Archie Goes Home

Chapter 33

After lunch, Saul Panzer hopped into the Heron and steered it south. Destination: Charleston, capital of West Virginia, where he would pick up Carrie Yeager — so we hoped — and bring her to our cozy little gathering.

As Wolfe would want to drink beer during the evening, he charged me with ensuring that a variety of beverages would also be available for our guests. To my surprise, Mom really did have quite a variety of liquor in the house. “As you know, I’m not much of a drinker myself, Archie,” she said, “but I like to keep alcohol on hand for guests. It often seems unnecessary, though, because most of the people who do stop by or come over for church meetings don’t do much if any drinking, either. After all, I don’t run with what might be called ‘a fast crowd.’”

“Well, your stocking up has come in handy this time,” I told her. “You have just saved me a visit to the state liquor store. And by the way, Saul gave a thumbs-up to your scotch.”

My next task was to call Lester Newman and tell him I was the one who would be driving him north. “Oh, so now I’ll be riding with a major, will I?” Newman said. “Do I have to salute when I climb into your car?”

“Of course not,” I told him, laughing. “Besides, as you know, it’s been years since I held that rank. And you are the real war hero, not me. I just pushed papers around in Washington,” I told him, purposely degrading my role. That was the right thing to say. Newman muttered something like “I was just doing my duty,” but he clearly was pleased.

After counting the number of people who were expected, including Eldon Kiefer, I went about gathering chairs from around the house. Wolfe would sit in my father’s big wingback chair, which was barely big enough to accommodate him, with an end table at hand for his beer. Mom watched over the process like a mother hen, suggesting that I allow more space between the seats. “You don’t want people to feel cramped,” she said. “There is plenty of space in here. As I said before, this big living room was one of the reasons your father and I decided to buy the farm and its house all those years ago.”

“It seemed bigger when I was a kid,” I said. “But then, everything did.”

“I still feel that it’s plenty large, Archie. And don’t worry — once they all get seated tonight, I will make myself scarce.”

“No need for that, Mom. After all, this is your house.”

“I know, but I wouldn’t want Mr. Wolfe to think I was eavesdropping on his show.”

“And that’s just what it is — a show. A very good show, no question, and one he has perfected over the years, although he would object to that term to describe it. It’s just about time for me to pick up Mr. Newman. If you can put the liquor bottles, glasses, and something with ice in it on that small side table in the living room, that would be fine, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind one bit,” my mother said, “although I’ll be surprised if many, if any, of the guests will want a drink.”

“I agree, but at least we’re prepared. I’m off to Waverly.”

The drive back north with Lester Newman was uneventful, other than his intermittent railing at “that damned caregiver” Carrie Yeager. It would be interesting to watch his reaction when he saw her in the same room with him. We got back to the house an hour before Wolfe was scheduled to begin, and Saul had not yet arrived from Charleston with Miss Yeager.

I settled Newman in one of the living room chairs and asked if he wanted a drink, getting a shake of the head in response. “Now tell me, who all’s going to be here tonight?” he asked.

“I’m not completely sure,” I said, dodging his question, “although whoever shows up will have had some connection with Logan Mulgrew.”

“And just where do I fit into all this, Major?” the old soldier asked, folding his arms across his chest. “Does your Mr. Wolfe think that I bumped off that lowlife Mulgrew?”

“I really don’t know, because he doesn’t share his thoughts with me.”

“Well, I can tell you right now that if I’d had the chance, I’d have killed the bastard and that so-called caregiver of my sister’s, too.”

That comment intensified my decision to keep an eye out for Saul Panzer’s arrival with Carrie Yeager. No need for early fireworks; there might be enough of them later. When they arrived, which I figured would happen soon, I would usher Saul and his passenger in through the kitchen door and put the young lady on ice for a while.

Sure enough, about ten minutes later, the Heron pulled into the driveway and came to a stop in back of the house. Saul, playing the chauffeur role to the hilt, detoured around the front of the car and pulled open the passenger-side door, bowing ever so slightly as Carrie Yeager stepped out, looking crisp in a summery yellow dress and white pumps.

I opened the kitchen door and beckoned them in. Carrie started for the door and froze when she saw me. “You, you’re the... the photographer who came with that newspaper woman! What are you doing here?”

“It is true confession time,” I told her. “My name is Archie Goodwin. I am a New York private investigator in the employ of Nero Wolfe, who will be speaking tonight about the death of Logan Mulgrew. And for the record, this is my mother’s house, the place where I grew up.”

As I was speaking, the young woman’s facial features ranged from disbelief, to anger, to what I would call desperation. “I want to get out of here right now, Mr. Panzer!” she said to Saul. “Or are you a detective, too?”

He nodded somberly. “Yes, ma’am, I am.”

“I’ve come to be framed!” she almost shouted. “And here I thought this was going to be a meeting where the death of Logan would be explained.”

“That is exactly what’s going to happen,” I told her.

“Then why am I the only one here?”

“You won’t be, I assure you of that. You just happen to be an early arrival. There will be a roomful; now come on in.” Carrie reluctantly allowed herself to be led into the kitchen, where she was greeted by my mother, who knew to keep her out of the living room until she got a signal from me or Saul.

“Hello, I’m Marjorie Goodwin, and I just brewed a pot of tea. May I pour you a cup?” Mom said, holding out a hand, which Carrie took warily.

“Uh... yes, yes, thank you,” our guest said, sitting in the chair at the kitchen table that was offered to her. The young woman had been thrown off by circumstances, but my mother’s soothing welcome seemed to calm her, at least for the moment. Saul and I left them and went to the living room to prepare for the onslaught.

Saul went over to Lester Newman and introduced himself. “Jewish, huh?” Newman said, and Saul nodded.

“Well, that’s just fine by me. When I left Ohio to go off to war, I had never even laid eyes on a Jew, to my knowledge. But when I met one on the battlefield, he was a damned good one. He was a field first sergeant named Horowitz, from Brooklyn, I think it was. And he died a hero on that awful damned beach at Anzio. Are you from Brooklyn?”

“In fact, I am, and there have been several Horowitz families in our neighborhood, but I think I just might know the one who got killed. The Mrs. Horowitz I knew of was a Gold Star Mother, and she had one of those red-and-white banners in her window with a gold star in the middle, you know the ones.”

Newman, whom Saul had seated in the back row of chairs, nodded grimly. “Yeah, those banners meant somebody in that house had died in the war.” Just then, the doorbell rang. The parade was about to begin.

I played doorman and found myself looking at the ramrod-straight figure of Chief Thomas Blankenship, in uniform, along with a slightly shorter and younger cop with a mustache whom the chief introduced as Sergeant Macready.

“Okay, where is Nero Wolfe?” Blankenship demanded, once inside. “I have to tell you, Goodwin, that I do not like this setup one bit, although I have found that it’s fruitless talking to you. I’ll save my comments for Mr. Wolfe.” Then, seeing Newman alone among the array of chairs, he said, “Hello. I don’t believe that we have met. I’m Police Chief Blankenship.”

“Name’s Lester Newman, from down in Waverly,” the old man said as he remained seated. It was clear the chief was curious about Newman’s presence, but he said nothing.

“And who’s that?” Blankenship snapped, jabbing a thumb in Saul’s direction.

“That is Saul Panzer,” I answered, “who like me is a private detective from New York and an associate of Mr. Wolfe.”

The bell rang again, and I opened the door to Harold Mapes and, just behind him, Charles Purcell. They each stepped in and looked around, both slightly startled to see two uniformed members of the law standing in the far corner. But neither Mapes nor Purcell questioned their presence as I introduced the pair to Newman and to the cops.

Saul, who knew where Wolfe wanted everyone to be seated, steered the new arrivals to a pair of seats in the front row, facing the wingback chair where Wolfe would be. They took their places without complaint, looking somewhat puzzled, as if wondering what to expect. Or maybe, one of them was simply a very good actor.

The doorbell again. This time it was Katie Padgett and Donna Newman, the former all smiles and the latter frowning. “Good evening, ladies,” I said as I ushered them in. Once again, I made introductions and was interested to see that neither of them seemed fazed in the least at the cops’ presence.

“Why is that newspaper reporter here?” Blankenship demanded.

“Mr. Wolfe invited her,” I said. “You can ask him the reason when he comes in, which will be shortly.”

At that point, I went to the kitchen, where my mother and Carrie Yeager were having tea. “It’s showtime,” I told the young woman and escorted her to the living room, where her appearance was met with raised eyebrows, frowns, and a growl from Lester Newman.

Everyone was now in place: Purcell, Mapes, Katie Padgett, and Carrie Yeager in the front row; the Newmans in the back row, along with an empty chair for Eldon Kiefer, whom Wolfe seemed sure would show up. The police chose to remain standing in the rear of the room, much like Cramer and Stebbins do when we have sessions like this back at the brownstone in New York. I nodded to Saul, who went upstairs to summon Wolfe as Harold Mapes complained, asking, “How long do we have to sit here waiting for this guy?”

“‘This guy’ has arrived, sir,” Nero Wolfe replied, walking in and easing himself into the wingback chair. “I am going to have a beer, would anyone else like something to drink?”

“I didn’t realize this was to be a social occasion,” Purcell said as Saul placed a tray with two bottles of beer and a chilled stein on the end table next to Wolfe.

“If no one objects, I’ve changed my mind and would like a scotch and water,” Lester Newman said, looking around at the others, none of whom seemed interested in a libation. I gave the scotch to Newman, who grinned and said, “Thanks, Major, I have always wanted to be served by an officer.”

Wolfe took a healthy drink of beer and surveyed his audience, referring to each of them by name. “Now I—”

“What are the police doing here,” interrupted Harold Mapes. “May we assume that someone is going to get arrested?”

“If you please, Mr. Mapes,” Wolfe said, leaning forward, palms down on the arms of his chair. “Mr. Blankenship and his associate are present at my invitation, and their services may or may not be required. Now if I may continue, I would—”

Damned if Wolfe didn’t get interrupted again, this time by the front bell. Saul did the doorman duties and in walked none other than Eldon Kiefer, wearing a checked shirt with its sleeves rolled up and the same surly expression as when we mixed it up in Charlie’s Tap.

“Good evening, Mr. Kiefer,” Wolfe said. “Please take that empty chair.”

“I don’t know why in the hell I’m here,” he groused. “Are you going to make some sort of big pronouncement about Mulgrew like I was told?”

“I plan to discuss the death of Mr. Mulgrew and the reasons for my conclusion. Would you like something to drink?”

“No thanks,” Kiefer replied, waving the idea away. “No — wait. I’ll have a bourbon on the rocks. Then I’ll shut up and listen.”

“Very well,” Wolfe said as Saul filled Kiefer’s drink order. “This will take some time, and I appreciate everyone’s patience.”