said in a flat expressionless voice, ' John killed Richard.'
Crane got off the couch and put a chunk of pine on the fire. Sparks flew up the chimney, tongues of flame licked the fresh wood. He went back to the couch.
'Why?' he asked. 'He was jealous of Richard.'
'Yes, but a man doesn t'-he hesitated over the next word-'murder because he s jealous.'
'No.'
'Then what — '
'He saw me with Richard in his car.'
'At the Country Club? On the night of Richard s death?'
She nodded, her face still turned away from him. He understood, then, the smell of gardenia on the dead man s coat, the lipstick on his face.
She went on, speaking slowly, 'John must have come up to the car very quietly. I don t know how long he d been there.' Her low voice sounded as though she had not come to the end of a sentence, had only paused.
Crane waited, but she didn t go on. He asked, 'He overheard you talking?'
'Richard was begging me to go away with him.'
'Was John terribly angry? Did he make any threats?'
She was facing him on the couch now, her face completely unguarded. Her lips were soft and moist and red.
'He was very quiet… I couldn t see his face. He asked me to go into the clubhouse. I should have been afraid, his voice was so strange, but I went in… left him there with Richard.'
'And then — '
'The next thing I knew Richard was dead.'
Crane was surprised to see tears rolling in big, slow drops down her cheeks. It was very strange. She didn t sob or move in any way; she just sat there, her face like ivory, talking and letting those big tears roll down her cheeks.
'I never talked to John about it,' she went on. 'I was never sure… until I found his body.'
'How do you suppose he killed Richard?'
'I don t know.' Tears made her black eyes luminous. She pulled her mink coat from the back of the couch. 'I think Richard must have passed out; he had too much champagne, and John did something to the car.' She found a lace handkerchief, held it to her eyes. 'I m sorry.'
'I know,' he said. 'Your husband s death must have been a shock.'
'It wasn t as if I d loved him.' She looked at him over the handkerchief. 'We hadn t been getting along.' Her eyes had changed from black to amber.
'You cared for Richard?'
'I liked him, but I didn t love him.'
She spoke so simply that Crane believed her. He believed her entire story. He wondered if he did because she was so beautiful. He thought he would make a hell of a juror if she were on trial. He d let her go with a vote of confidence.
The tears had stopped; she put the handkerchief back in the mink coat. 'You think I m horrible.'
'No, I don t.'
'You must.'
'I really don t.'
She touched his wrist for an instant with the tips of her fingers. 'Thanks. I had to tell somebody.' He felt goose flesh rise all over him. 'There was nobody in town I could talk to.' She stood up and he held the mink coat for her.
'You won t…' she began.
'Of course not.'
'Say good night to your wife for me.'
'I ll take you home.'
'Don t bother.'
'But…'
'I d rather go alone.'
They were at the front door. 'Well, then, good night.'
'Good night… and thanks.'
CHAPTER VII
The limousine traveled the winding road at a good speed, and without strain climbed a long grade. So bright was the moon that the rays from the headlights looked like spilled milk on the cement. The countryside was gray and black.
Dr Woodrin, between Ann Fortune and Carmel March on the back seat, commented on the car s power.
Crane and Peter March were on small seats facing the other three. Crane lied: 'I wrote some advertisements for the company. They gave it to me.'
'I should ve taken up advertising,' Dr Woodrin said.
Carmel said, 'You could have a private tennis court then, Paul.'
While Peter explained to Ann that Dr Woodrin s chief enthusiasm was tennis Crane thought over the day, decided he had accomplished exactly nothing. The party was bound for the Crimson Cat, with Williams driving, and he hoped he would find something there.
He hadn t even told Simeon March about Carmel s story of Richard s murder and her husband s suicide. He knew the old man wouldn t believe it, and he wasn t sure he did himself, now that he d thought it over. The tools and the lifted hood on John s car puzzled him. How had she had the courage to set the stage for the police, with her husband s body lying there? The natural thing would be to call for help at once.
Of course her story, if true, did tie everything…
'Do you play tennis, Bill?' Peter March asked him.
'Huh? Oh, a little.'
Ann said she did, and Crane returned to his thoughts. If Carmel s story wasn t true it meant that John had been murdered. She wouldn t bother to lie if the death had been accidental. It was either suicide or murder.
He felt his heart beat accelerate. Murder made it a real case, with plenty to worry about. It was a spooky way the victims died, without a struggle or a call for help, just being eased out of life by a gas that left their faces purple and their blood filled with poison. And if it was murder it meant someone wanted to get rid of the March family. It meant there would probably be another attempt on a March. He hoped it wouldn t be Carmel. He felt she was interesting.
'Paul even carries a tennis net in his car,' Peter said. 'I saw it the other day.'
'Why not?' Dr Woodrin demanded. 'The hospital courts don t have nets.'
And the scent of gardenias… How did that fit into the case? That was a creepy angle, Crane thought. It looked as though someone wanted to implicate Carmel. And why was Talmadge March so eager to establish the odor? Just being with someone didn t leave a smell of gardenias about them. Or did it?
Carmel asked, 'Bill, you re not asleep?'
'What? Me? Oh no.'
'You re so silent.'
Ann said acidly, 'His edge has worn off.'
Crane didn t like that. Maybe he d had a few too many cocktails before dinner but he d been a gentleman. He said, 'I hope we re not getting a dose of carbon monoxide.'
This was not the right thing to say. Peter March hastily pointed out the left window. 'Down there,' he said, 'you ll see our fair city.'
Street lights crisscrossed a spot on the valley below them, made the whole valley look like a velvet setting for an intricate pattern of diamonds. The limousine was no longer climbing. The city looked small and compact.
