The Case of the Turning Tide

Chapter 13

Frank Duryea arrived home Monday night to find his wife, a mischievous twinkle in her eye, walking about the house with an exaggerated limp.

“What now?” he asked.

She regarded him solemnly. “It’s the right one.”

“Right what?”

“Leg, to you.”

“What about it?”

“It’s half gone.”

He thought for a minute before getting the idea from the expression in her eyes. Dropping into a chair and assuming his most professional manner, he said, “Let me take a look. We may have an action for damages.”

She lifted her skirt, slid her right leg across his knees, and Duryea examined it gravely, running the tips of his fingers up the sheer silk of her stocking.

“Well?” she asked.

“It’s very bad,” he admitted solemnly.

“That’s what I feared,” she whispered. “From looking at it, can you tell what caused it?”

“Yes. It’s been talked off.”

She nodded. “And I was so proud of it. Tell me, will it grow back?”

“That depends on a variety of factors. When did you first notice that it was disappearing?”

“This morning shortly after you left for the office. Oh, Frank, I’m so afraid you’ll have the same trouble!”

He asked, “Was there more than one subject of conversation to whittle it down, or was it all...”

“No. It was all about the one thing. What can you do, Doctor?”

“Well, first we’ll have to get at the cause.”

“That isn’t going to be easy, I’m afraid.”

“Don’t forget I have great powers. I might have him arrested as a vagrant.”

“He’ll get out again. He says no one has ever been able to keep a Wiggins in.”

Duryea laughed. “Perhaps a thirty-day recess might help a lot. What are you doing?”

“Cooking dinner, my love. Remember, the maid’s having two days off this week.”

“Oh, yes... Where’s the source of your leg trouble?”

“Out in his trailer right at present. He’s been a busy little man all day. You know something, Frank?”

“What?”

“According to rumor, Gramps Wiggins is the very, very, very black sheep of the family. Wine, women, and song; and anything he lacks along musical lines, he’s made up in the other two.”

“Well?”

She said, “I thought a quart of whiskey and a bottle of cocktails might get him completely blotto in case you don’t feel like talking a lot of shop. Then we could go see that movie. I’ve even gone so far as to purchase the requisite liquid refreshments from my housekeeping allowance. I’ve budgeted ’em under ‘Medical Necessities.’ ”

“Well,” Duryea said gravely, “we might get Gramps in here and try some of the medicine. If he doesn’t pass out, we might take him to the movies with us.”

She said, “Not Gramps. He’s picked out a mystery movie he thinks you should see. He’s absolutely and utterly steeped in mystery. He makes dark, cryptic remarks and grim forecasts. I’ll bet he’s sleeping with a gun under his pillow.”

“Is he getting on your nerves, babe?”

“Heavens, no,” she said, laughing. “I don’t mind him, but you married me and not my family.”

He asked, “Where is that bottle of cocktails?”

She produced it, and Duryea drew the cork. “Let’s get him in for a toast to crime,” he said.

Gramps Wiggins’ voice, shrill and high-pitched, sounded from the doorway. “Don’t need to call me when you’re pullin’ the cork on a bottle, son. Some sort of a psychic sense brings me ’round right at what they call the psychological moment. Of course, I ain’t absolutely perfect. Here an’ there in the last sixty-eight years I reckon I’ve missed an occasional drink, but it’s been few and far between.”

Duryea poured out the cocktails into a shaker filled with cracked ice, then into three glasses. They touched rims. “Here’s to crime,” Duryea said.

Gramps Wiggins’ eyes danced. “Bigger an’ better crimes!” He pulled a blackened pipe from his pocket, pushed tobacco down in it, lit a match, and filled the kitchen with a thick, pungent smoke. “Son,” he said, “about those murders...”

“Have a refill on that cocktail,” Milred said quickly.

“Don’t care if I do.”

Duryea poured the cocktail, and Gramps Wiggins tossed it off with a quick, all-but-casual gesture. “Now, son, about them murders...”

“Gramps,” Milred interrupted, “you could help put some of the things on the table.”

“Okay, what do I do?”

“Split open those baked potatoes, put a couple of squares of butter in each one. Sprinkle on some paprika, and get the pad on the table for the steak platter. This steak is going to be sizzling when it comes out of the broiler.”

“Okay,” Gramps said. “Where are the potatoes?”

“Coming right up,” she said, opening the oven door, and bringing out a pan, which held three large baked potatoes. “Use these pot-lifters, Gramps, and you won’t burn your fingers. Just push the ends in so you break them a little, and...”

Gramps said indignantly, “Think I don’t know how to bust an’ butter a potato?”

He picked up the pot-lifters, grasped the potatoes by the ends, pushed them together, and, as cracks opened in the top, inserted squares of butter. “Now, son,” he said, “about these here murders...”

Milred looked at her husband. “I surrender. I’ve done every darn thing I can.”

Frank laughed. “Go ahead, Gramps. What about the murders?”

“Been scoutin’ around a little bit,” Gramps Wiggins said with that close-lipped, nervous, high-pitched voice which was so characteristic of him. “Been doin’ quite a little scoutin’, talkin’ around with different people. S’prizin’ how much you can learn just by sittin’ around an’ visitin’ with people.”

Duryea, sipping his cocktail, said, “I guess that’s right.”

Milred said. “Lots of elbow room, please. Here comes the steak.” She opened the door of the broiler, slid out a three-inch loin steak done to a delicious brown. “Gramps, pick up that hot platter on top of the stove. Hold it with the pot-lifters down here where I can slide the steak on it... There, that’s fine... Now, let’s have that butter.”

Gramps Wiggins looked at the steak with the eye of a connoisseur. “Chop just a little bit of garlic into some olive oil and pour it on while she’s cooking,” he said. “Gives it a nice flavor. Then there’s a way of packing it in moist salt. The salt bakes into a crust, an’ you break it right off when the steak’s done. That way you seal in the juices an’...”

Milred said, “Yes, I know. There are lots of different ways of cooking steaks, but I like my way the best.”

“What’s your way?” Gramps asked.

“It’s a secret.”

Wiggins helped with the steak, then turned back to Duryea, casually picking up his empty cocktail glass from the kitchen table as he did so. He held the glass in his right hand, making little gestures with it. “Well, let’s get back to them there murders. Like I said, you learn a lot talkin’ with...”

“Gramps’ glass is empty,” Milred said. “Remember, it’s out of household money and budgeted as medicine.”

Duryea refilled all three glasses.

Milred held up the glass and announced, “I don’t know what this is going to do to me.”

“This!” Gramps Wiggins exclaimed in surprise. “Why, this is just sort of a tonic. You can’t drink enough of this to get any effect. Dry Martini, ain’t it? Thought so. Ain’t no particular strength to ’em, just a good flavor. Well, son, like I was sayin’ about these here murders...”

Milred said, “Come on, let’s get dinner on the table. You men go in and sit down.”

Wiggins tossed off his third cocktail, said, “Like I was sayin’, I just poked around a little bit today, foolin’ around down there on the beach, talkin’ with people, askin’ questions. Well, I met a family, name o’ Tucker — mighty nice people — out here from the interior, spendin’ four or five days, stayin’ out at an auto camp. Awful nice chap, Tucker. Works in the oil wells, but he an’ old John Barleycorn go to the mat once in a while in a big wrestlin’ match. The companies don’t like that. They’ve sorta laid him off, an’ the finance company was lookin’ for his automobile. So he decided to take his wife an’ go on a little vacation. Registered under an assumed name on that account, but he’s all right, awfully nice fellow.”

Milred said parenthetically to her husband, “Whenever Gramps gives anyone the endorsement of being a mighty fine chap, you can rest assured he’s either been in jail, is hiding from the sheriff, or is a confirmed drinker. Perhaps it’s all three.”

Wiggins looked sternly at her over the tops of his steel-rimmed glasses. “Now, don’t go puttin’ on airs, Milred. You’re a mighty nice girl, sort o’ took after the Wiggins’ side of the family. Mighty good thing you did, too. Your father resembled his mother a lot, only he was a lot more pantywaist than his mother ever thought o’ bein’. You’re a Wiggins. Don’t go spoilin’ it now. Havin’ a little trouble ain’t nothin’ to hold up against a man. Now this here Tucker...”

Frank Duryea picked up the carving set, started slicing the steak.

“Got some coffee made?” Gramps Wiggins asked Milred.

She nodded.

“I’ll go get a bottle o’ that brandy,” Wiggins said, jumping up. “Goes mighty nice in coffee. A little of it straight ain’t goin’ to hurt you none either. It sort o’ stimulates your stomach an’ makes it handle food faster. Since I been drinkin’ that brandy, never have had even a touch o’ stomach trouble. Don’t have no trouble digestin’ anything.”

Milred said, “You don’t digest it, Gramps. You just pickle it.”

“Mebbe so. Mebbe so. I’ll go get a bottle anyhow. Got a lot of it in the trailer.” He pushed back his chair and his short legs fairly twinkled as he bustled through the kitchen and out to the trailer.

Milred said, “It’s even worse than I thought it was going to be. He’s all loaded for you. I hope you’re not going to mind it too much, Frank.”

He laughed and reached across the table to take her hand. “I think I’m going to like it.”

“Well, just remember you can’t depend on anything he says — I mean, on the people he has for witnesses. Gramps has a genius for picking up people who are just a little off-color.”

Duryea said, “After all, Milred, I’m going to have to prose-cute someone on these murders. It isn’t going to hurt any to talk it over a little.”

“Talk it over!” she exclaimed. “You won’t get a word in edgewise. You’re being awfully nice to him, Frank — and to me.”

“I think he’s swell — and I’m learning a lot about you. So you’re a Wiggins?”

She smiled. “A dissolute wanton,” she said. “I come by it honestly.”

Gramps Wiggins came bustling back with two bottles of brandy. “This here one is only about half full,” he said. “Thought I’d better bring another one along, just in case.”

He passed his coffee cup over to Milred. “Just about half a cup, sister,” he said.

She held the cup under the faucet of the electric coffee percolator, drew off about two-thirds of a cup. Gramps Wiggins promptly filled the other third with brandy, stirred it up, tasted it, and smacked his lips. “Better try some o’ this, son,” he said.

“Later,” Duryea said.

Gramps Wiggins cut off a slice of steak, pushed it in his mouth, scooped up baked potato, broke off a piece of bread, and shoved it in after the potato. Then, ignoring the amount of food in his mouth, started talking, his words all but indistinguishable. “Now that there Tucker...”

Milred said, “Gramps, why don’t you chew your food?”

He looked at her indignantly. “I am chewing my food.”

“You’re talking.”

“Well, I gotta open my mouth, ain’t I, to get my teeth in position? And I close it to bring my teeth down on the food. I also gotta open it an* close it to talk, so I just combine the two operations. Can’t tell whether I talk to chew, or whether I chew to talk...

“Well, gettin’ back to this here Tucker. Nice chap. Everett Tucker his name is. Wife’s name Marjorie. I got their address an’ all about ’em. Ain’t got no children now. Had a boy that was purty wild, got killed in an auto accident. Well, what I was gonna say, son, was how about this here Moline girl that fell overboard from that yacht? When did she go aboard the yacht?”

“She says about ten or fifteen minutes before young Shale picked her up in the boat. She was aboard the yacht just long enough to discover the bodies.”

“Uh huh. Anyone see her goin’ aboard the yacht?”

“Apparently not. Shale, it seems, was about the only one who was in a position to notice her, and he happened to be examining a seashell as she walked past. He says that was just about ten or fifteen minutes before he picked her up out of the water. That’s the only time she could have gone aboard without his seeing her.”

“That ain’t no way to prove anything.”

“Why not?”

“How long had this here Shale boy been on the beach?”

“Nearly three-quarters of an hour.”

“Well,” Wiggins said, “Tucker had been there at least for a half an hour. He thinks probably three-quarters of an hour, but he’s sure of half an hour because after he’d been on the beach a few minutes, he looked at his watch. He remembers what time it was.”

“What did he see?” Duryea asked.

“That’s just the point,” Gramps said. “He didn’t see a gol-darn thing. Now, if that girl had walked along the beach an’ out on that yacht club float, an’ rowed over to this here Gypsy Queen, Tucker would have seen her.”

“He might not have remembered her,” Duryea said. “That quite frequently happens. Unless a witness realizes something is important, he’ll see some routine happening and then forget entirely that...”

“Not Tucker,” Wiggins interrupted positively. “He ain’t one not to have seen a good-lookin’ gal. He was lookin’ at them yachts, talkin’ to his wife about how he was out of a job and havin’ trouble with the finance company, an’ here were a lot o’ people rollin’ in wealth an’ leisure, with yachts to sail around in, just for their own pleasure.”

Milred said, “It probably didn’t occur to him that if he’d applied himself and quit drinking, he might have stood a chance of getting up to the top of the heap himself.”

Gramps said, “Oh, sure. People who own yachts don’t drink. They just apply themselves industriously to work. They don’t...”

“Well, I haven’t sympathy with a man who hasn’t gumption enough to make something of himself, and then starts crabbing because other people have made more of a success.”

Duryea, his eyes alert with interest, said, “You have his name and address, Gramps?”

“Sure. He’s stayin’ here at an auto camp. Like I told you, he’s stayin’ under another name. Tucker, that’s his real name. That’s the name you’d have to use in a subpoena if you was goin’ to bring him into court.”

“What does his wife say?”

“The same thing.”

“I’ll want to talk with them.”

“Wait a minute. You ain’t heard anythin’ yet. Now, Tucker was sittin’ on the beach Saturday afternoon. Purty much of a crowd there Saturday. There wasn’t a breath stirrin’, but it was purty nice weather. This here Gypsy Queen was tied up right there at the same place Saturday afternoon. Tucker noticed her because she’s the biggest yacht in the harbor. He seen a girl go aboard. She went out to the end of the float and waved, and a man rowed out from the Gypsy Queen to pick her up. That girl had on a plaid skirt and a red coat. Young and good Iookin’. Tucker looked at these pictures of the Moline gal in the newspaper an’ thinks maybe this was the same one.”

“What time Saturday?”

“Oh, it was along about mebbe three o’clock.”

“How long did she stay?”

“Until around four. She had some letters in her hand when she came off the yacht. She dropped ’em in the mailbox there at the end of the streetcar line. Tucker watched her.”

Duryea said, “I’m supposed to interview the witnesses again tonight. Do you suppose you could get Mr. and Mrs. Tucker up to my office?”

“Reckon I could,” Gramps Wiggins said. “They’d do anythin’ for me... How about a little more coffee, Milred? Just a speck, just about half a cup.”

Duryea said, “My appointment with the sheriff is at seven-thirty, Gramps. If you’re going along, don’t you think it’d be better to go easy on that stuff?”

“What, this?” Gramps asked in surprise, indicating the brandy.

Duryea nodded.

“Why, shucks, son, that stuff never hurt nobody — taken in reasonable quantities. I never was one to abuse it.”

Milred said, “So we don’t get to see that movie?”

“Why not? We can make the second show.”

Gramps said, “There’s a mystery picture that they say’s a humdinger. We’ll all go to see it. Now that there Moline girl certainly is class. Seen her pictures in the paper. Certainly looks like a million dollars’ worth of curves.”

Milred said, “You keep an eye on my husband, Gramps. After all, you know, we wouldn’t want to have a scandal in the Wiggins’ family.”

“That’s right,” Gramps agreed. “There ain’t ever been a Wiggins that applied for a divorce.”

Milred showed her surprise. “Why, I thought you and Grandmother were divorced.”

“Yep. That’s right, but she was the one that got it. That’s the way with the Wiggins’ strain. If there’s goin’ to be any divorcin’ done, the other side is the one that has the grounds. That’s mighty good steak, Milred. Couldn’t a’ done it no better if I’d put wet salt all around it, an’... an’ how’s for just a leetle more coffee? We might’s well get this here brandy bottle empty.”