Pandora by Holly Hollander

How Elaine Let the Cat Out of the Bag

My bum-leg driving rattled Molly so much we had to stop halfway so I could slide over and she could walk around. After that her driving rattled me. She was one of those haywagon drivers who think the engine may bolt and jerk the wheel out of their hands. Also she liked to come to a complete stop before making a turn, which rattled the drivers in the cars behind us who didn’t know her turn signal meant she was about to hit the brakes that hard. By the time we got to my place—I should really say my father’s—I was ready to get out and walk, bum leg and all.

It was nearly a quarter to eleven, and Blue and Uncle Dee had beaten us. Their cars were out front, and they were in the living room talking to Elaine, Uncle Dee perched on the edge of his chair looking tense, Blue sitting about the way he usually did, with his hands on the handle of his stick.

“Oh, it’s you, Holly,” Elaine said. “You should be in bed.” Uncle Dee and Blue stood up.

I performed introductions. “This is Mrs. Lief. She was Larry’s wife.” I honestly didn’t know if Larry’s father or the cops had told Molly about the letters yet. If the cops hadn’t, they were bound to soon; but damned if I was going to do it and light a crisis. “Molly, this is my mother, Elaine. De Witte Sinclair. Aladdin Blue.”

“We’ve met,” Blue said. “Hello, Molly.”

Uncle Dee said, “Charmed, Mrs. Lief,” and inclined his head in a little bow.

Elaine had nothing to spare for Molly. “Holly, your friend Mr. Blue has already telephoned the police, he says. Now he’s threatening to call the television news people. You know Jane Dalton had a television crew in her house about the garden tour, and she says it was terrible.”

Uncle Dee said, “I don’t believe they’ll be coming, Elaine. At least, I hope not.”

Since Elaine wouldn’t offer her a seat, I put Molly on the sofa with me.

“I won’t let them in,” Elaine declared. “Not unless they tell me everything they intend to do first.” Her purse was on the coffee table in front of her, and she got out her compact to check herself over for the cameras. “Does anyone know exactly how their makeup differs? Do they make up women, too, or is it just a matter of powdering the men?”

The chimes sang their little tune.

“Holly, could you—oh, no, of course you can’t. I don’t know where Mrs. Maas has gotten to. I hate to answer my own door. De Witte … ?”

Uncle Dee stood up again, which didn’t take a lot of effort since he’d damn near been standing up when he was sitting down. “I’m not sure this is appropriate, Elaine, but since you asked.”

He went out into the hall, and in a minute my father came in, with Sandoz in front of him and Jake and Uncle Dee behind him. No cuffs. Sandoz looked around at us, nodding to Elaine and Molly and me, and giving Blue a hard stare.

Blue said, “The gentleman who opened the door for you is De Witte Sinclair. Mr. Sinclair, Lieutenant Sandoz.”

Sandoz nodded, not offering his hand and not bothering to introduce Jake.

My father asked, “May I sit down? I’d like the pleasure of sitting in my own house again.”

“Sure,” Sandoz said. “Go ahead.” My father put one of the occasional chairs next to Elaine’s, and she took his hand; Jake went over to stand beside him.

Elaine said, “I’m not certain I understand what’s going on here.”

“As far as we’re concerned, it’s not too complicated, Mrs. Hollander,” Sandoz told her. “Mr. Blue there called me about an hour ago. On the phone he indicated he had positive proof that your husband is innocent. I told him then—and I’m telling him again now—that if that’s the case, all he has to do is turn it over to me. He wouldn’t come to our headquarters to discuss the matter, so we came here. If he’s wasting our time, we’ll soon find out. If he has what he says he has, we don’t want to hold an innocent man any longer than necessary.”

My father said, “You’re ready to concede that I might be innocent? That’s good of you.”

Sandoz answered levelly, “Under the law, everyone’s assumed innocent until a court finds him guilty, Mr. Hollander.”

Blue lifted his stick to get their attention. “Perhaps I should explain. As Lieutenant Sandoz says, I called him this morning. I informed him that I had obtained a confession from the man who killed Larry Lief, Drexel K. Munroe, Edith Simmons, and Herbert Hollander the Third. I have—you’ll hear it in a moment. I also told him that it would be necessary for him to come here and bring Mr. Hollander with him, and that if he refused I would hold a press conference without him or any other representative of Pool County present, a conference to which I would invite the news departments of the Chicago TV stations as well as reporters from the Tribune, the Sun-Times, and the Daily Press. I warned him that if he failed to cooperate with me, it was likely that Mr. Hollander would file suit for false arrest as soon as he was released, as he surely would be.”

My father smiled. It seemed to me it was the first time I’d seen him smile in a long, long while. “You say the man’s confessed?”

“I’ll let you hear it for yourself,” Blue said; and then he looked over at Uncle Dee, and I felt like the bottom had dropped out of the world.

Sandoz said, “I don’t think I know you, Mr. Sinclair. Who are you?”

Uncle Dee cleared his throat. “I am a dealer in old and rare books. Mr. Hollander’s one of my customers. He has been for years.” He let it lie there.

“Go on.”

“A detective, I suppose one of your men, came just once to talk to me. I wasn’t at the Fair, you see—or rather I was, but I left early.”

Sandoz said, “Just go ahead and tell it your own way.” I felt like I was going nuts, but I could see he was right: keep ’em talking.