Murder and the Married Virgin

CHAPTER FOUR

The second-floor living-room was richly furnished and the feminine motif prevailed throughout. Shayne had walked quietly down the stairway and the sound of his footsteps was deadened by the deep carpet in the hallway.

He stood for a moment in the open doorway, unnoticed by the three silent occupants of the room.

A young girl with dark brown hair cut short and curled upward in soft ringlets lolled in a deep chair of apple-green satin that brightened the dull gold of her skirt and blouse. Her red lips were set in a smile of ironical amusement. An odd fleshy bump on her chin was centered with a cleft which gave her an impish look in spite of the boredom in her dark eyes.

An older woman with too-black hair was stretched out on a chaise longue of gold satin, her head resting on a rose cushion. A powder-blue robe softened her sharp features; her cheeks were pale and her thin mouth was made to look generous by an over-application of dark rouge. Her eyes were closed and a fringe of black lashes curled up from her cheek.

Mr. Lomax sat in a blue mohair chair across from the girl, his feet resting on the matching ottoman, and the gas grate burned with a blue flame before them.

In spite of the relaxed appearance of the family, Shayne felt the tension of the silence. He cleared his throat and Mr. Lomax turned to see him, then quickly arose to say, “Come right in, Mr. Shayne. We’ve been waiting for you.”

Mr. Lomax first introduced his wife, who blinked long lashes at Shayne and asked in a low, pleasant voice, “Are you going to make trouble with me over what my husband calls my negligence with the necklace?”

“I hope not,” Shayne said. “I expect to recover it for you.”

She said, “Oh?” and Shayne couldn’t tell whether his reply pleased her or not. His gray eyes looked over the length of her slender body. She looked under forty but was probably nearer fifty.

Mr. Lomax coughed discreetly and said, “Mr. Shayne, this is our daughter Clarice.”

Shayne looked at her gravely. She quirked her lips and said, “It was an inside job, wasn’t it? Whom are you going to arrest?”

Shayne fished a cigarette from his pack. Clarice extended her hand and said, “Thanks.” He gave it to her and took out another, lit them both from the same match. He judged her to be about eighteen, pampered, and the kind of a girl who took a perverse delight in shocking her parents. She slanted her eyes up at him and insisted, “Well, wasn’t it?”

“Clarice!” Mr. Lomax expostulated mildly.

Ignoring her father, Clarice went on, “That’s my theory. I don’t believe the necklace was stolen in that robbery. I think somebody in this house snatched it yesterday thinking it would be laid to the burglar. Why, it might have even been someone in the house working hand in hand with the burglar,” she added, as though the idea had suddenly come to her.

“Clarice!” her father repeated sharply.

“Isn’t it a good theory?” she demanded of Shayne.

“It makes sense,” he agreed. “Who’s your candidate?”

“Katrin,” she said viciously. “She was always snooping around. She helped mother change that night and must have known it wasn’t locked up in the safe. And she cleaned up mother’s room afterward.”

Mrs. Lomax said languidly, “That’ll do, Clarice. What do you think, Mr. Shayne? Why did the poor girl commit suicide on the eve of her wedding?”

“I had hoped some of you could help me figure that out,” Shayne told her.

“Katrin stole the necklace, I tell you,” Clarice said sullenly. “She was in love with some poor man and was frantic to marry him before Lieutenant Drinkley got here. Then she had an attack of conscience after doing it.”

“What makes you think she wasn’t in love with the lieutenant?” Shayne’s voice was harsh.

Clarice frowned. “Are you going to give us the third degree or something? Maybe she was in love with him, but I think she knew their marriage wouldn’t work out. Ted Drinkley didn’t really love her, you know,” she ended smugly.

“That’s what you think,” an ironic voice interrupted. “After all the passes you made at him, you keep kidding yourself he’s in love with you.”

“Eddie!” Mr. Lomax chided warningly.

Shayne jerked himself around to face a young man of medium height with pudgy features and a pimpled, unhealthy complexion. A mop of ash-blond hair grew low on his forehead and his eyes were pale blue like his father’s. He wore dark blue trousers and a shirt emblazoned with big red poppies, the short tail of which hung outside his trousers. He looked like a college boy who wanted desperately to be tough. His shoulders sloped forward and he swaggered as he advanced to join the group around the fireplace.

“Mr. Shayne,” said Nathan Lomax, “this is our son, Eddie.”

“You’re the detective? You got any clues yet?” The boy flopped into a chair and let his knees fall wide apart and put the toes of his shoes together. His mouth stayed open after asking the questions. He looked up at Shayne and his blond lashes touched his thick, overhanging brows.

“I’m gathering a few clues,” Shayne told him. “Where were you last night?”

“Me?”

“You.” Shayne took a step toward him and his voice was hard as he continued, “You folks act as if none of this touches you. A necklace worth a hundred and fifty thousand dollars has been stolen and a girl has been murdered…”

“Murdered!”

Shayne turned quickly to see Mrs. Lomax sitting up. There was a look of terror, or of horror, in her black eyes. She sank back immediately, saying, “Oh-no. Katrin committed suicide,” and her eyes grew languorous again.

“You seem to be very certain of suicide, Mrs. Lomax,” Shayne said, “perhaps you can tell me the reason.” He looked steadily down at her.

Mrs. Lomax avoided his gaze. “I don’t know the reason,” she answered, “but anyone can see that it couldn’t have been murder.”

The muscles in Shayne’s cheeks quivered and a frown trenched his brow. He wondered whether the fleeting terror in her eyes was intended to distract his attention from Eddie, or shock at his announcement that Katrin had been murdered. Her lowered lashes made her eyes inscrutable.

He turned again to Eddie and repeated, “Where were you last night?”

Mr. Lomax had been politely standing while Shayne stood. He sank into his chair and ran a trembling hand over his bony scalp.

Eddie shifted his eyes to his father and murmured, “Murdered,” in a stricken tone.

Shayne made a savage gesture. “Katrin Moe may have turned on the gas with her own hand, but she was forced into it by something-or someone. Where were you last night?”

Eddie dragged his gaze from his father and along the carpet to his pointed-in toes. “It’s none of your business,” he burst out. “I didn’t-”

“If you’ve nothing to hide you’d better tell him, son,” his father advised.

“And for heaven’s sake close your mouth,” Clarice said scornfully. “You’re drooling.”

“Keep your own trap shut,” Eddie snapped. “What is this? A pinch? What right has he got to know where I was last night?”

“I think this is what they call routine,” Mrs. Lomax said in the short silence that followed.

“You didn’t come home to dinner last night, Eddie,” Mr. Lomax reminded him.

“I didn’t get home until two o’clock,” Eddie admitted sullenly. “The cops say Katrin was dead by that time, so what does it matter where I was?”

“How old are you?” Shayne asked.

“I’m twenty-one.”

Shayne stood on wide-spread legs before him. “For the last time, where were you last night?”

Eddie cowered away from him. “Different places just bumming around,” he mumbled, “from ten till two. I was at the Laurel Club most of the time,”

Mr. Lomax said, “Eddie!” reproachfully.

“Well, that’s about the only place in town where I’m welcome with the money I get to spend,” he snapped. “Dan Trueman’s a good egg.”

“Anybody see you at the Laurel Club?” Shayne interposed.

“Sure. Lots of people. Dan saw me leave just before two o’clock. Sis knows he did.” He glanced angrily at Clarice.

Clarice glared back.

“Clarice-at the Laurel Club?” Mr. Lomax frowned, “You know that’s not true. Clarice was at the Country Club dance.”

“Maybe she started out at the Country Club,” Eddie told him, ignoring his sister’s warning look, “but at two o’clock she was at the Laurel Club. The sedan was parked in the driveway and Neal was waiting for her. That’s how I came to see Dan. He was talking with Neal when I came out.”

Shayne stepped back nearer the grate and watched the trio narrowly.

Mr. Lomax’s white hands lolled on his emaciated legs, but there was anger in his murky eyes. He asked, “Is this true, Clarice?”

Clarice’s eyes flashed. She said, “You act as if I should be kept wrapped up in cellophane. Sure, I dropped by there. I was bored at the dance. There wasn’t anybody to dance with, so I asked Neal to drive me some place where there was a little excitement.”

Mrs. Lomax’s face was passive. She lay inert on the chaise longue with her eyes half closed.

“I’ll have a talk with Neal,” Mr. Lomax said after a short silence. There was a harsh implication in his voice that caused Shayne to glance hastily at him. He looked white and shaken, and blood pulsed in the raised purple veins on his chalky hands.

“I’m sure it wasn’t Neal’s fault, Nathan,” Mrs. Lomax said calmly. “He’s just the chauffeur and has to drive where he’s told.”

“When Neal takes Clarice out I expect him to look after her,” her husband stated flatly.

“You sound so dreadfully Victorian, Dad.” Clarice laughed shrilly and got up. She smoothed her skirt over her slim hips and stretched her torso upward, accentuating her small pointed breasts. Glancing at Shayne, she said, “I’m sure you find this discussion just too, too interesting.”

“I’m learning a lot.” Shayne’s mouth was grim. “Did you see your brother at the Laurel Club?”

“No. I didn’t go back to the gambling room. I just had a cocktail and came on home.” She gave a sniff of disdain and added, “The Laurel Club was pretty tame, too.”

When Shayne again turned to Nathan Lomax his chin was resting on his chest and he was gently pressing the veins in his hand. Mrs. Lomax had arranged her pillows so that she sat up. Her hands were laxly folded in her lap and she appeared unperturbed by her daughter’s comments.

Shayne asked, “You and Mrs. Lomax were both at home last night?”

“Why, yes. We retired early. Mrs. Lomax was weary after her trip, and I read for a time.”

“I’ve wondered about that trip.” Shayne turned to Mrs. Lomax. “Why did you drive to Baton Rouge?”

She opened her eyes wide and tried to wither him with a look.

“It’s really quite simple. I’m district chairman of the Garden Club. We met in Baton Rouge. I trust you don’t disapprove,” she ended icily.

Shayne asked Lomax, “May I see the place from which the necklace was stolen?”

“Certainly.” He arose with agility and led the way across the room to one of three doors, opened it and waited for Shayne to go in, then closed it. He said, “This is my wife’s dressing-room. The door to the left leads to my bedroom and the one on the right to Mrs. Lomax’s.”

The modernistic motif of the dressing-room was startling in comparison to the conventional library and the soft pastel shades of the upstairs living-room. Shayne’s reflection stared back at him from the long chromium and black mirror of the magnificent dressing-table set between two French windows hung with black and silver-striped drapes. On either side a full-length mirror reflected his tall, gaunt frame as he stepped forward. The low table was equipped with three drawers on each side and a long narrow center drawer. A couch of silver satin was decorated with silver and black cushions, and around a grayish furry rug the floor was inset with black and white tile. The top of the dressing-table was bare.

“As you see,” Mr. Lomax said, “all of the toilet articles were stolen. They were valuable, of course. Mrs. Lomax has exquisite taste in such things, and I have humored her.”

“Yeh,” Shayne muttered, absently studying the modernistic murals around the walls, the most intriguing of which was a writhing octopus powdering its nose while ogling into a fantastic mirror.

Mr. Lomax opened the top left-hand drawer. “Mrs. Lomax remembers distinctly putting the jewel box containing the necklace in this drawer before she left for Baton Rouge. Katrin, of course, tidied the room afterward. I can’t understand why Katrin didn’t bring it to me to be put in the safe.”

“Mrs. Lomax usually puts it away herself?”

“Yes. She treasured the necklace. But, like myself, she trusted Katrin implicitly.”

“The safe is in your room, I understand.” Shayne was perfunctorily pulling out the drawers and examining them. He slammed the last one shut.

“Yes. The burglar could not possibly have touched it,” Lomax was saying. “I was in bed at the time, reading. I’m certain the sneak-thief was a professional, Mr. Shayne. I heard only the faintest sound when I got up to investigate. At first I thought it was Mrs. Lomax, but I knew that couldn’t be unless something had interfered with her trip. So, I put on a robe and came in here, but the burglar must have heard me getting up. He had disappeared through the living-room and into the hall before I got even a glimpse of him. I chased him down the stairs as fast as I could, but he was too quick for me. He ran out the front door and disappeared altogether. I called the police at once.”

Shayne nodded absently, but his eyes were very bright. “And your wife didn’t think about having left the necklace in the drawer until this morning?”

“No. Habit is a strong thing, Mr. Shayne. But I know from my own experience that lapses are likely to occur. One is always astounded when one deviates from a set routine, but it is only human. Evalyn-Mrs. Lomax-was frantic at first. She couldn’t believe it, and I might add that she has not been her usual self since the discovery. She appears to be calm and disinterested, but I know her too well. She is brooding over her loss.”

“Does Mrs. Lomax believe that Katrin discovered the jewel box in the drawer and stole it?”

Mr. Lomax didn’t answer at once. A frown drew his white bushy brows together. He said finally, “She doesn’t know. She was in a hurry that night. She’s inclined to be charitable and believe that Katrin didn’t notice that she put the jewel case in the drawer. I, too, am inclined to be charitable.” He sighed dismally and his gray-fringed head moved slowly from side to side. “It’s a bad business, Mr. Shayne,” he went on. “I’d prefer to drop the entire matter, absolve your company of all liability in the matter, if I thought-” His words trailed off and he looked deeply troubled.

“If you thought you could stop the investigation that way?” Shayne said harshly. “In other words, it’s worth a hundred and twenty-five grand to you for me to drop the matter.”

“So many things come up,” he answered, his hands trembling in a helpless gesture. “So many things are much better left unsaid.”

“You’re not the first man,” Shayne told him harshly, “to find that an investigation like this generally drags out a lot of dirty linen. But this is a private investigation. I may do a lot of digging, but I’m only interested in results.”

Mr. Lomax nodded unhappily. “There’ll be an inquest into Katrin’s death, I presume.”

“Sure. But it’ll be rather perfunctory as long as we don’t turn up anything to upset the suicide theory.”

“I don’t know what you think. It’s hard to understand young people nowadays.”

Shayne repeated, “I’m only interested in results. I’ll take a look at that safe now, if you don’t mind.”

“By all means,” he replied. He opened the door on the left and Shayne followed him into a spacious bedroom.

A wainscoting of unvarnished knotty pine some five feet high ran all around the room with white-painted walls above it. One huge painting hung directly across from the door, depicting a buck and a doe and a fawn against a background of snow and spruce. The furnishings were massive antiques, and a delightful piney smell filled the room.

Lomax turned to a miniature painting on the wall to the right as they went in. Removing it, he showed Shayne the small barrel safe and began turning the dial to open it.

An electric light came on when the door opened. Shayne looked into the cylinder and saw several small jewel boxes and a long metal box such as valuable papers are kept in.

He waited while Lomax opened each of the boxes for his inspection, then said, “I guess that’s all,” and started toward the door.

Mr. Lomax detained him by saying, “If I should decide to waive all claim against your company, is there any way you could arrange to have the money paid to my wife so she’d think it came from the company?”

Shayne frowned down at his bony, bloodless face. “You mean if you paid us the money-for us to pay over to her?”

“That’s what I mean-yes. I’m sure she would not agree to dropping the matter without payment.”

“That would take some thinking over,” Shayne answered. “And”-his voice hardened-“there’s still the Katrin Moe angle. You can’t buy that investigation off.”

Mr. Lomax’s body stiffened with dignity. “I hardly meant-to buy you off.” He moved toward a door with a thin veneer of knotty pine on the inside, saying, “We’ll go out this way.”

Shayne went ahead of him and jerked the door open. He walked into a moment of utter silence in the living-room; a strained silence that comes when a group has been discussing persons who appear unexpectedly.

Eddie Lomax was leaning over his mother as though he had been arguing with her. Clarice was leaning against the mantel with an expression of cold disdain on her young face.

Shayne turned to Mr. Lomax and said, “I’ll have a talk with your chauffeur before I go.”

“Yes. I’ll ring for him.”

“I’d prefer to talk to him in his own quarters,” said Shayne.

“I think he’s down in his workshop,” Eddie told them.

“Then you show Mr. Shayne the way down, Eddie,” his father said.

Shayne nodded to the ladies and thanked them for their co-operation. He said to Lomax, “I’ll get in touch with you later,” and followed Eddie out.