'They look nice,' Crane said.
He felt a warm glow about the case. He liked the seductive hollow above Carmel s bare collarbone, the sweet spitefulness of Alice, the name of Talmadge March. He felt sorry for Ann Fortune, sitting at home. He liked the feeling that his expense account was unlimited.
He hoped he would not solve the case too quickly. He wondered if he could be a little drunk. 'One more?' he suggested to the others. They were perfectly willing. While Charley collected empty glasses the conversation turned to duck shooting. The season had been open for a couple of weeks, but there hadn t been many birds. The cold weather had made them hopeful for next Sunday s shooting. Talmadge asked Crane if he d like to shoot with them, and Crane said Peter March had already suggested it.
'It s usually fine shooting,' Dr Woodrin said.
For the first time Talmadge spoke without affectation. 'Wonderful shooting.'
Crane learned that the river lands where the March family and friends shot duck had been acquired by Great-Grandfather March when he emigrated from New England in 1823. He had farmed by the river and died there, and had willed the land as a perpetual estate for the family until there should be no direct male descendants. Then it could be sold.
'Old Jonathan March s idea,' Talmadge explained, 'was to provide a backlog for the family, a place they could return to when defeated by the outside world.'
'He didn t know his grandsons would nick the world for about twenty million dollars,' Dr Woodrin said.
'I think it s a nice idea,' Crane said. 'Is the land worth anything now?'
'About five thousand dollars,' Talmadge said.
'It s swell for duck shooting,' Dr Woodrin said.
'We wouldn t sell it if we could,' Talmadge agreed. 'Besides, the doctor wouldn t let us. He s been appointed trustee for the Jonathan March Estate.'
'It s a responsible job,' Carmel said, smiling. 'Administering an estate worth five thousand dollars.'
'Five thousand is a lot of money as far as I m concerned,' Dr Woodrin said.
Charley brought them their drinks. Crane was surprised to see Alice March had switched to pernod and water. He had had one unfortunate experience with this substitute for absinthe and he had respect for anyone who could drink it.
Pouring his ale into a tilted glass, Dr Woodrin inquired, 'What kind of a shot are you, Crane?'
'I m fine with a machine gun.'
Carmel laughed. She appeared, no doubt because of the martinis, quite gay. 'I don t believe we have a machine gunner in Marchton s upper set.'
Alice March downed half her pernod, looking as serene as the plump mothers old Italian masters put on canvas. Admiring her fortitude, Crane drank his double scotch.
Carmel said, 'I do my best work with a pearl-handled automatic.'
'That s fine for close work,' Crane said. 'Nothing like it for a hand-to-hand encounter with a duck.' Alice March said, 'Carmel s noted for her close work.'
A bellhop in a maroon uniform with two vertical rows of gold buttons halted by the table. 'Mr Crane?'
Crane said, 'I believe I am.'
'Telephone,' the Bellhop said. 'Telephone what?'
'For you, sir.'
'For me? A telephone? What kind of a telephone?'
'A telephone call, sir.'
'How disappointing!' He stood up, made a sweeping bow. ' Kindly pardon me.' He followed the bellhop.
He heard Talmadge say, 'A bit high, I d say.' He heard Dr Woodrin say, 'Makes Richard look like a teetotaler.' He heard Carmel say, 'I like him.'
He felt very pleased he had fooled them into thinking he was drunk. He giggled a little at the thought of his cleverness, bumped into a man, said, 'Excuse me many times.' He carried out his role so thoroughly he had to be helped into the phone booth.
He spoke into the phone. 'Crane amp; Company, novelties, knickknacks, knickers.'
It was Ann Fortune. She said, 'I thought so.'
'I can t help it,' he said. 'I ve been plied with drinks by a mysterious Russian lady.'
'I bet.'
'And by a man named Talmadge March. He s going to foreclose our mortgage.' Ann said, 'I ve traced Delia.'
'Unhand us, Talmadge March,' Crane said. Ann said, 'I ve traced Delia.'
'Huh? Delia? Oh, Delia. How?'
'Simple deduction.'
Crane groaned. 'Please. You sound like Philo Vance. Pretty soon you ll be dropping your g s.'
'If you come home I ll drive you to the Brookfield house.'
'In whose car?'
'Peter March left one here for us.'
'For us,' Crane repeated ominously. 'I suppose you ve been roistering with him all afternoon?'
'Why, yes, I have.'
'Why isn t he at work?' he demanded. 'Why does he have to fiddle around our little dovecot while I freeze, careening from ice cube to ice cube?'
'Aren t you getting your metaphors a little mixed?'
'What s a metaphor, if not to mix?'
There was no answer, and Crane considered the telephone mouthpiece darkly for a moment. 'I suppose I can come out. I suppose you called the office and got everybody aware of the fact I wasn t there, anyway.'
'I didn t call the office,' Ann said. 'But, how did — '
'I simply asked the telephone operator to ring the best bar in town.'
CHAPTER V
That morning, after she had conferred with Beulah about dinner, Ann Fortune put on her black caracul coat, freshened her lipstick and called a taxi.
'The nearest dairy,' she told the driver.
This was her first attempt at detection and she felt a little excited. She wondered if the trail would lead her into one of those situations she had so often seen in the William Powell-Myrna Loy movies: possibly to a penthouse with a suave villain from whom she would be saved in the nick of time by the arrival of Bill Crane.
The only trouble was that she felt no confidence in the arrival of Bill Crane anywhere in the nick of time; he was more likely to stop for a drink on the way and come too late.
Not that she didn t like Bill Crane; it was just that he didn t seem to take things seriously. Take the case they were working on: Richard March and John March dead from gas, and Simeon March accusing Carmel, his daughter- in-law, of having murdered them. It was a serious affair! But Bill, apparently, wasn t doing anything about it. He acted as though they were on one of those Long Island house parties he used to take her to in New York when he wasn t working. He acted…
'This do, miss?' the driver asked.
It was the Prima Dairy. She smiled a little at the squat white building. It didn t look like the sort of place Myrna Loy would be detecting in.
However, she did find out something. Her smile almost disorganized the young clerk who took her order for milk and cream, but he retained possession of enough faculties to tell her that the dairy had the only rural service for Brookfield and Blue Lake in Marchton.
Delia s note telling Richard to shut off milk deliveries must have been written two summers ago since Richard had been dead since February. Ann asked the clerk if he could find a Brookfield account in which the milk had been shut off for a week end around the middle of July of that year.
