The Golden Goose

11

When Prin left the house she had no other intention than to get away. But she was no sooner outside in the diminishing afternoon than she felt such a need for the sight and sound of Coley Collins that it was like a crampy pain, and she turned her steps at once toward town. She could not remember if Coley was on duty at the taproom this evening or not, everything had been so disrupted and confused since Uncle Slater’s death. She decided to try the hotel first.

She walked under darkened trees whose upper branches were still touched with light, imparting to the leaves an illusion of undersea translucency. The air was alive with cicadas and peepers crying their wares — altogether, Prin thought, too lovely an ending to a day made ugly by death and deviltry. What she had to do, and quickly, was to find Coley; and then things would seem not quite so bad as they indubitably were. Her pace quickened, and soon she came to the hotel and made for the taproom.

But Coley was not on duty.

At first Prin felt lost and betrayed, all hope dissolved in the instant. But then she took hold of herself. She was being absurd. What she must clearly do was to go on to the house where Coley lived — where he most likely was this very moment. She left the hotel and headed for Grantlund Street.

The number was 2267; and since she turned into Grantlund Street on the 900 block, she had thirteen blocks to walk. By the time she reached the 2200 block it was too dark to read the house-numbers; but 2267 must be toward the end of the block, so Prin hurried along.

It was not a good block, even charitably regarded. The houses were mostly tiny one-family units in need of paint and repairs, with scratchy little six-by-six gardens, most of them tall with weeds. Then Prin spotted a larger house just off the far corner, and that was obviously the house, because it was the only one that seemed to have room for even a small apartment to rent. So she went up onto the porch and peered at the number on the door, and it was 2267, sure enough.

She hesitated. She did not know if the whole house was rented, or only part of it; if the owner happened to live downstairs, it might not be discreet to ring the bell and ask the way to a young man’s apartment — although, from the looks of the neighborhood, this was a question that might not be considered unusual or objectionable. On the whole, she decided, it would be better simply to go in and up the stairs; so she did. No one stopped her, Coley’s door had his name tacked to it, and there was no problem.

Prin knocked, and heard movements beyond the door. Now that there was only a door between them, she became desperately eager. She meant to throw her arms around Coley and kiss him without shame or ceremony the moment he was within reach, and she had this so strongly in mind that she almost did it in spite of the fact that it was not Coley who opened the door.

The door opener was a very small young man who would have necessitated stooping if the kiss had been executed. The top of his head, which was blond and burred, came approximately to Prin’s chin; and Prin thought in the first traumatic instant of recoil that he was not a young man at all, but a boy, which had not been true for a good many years. He was wearing heavy glasses that, on his tiny face, conveyed the immensity of racing goggles. Below a button nose lay a pinched mouth, so that Prin’s third impression, after those of the young man and the boy, produced a composite old-young man-boy. Which was, although she could not know it, remarkably close to the fact.

“Oh,” said Prin, “I’m sorry. I thought Coley Collins lived here.”

“So he does,” the old-young man-boy said, “and so do I.”

“You mean you live here together?”

“Certainly.”

“How odd!”

“How odd of you to think so. May I ask why?”

“Because Coley forgot to mention you, that’s all. I assumed he lived alone.”

He removed his goggles and wiped them on the tail of the sport shirt screaming outside his pants. Then he put the goggles back on and, leaning a little, peered.

“You’re Princess O’Shea,” he exclaimed.

“How did you know?”

“Coley may never have mentioned me to you, but he’s mentioned you to me so many times that I’m sick of you. I must admit, though, that Coley has a sharpshooter’s eye. You’re the type girl I’d like to draw a bead on myself, I think, if I liked girls.”

“You don’t like girls?”

“No, because they don’t like me. It’s a kind of sex war.”

“That’s too bad. There are so many fun-things boys and girls can do together.”

“I don’t want to discuss it,” said the gnome. “Coley’s in love with you. Do you know that?”

“I should hope so,” said Prin, wondering when he was going to ask her in.

“Oh, there’s no question about it. Are you going to take him away from me?”

Prin was rather startled. “I suppose so. You don’t have any claim on him, do you?”

“Just the claim of undying friendship.”

“Well, I’m sorry. But if we’re going to be married—”

“I don’t suppose you’d consider letting me live with you,” the little man-boy asked wistfully, “afterward?”

“I doubt,” said Prin with no doubt whatever, “that an arrangement like that would work out.”

He looked glum. “I’m inclined to agree. I’m the jealous type. Don’t misunderstand me,” he said suddenly. “Coley and I are not—”

“I’m relieved to hear it,” said Prin; and she was, too.

“You won’t mind my visiting him now and then?”

“Well, no.”

“Thank you. My name is Winston Whitfield. Coley isn’t here just now.”

“Where is he, Mr. Whitfield?”

“He’s at an evening class taking a lesson in embezzlement. You know, Coley is learning how to steal a bundle so we can go away somewhere and live forever after without having to work.”

“Plans have now changed. I’m the one who’s going with him.”

Whitfield’s little face reflected first frustration, then menace. “You promised to let me visit,” he said, “and don’t — you — forget it!”

“I’ll send you a proper invitation at the proper time. Do you expect Coley back soon, Mr. Whitfield?”

“Call me Winnie,” Winston Whitfield said sulkily. “Any time now. I’m listening for his signal. He always whistles coming up the stairs.”

“May I come in and wait?”

“If you like snakes.”

“I beg pardon?” said Prin.

“The place is full of snakes. I just thought I ought to tell you.”

“That’s considerate of you. On second thought, I believe I’ll wait out here.”

“They’re contained, of course. I have them in aquariums.”

“In that case, I’ll come in.”

Winnie Whitfield stepped aside to admit her. Prin looked cautiously around a room that would not have merited a second glance, for it was drab and nappy as the soul of a landlord, except for the aquariums. There were some two dozen of them, all furnished tastefully with colored rocks and weathered wood, and each housing at least one wriggling, sinewy thing.

“Would you like to hold one?” asked Winnie, pleased at her interest.

“Well, no, thank you.”

“Oh, you’re really missing something. They’re so affectionate.”

“How do you tell the difference between affection and hunger?”

“You have the usual prejudices,” said the little man sadly. “Snakes are the most slandered of living creatures. Don’t you realize that of the more than one hundred varieties of snakes in this country, only four are poisonous?”

“Is that a fact?” said Prin politely. “I’m pretty ignorant about snakes.”

“Most people are. Only our coral snake, water moccasin, copperhead and rattlesnake are poisonous.”

“I’m relieved to hear it,” said Prin.

“Snakes are so beautiful. Take that common bull snake over there. See how esthetically designed he is? The perfect harmony of his colors? Would you care to watch him walk across the room?”

“No, thank you,” said Prin hurriedly. “I didn’t know snakes walk, by the way. I thought they slither along on their tummies.”

“Another slander. Many of them walk. Actually, on their ribs. Grip the ground with them. That’s why they can’t get along on a slick surface.”

“How do you happen to be so interested in snakes?” asked Prin, just to keep the little weirdo from demonstrating one of them.

“Because nobody likes them,” said Winnie Whitfield savagely, “that’s why. All because of that fairy tale about the Garden of Eden. If you ask me, a woman invented that story about Eve being tempted with the apple by the snake! Transferring her own guilt to a poor old reptile. Why, there are endless satisfactions in studying snakes. For instance, they swallow their food whole—” Prin could not suppress a shudder “—even though they have teeth. Why? Because their teeth are slanted the wrong way. Did you know that? Watch a snake shed its skin sometimes — it’s marvelous. Did you know some snakes bear their young alive? Garter snakes do that, little plain old garden variety garter snakes. Isn’t that wonderful? And useful — why, take the bull snake, the king snake. They eat rats and mice.”

“How, ah, do you keep your bull snake,” coughed Prin, “on his regular diet?”

“I set traps for mice — I have an arrangement with a wholesale grocer.”

“I can see you really love snakes.”

“Oh, yes, better than anything in the world.” Winston Whitfield, who had been looking intensely happy, now looked intensely sad. “Excepting Coley, that is. I love Coley Collins even more than snakes. He’s so clever, so kind. He’ll really steal a great deal of money some day.”

“I hope not,” said Prin with asperity. “Coley told me about those embezzlement lessons. Can’t you tell a joke when you hear one?”

“Joke?” said Winnie, looking puzzled. “Well, no matter. Rich or poor, Coley’s the finest fellow alive. I wish you and he had never met.”

“Nature had to be served eventually,” said Prin philosophically. “Have you known each other long?”

“Since we were boys. He was the only one ever liked me, I don’t know why. He never gets angry with me.”

“Doesn’t he ever get angry about your having snakes around?”

“Never,” said Winnie stoutly. “He will even hold one once in a while to please me. I can hardly bear to think of living without him. Isn’t there anything I can say or do to make you give him up?”

“I can’t think of anything. Isn’t that Coley now? Someone is whistling on the stairs.”

“I Wonder Who’s Kissing Her Now,” said the little fellow gloomily. “Yes, that’s Coley, all right.”

And so it was. Coley came in and saw Prin and immediately stopped whistling.

“Hello, there,” Coley said. “What brings you here, Prin? Is something wrong?”

“There’s hardly anything right, darling, but you could start making things better by kissing me.”

“It wouldn’t be fair in front of old Winnie,” said Coley bashfully. “He’s the jealous type.”

“So,” said Prin in a grim voice, “he told me.”

“Oh, so you and old Winnie have been getting acquainted. He’s a sweet little guy, if on the nutty side. Aren’t you, Winnie?”

“Yes, Coley,” said Winnie Whitfield ecstatically.

“But all these snakes—” began Prin.

“Oh, you get used to them after a while. They keep Winnie happy, that’s the important thing. Though I admit I was kind of upset one night when one got into bed with me.”

“It was only a king snake, Coley,” Winston said with anxiety.

“It’s worse than having to sleep with somebody who has cold feet. Do you have cold feet, Prin?”

“Frankly, I don’t know. But I’m sure I’m warmer than a king snake.”

“You mentioned kissing,” Coley said suddenly. “Shall we go somewhere and indulge ourselves?”

“Oh, yes.”

“I know a little park. It’s only a few blocks from here. We could sit on a bench and do it.”

“A dark bench?”

“The darkest we can find. And maybe later we’ll step out. Winnie, Prin and I are going to the park.”

“I heard you,” Winnie said sullenly.

Coley took Prin to the little park and kissed her. The kiss was repeated repeatedly, since Coley pointed out with irrefutable reason that one kiss was about as satisfying as one beer. Later, when Prin had been sufficiently comforted, they approached Uncle Slater and the murder by way of Winston Whitfield.

“Well,” Coley said, “what did you think of old Winnie?”

“He’s a bit odd, isn’t he?” said Prin. “You said so yourself. Is that why you haven’t told me about him before?”

“Oh, I’m so used to having him around I keep forgetting about him. Besides, most people don’t understand him.”

“I can see why they wouldn’t. I’m not sure I understand him myself, and I’ve had plenty of practice understanding odd people.”

“He’s an engaging little devil when you get to know him. Currently, however, he’s something of a problem. I don’t know what to do with him when we get married.”

“He’s a grown man, isn’t he? He’ll just have to shift for himself.”

“A grown man? Winnie? By God, that’s true, when you stop to think of it.”

“Darling, you’re far too warm-hearted for your own good.”

“Well, I feel sort of committed to old Winnie. I’ve kind of led him to expect certain things.”

“He absolutely worships you. He thinks you’re the kindest and cleverest and finest fellow alive.” Prin watched him narrowly.

“Did he say that?” asked Coley, obviously touched.

“Yes.”

Coley uttered a distressed sound. “I wonder if we couldn’t arrange it so he lives with us later.”

“We could not. And you’d better stop thinking along those lines, Coley Collins!”

“You’re probably right. He’d only make a bloody little nuisance of himself — snakes all over the place, and all that. It’s a big house, though. Maybe we could put him and his snakes in the basement or some place.”

“Which house do you mean?”

“Your Uncle Slater’s, of course. I assume we’ll be living there.”

“Why should you assume any such thing? Uncle Slater is dead, and everything has changed.”

“You mean about that crazy will, ringing in all those remote O’Sheas? Princess, I’ve always had a feeling you’d come out better than the others. He liked you the best — told me so himself one night in the taproom. You’ll see, Prin. The house will be yours at least. Probably the whole estate.”

“On the contrary, Coley, nothing is mine.”

“What’s that? What did you say?”

“He didn’t leave me anything at all.”

“You’re putting me on.”

“The crazy will was a deliberate fake. He never signed it. Lieutenant Grundy found out about the real will from Selwyn Fish, Uncle Slater’s lawyer. That’s one of the things I wanted to talk with you about. Everything goes to Aunt Lallie.”

“Aunt Lallie! Did you say Aunt Lallie gets it all?”

“That’s what I said.”

Coley was in the grip of a terrible excitement. He leaped from the bench and began pacing with a measured wildness, so many steps this way and so many that, like a big cat in a small cage. It was too dark for Prin to see him clearly, but she knew from having seen it before that his eyes were glittering with fierce thought. Finally he sat down again on the bench, breathing deeply.

“Well!” he said. “Well, by God!”

“As far as I’m concerned,” Prin said, “Aunt Lallie is welcome to her haul. It’s bad enough that Uncle Slater was murdered, but to think that it was probably done by a member of his family! Whoever it is ought to be ashamed of himself.”

Coley muttered absently, “Aren’t you using the wrong gender?”

“The wrong what?”

“Gender. You said ‘ashamed of himself.’ It should be ‘herself.’”

“You mean Aunt Lallie? Don’t be silly, Coley.”

“Why not? As it’s turned out, isn’t she the one who profits?”

“Aunt Lallie says she had no knowledge whatever of the existence of that valid will.”

“My God,” groaned Coley. “Of course she said she didn’t know anything about it! Would you expect her to say that she did?”

“What about the drug? It wasn’t the kind of drug Aunt Lallie would even know existed, let alone get hold of and use.”

“What drug? You haven’t told me that.”

“A synthetic substitute for insulin. Something new for diabetics.”

“The devil it was,” said Coley thoughtfully. “Who said that was what was used? Grundy?”

“Yes. They found it in Uncle Slater’s bottle of bourbon, and then in Uncle Slater. Enough to kill him and then some.”

Coley was quiet. Finally he said, “Did Grundy say who he thought did it?”

“No. But public opinion apparently favors a collaboration between Aunt Lallie and me.”

“That’s utterly weird. By God, that’s just the sort of insanity you’d expect a herd of O’Sheas to come up with.”

“There is a kind of logic in it, though,” sighed Prin. “Aunt Lallie had the motive, and I had access to the drug. I mean, I work in a drug store. It’s something that would occur to anyone.”

“It didn’t occur to me. It’s obvious I’m going to have to put my mind to this if I’m to be of any use to you in this business. Don’t worry, Prin. I’ll set things straight if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Well, I hope it isn’t the last thing. I have some additional duties in mind that I’m rather looking forward to.”

“Me, too, so I have a selfish interest in seeing that you’re not charged with something that you didn’t do. Or, for that matter, that you did do.”

“Oh, Coley,” said Prin, burrowing into his shoulder.

“To begin with,” muttered Coley, “I’ll go see that knucklehead Grundy. If he’s left to his own devices, he’s sure to come to all the wrong conclusions.”

“I’m not at all convinced he’s a knucklehead, darling. I get the positive feeling that he’s a lot smarter than he lets on. Besides, he likes me.”

Coley looked stormy. “Has the guy been making passes at you?”

“Don’t be silly. It’s just a feeling I get. He suspects me, of course, but he keeps hoping I’m innocent — that sort of thing. Isn’t that an advantage?”

“I prefer something more substantial,” said Coley coldly, “such as catching the murderer. I still incline toward your Aunt Lallie. And I’ve just thought of something that may surprise a lot of people, including your smitten detective-lieutenant.”

“You have?” murmured Prin happily. “What, darling?”

“Never mind.” Coley’s voice softened. He lifted her face and said, “What we should do now is think pleasant. Have you had anything to eat recently?”

“No, but I’m not hungry.”

“Would you like to go to a movie?”

“No, I would like you to kiss me again, and then take me home.”

“Do you feel better now?”

“Much, much better.”

So he kissed her again — and again, and again, and again and again and again and again — and then he took her home and they sat on the front steps and kissed some more and held hands, and it was a good interlude in a bad time that might have been worse.

That was worse, and was to get worse still.

Had they but known.