a disconsolate tone, “gets us exactly nowhere. If you think Spellman is going to accept a murder suspect who is already dead, you don’t know him as well as I do.”

“At least,” Nancy suggested, “it may tie the two crimes together.”

“I was sure of that before,” Marx said. “It doesn’t stand to reason that murder would strike twice in the same apartment house without some connection existing between the two crimes. But where does it leave us? Nowhere!”

“Unless we could find a person who would gain by having both Heyworth and Kingstone dead,” Nancy said.

“This town,” the lawyer told her, “is lousy with that kind of person. Death is seldom so selective in hunting out the unsatisfactory citizens. No, that won’t help us. We need a definite motive—a clue. I’ll find out just how well Kingstone and Heyworth did know each other, but I think I’m in a blind alley. In the meantime…”

“In the meantime,” Lennox cut in, “I’ve got to take this little lady over and show her to her grandmother…”

“You fool!” Nancy said sharply. “You can’t go out of this house with her. If you do, she’ll be picked up. Don’t you think Spellman will think of her grandmother?”

Jean said unexpectedly: “Let them pick me up. I’m not afraid. I haven’t done anything.”

2.

Sam Marx turned away from the phone. “It’s all arranged,” he said. “I’ve told Spellman that I’ll have you in my office at six, and he agreed not to try to pick you up before.”

Jean Jeffries looked abashed. “I…” she began, “I don’t know exactly how to say this—and I don’t want you to misunderstand—but—I already have a lawyer.”

Sam Marx was quicker on the uptake than Lennox. He told her: “Don’t let that worry you. Who is your lawyer?”

“Bernard Austin. He’s my grandmother’s attorney, and I’d feel… I’d feel better if he was handling things. You don’t mind?”

“Mind!” Sam Marx said gleefully. “I’m tickled to death! Bill is enough trouble without trying to handle someone else. I’ll call Austin, tell him what happened, and have him at my office at six. You go ahead to your grandmother’s with Bill, and don’t worry about a thing. Better use my car. You won’t be as noticeable as in a cab.”

Lennox said: “Thanks.” He dreaded the meeting between