Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 75, No. 2. Whole No. 436, February 11, 1980

A Fish Story by Dorothy A. Collins

© 1979 by Dorothy A. Collins.

“So how about applying that well-honed, mind of yours to a solution?”...

Retired Inspector Howard Travers leaned forward in his wheelchair and hungrily eyed the shopping bag his nephew carried over to him.

“What did you bring me?” he asked, like a small boy awaiting a treat.

Lieutenant John Gardiner smiled fondly at his uncle. “A feast,” he said. “The latest issues of Queen and Hitchcock, a Macdonald, a Christie, an Ellin. A bottle of Chivas. And a puzzle that’s been bugging me.”

“Pour, pour,” said Travers, rubbing his hands in anticipation. His arthritis-twisted fingers stroked the magazines and books his nephew set down beside him. “And let’s hear your puzzle. A murder, I hope?”

John Gardiner laughed. “Ghoul,” he said. He handed his uncle a glass of Scotch and sat down opposite him. “A murder, yes,” he said. “The guilty party confessed, and it’s all wrapped and tied neatly. Case closed. But the victim left a message-well, not a message, exactly, but a determined effort to identify his killer — and it doesn’t make any sense. It could, in fact, implicate any one of three other people in the house at the time. But not, to my very great chagrin, the murderer himself. How does that grab you?”

“By the throat,” said Howard Travers. “I’m hooked. Start at the beginning and don’t leave anything out.”

“Right,” said his nephew. “The victim was Richard Cartwright, a man in his late seventies, bedridden with a heart condition and emphysema. Present in the house were his two stepdaughters, Angela, unmarried, and Molly Dennison, divorced. Both women were currently living with their stepfather. The third person in residence was Mary Pumplin, the housekeeper. The fourth and last individual in the house at the time was Marcus Draper, the confessed murderer, Cartwright’s attorney and investment counsellor.”

“Go on, go on,” said Travers impatiently as Gardiner took a sip of his drink and settled back in his chair.

Gardiner grinned and continued his story: “Cartwright had summoned Draper to review his investments and discuss revising his will. The current will divided the bulk of his fortune between the two stepdaughters, with a hefty chunk going to Mrs. Pumplin, the housekeeper. However, the old man had been growing increasingly irascible and difficult in his relations with the three heirs, and there were tension and uncertainty in the household when the lawyer arrived on the afternoon of the murder.

“According to the housekeeper, she was just starting up the stairs when she heard the shot, then the sound of running feet. When she reached Cartwright’s bedroom it was empty, except for Cartwright. Angela followed on the housekeeper’s heels and they found Cartwright dying from a chest wound.”

“Describe the room,” said Travers, his eyes bright with interest.

“A large room, massive furniture, huge bed, Cartwright looking small and shrunken in its depths. Dim-heavy red velvet draperies shut out most of the light — the only illumination came from a single lamp at the bedside and a large lighted aquarium full of exotic fish opposite the bed.

“The message. Get to the message, boy.”

“The two women rushed to the bed. ‘Who did this, father?’ cried Angela. The dying man struggled to speak, then raised a shaking hand, pointed to the fish tank, and fell back dead on the pillows. At which point Molly Dennison and Marcus Draper entered the room.”

The Lieutenant paused. “How do you like it so far?” he said.

“Fine, as far as it goes. Keep going. What was in the tank?”

“Water, of course. Pump, filter, pebbles. And fish — Rainbows, Peacocks, Mollies, Loaches, Swords, Angels.”

Travers smiled. “I see what you mean. The Mollies could point to Molly Dennison; the Angels to Angela; the pump to Mrs. Pumplin.”

“Exactly. And an hour after we got there, Marcus Draper broke down and confessed. He’d been milking Cartwright for some time, and Cartwright caught him, threatened him with exposure and financial and professional ruin. He lost his head, grabbed Cartwright’s gun from the bedside table, and shot him.”

“So you’re left with that apparently meaningless gesture of Cartwright’s,” said Travers. “Bothers you, doesn’t it?”

“More than you can imagine,” said the Lieutenant. “So how about applying that well-honed mind of yours to a solution?”

“No doubt in anyone’s mind that it was the aquarium he pointed to?”

“None whatsoever. Both Molly and Mrs. Pumplin were agreed on that.”

Travers thought a moment, then said abruptly, “Where was the tank?”

“Where I said-opposite the bed, in front of the east window.”

Travers smiled. “But you didn’t,” he said. “Opposite the bed, yes. The window you didn’t mention. And thereby hangs the solution.”

“The window? What has the window got to do with anything?”

“Nothing,” said his uncle. “Notice I said ‘hangs.’ Cartwright wasn’t pointing at the fish tank — he was pointing at the window hangings — the draperies, my boy, those heavy red velvet draperies you described so fully.”

“Of course,” said Gardiner, grinning happily. “Draperies — Draper. Drink up, Uncle, you’ve earned yourself another.”