The Lonesome Badger

21

Iowa Lee stopped the Cadillac in the circular driveway in front of the Hillcrest Towers. Beagle helped her out of the car and they entered the lobby.

The receptionist, behind the little switchboard, looked inquiringly at Beagle.

“Miss Linda Meadows.”

“Seven-C, but I’ll have to announce you.”

Beagle winked. “Surprise party.”

“It’s a rule that...” The receptionist stopped. Beagle was already leading Iowa Lee to the elevator. As the door closed he saw the operator plugging a connection into the switchboard.

The elevator stopped at the seventh floor and they got out. Beagle pressed the door buzzer of Apartment C.

There was a long period of silence and Beagle pressed the buzzer again impatiently. A chain rattled on the inside and Linda Meadows’s hostile eyes looked at Beagle.

“I can’t see you,” she snapped.

Beagle put his cane against the door panel and pushed. Linda was compelled to step back. Inside the apartment Charlton Temple got up from the sofa.

“Mr. Beagle!”

Beagle stepped into the apartment. Iowa Lee followed.

“Ah, yes, Mr. Temple,” said Beagle pleasantly. “I’m glad to see. In fact, you’re just the person I want to see. Where’s Joe Peel?”

“That ruffian you call a detective?” Temple shrugged. “I haven’t seen him since this noon.”

“You’re sure you haven’t?” Beagle turned to Iowa. “Iowa, my dear, was this man at the picnic this afternoon?”

Iowa looked at Temple closely, then shook her head.

“Have you ever seen him?”

Iowa hesitated. “No, I don’t believe I have.”

“His name is Charlton Temple. Does that register with you?”

“Should it?”

“You’ve a good memory as far as your members are concerned. For instance, you recalled the name of Linda Meadows...”

Linda Meadows exclaimed, “I had enough of that last night. You’re not welcome here, Mr. Beagle. Nor you,” she snapped at Iowa Lee.

“From your attitude, Miss Meadows,” said Beagle smoothly, “you haven’t heard the news.”

“Nothing you could tell me would interest me.”

“My friend, Lieutenant Becker of the police department, hasn’t been around? He didn’t phone you?”

“There’s no reason he should.”

“Perhaps not. But I suggest you buy the morning paper when it comes out at six-thirty.” He paused, then said casually, “You’re out of a job, Linda, my dear.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your employer, Mr. Thaddeus Smallwood...” Beagle sighed. “He’s dead!”

Linda stared at Beagle a moment, then threw her hand up to her mouth. “Oh, no!”

“You really haven’t heard, have you?”

“This is news,” exclaimed Temple.

“Oh, that reminds me, you owe me five hundred dollars, Temple. Joe said you welshed on that deal.”

“Smallwood wasn’t the man,” retorted Temple testily.

Beagle’s eyes were on Linda. She was backing to the couch and sat down heavily, letting her hands fall into her lap. She stared wide-eyed across the room.

“It’s no good,” Beagle said suddenly. “You knew he was dead before I came in.”

She looked up, blinking. “What?”

“You’re overdoing it. He was only your employer.”

“We — were going to be married.”

“The Mile High Friendship Club,” Iowa Lee said suddenly. “Three years ago.”

Linda Meadows looked sharply at Iowa Lee.

Iowa Lee nodded positively. “In Denver, my dear. Remember? I was Miss Whitman’s assistant at the time. You came to several of the meetings.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Linda Meadows roughly. “And I’ve had just about enough for one evening...”

“Go ahead, Iowa,” Beagle prodded.

“Miss Meadows — although that wasn’t her name at the time — got rather well acquainted with one of the male club members. She had an accomplice—”

“Get out of here!” cried Linda.

“Oh, let her finish,” said Charlton Temple easily.

“The victim went to the police and your husband was arrested. He did the noble thing and swore that you knew nothing about it. He had acted entirely on his own.”

“Decent of me, wasn’t it?” purred Temple.

“You?” Beagle exclaimed.

“But I told you the story yesterday. That’s why I hired you. I wanted to make restitution. I had three years at Canon City to think things over.”

“That picture you showed me wasn’t Linda.”

“A slight mistake. But Linda was my wife. Weren’t you, my dear?”

“Oh, what difference does it make now?” burst out Linda. “It’s all over.”

“Quite. I served my time and I want to make restitution.” Temple looked at Beagle. “As soon as you find, Seymour Case.”

“You described Smallwood.”

“Smallwood isn’t — wasn’t — Case.” Temple sighed. “The reason I’m here this evening, Linda, ah, thinks she might be able to help me find him.”

“Are you going to believe this?” Iowa Lee asked Beagle, skeptically. “She joined my club only two months ago.”

“I did not!”

“Your name is on the roster.”

“Then Susan Sawyer used my name.” Linda appealed to Beagle. “It was Susan that Peel talked to.”

“True.” Beagle’s eyes narrowed. “That reminds me, Peel found some letters here.” He looked at Linda Meadows. “Answers to Box 314, care of Heart Throbs.”

“Susan’s letters.”

“Mind if I see them?” asked Temple, holding out his hand.

Beagle shook his head. “Sorry, old man. Peels got them.”

Across the room the phone whirred. Linda whirled, looked at it.

“The phone,” Beagle said.

“I’m in no mood to talk to anyone else!”

“I’ll get it,” said Beagle. He started for the phone, but Linda sprang up and blocked his passage.

“Let it alone!”

“It might be the police...”

“I don’t care who it is. I’ve had enough for one day. Get out of here. All of you.”

Iowa Lee signed to Beagle. “You won’t get anything from her.”

“You won’t get anything from me,” screamed Linda, “because there’s nothing to get. I’m fed up with the lot of you. Get out or I’ll call the manager and have you thrown out.”

“That won’t be necessary,” said Beagle loftily. He stepped to the door and pulled it open.

An enormously fat man, about to press the door buzzer, looked at him in surprise. “Hello,” he said, “there wasn’t any answer but they told me there was a party going on and to come upstairs.” He took a step forward. “Am I interrupting something?”

“We were just leaving,” said Beagle.

Iowa Lee looked at the fat man and exclaimed, “Mr. Brown!”

“Oh, Miss Lee. I didn’t expect to see you here. I... I came to tell Miss Meadows what happened at the picnic.”

“You were out there?” Beagle cried.

The fat man smirked. “I’m a member of the Iowa Lee Lonely Hearts Club.”

“Brown,” said Beagle, nodding. “Mortimer Brown, the rabbit raiser. Joe Peel talked to you yesterday.”

“Ah, yes, the little man who played first base. He’s the one who went to look for the ball with the two base umpires and never did come back.”

“Mr. Brown,” said Beagle, “I’m a private detective. Mr. Peel, the man you’re talking about, it in my employ. When he called on you yesterday, you told him you’d been a victim of the badger game.”

“Badger game? What’s that?”

Beagle made an impatient gesture. “You answered an ad in Heart Throbs. Then you came to see a beautiful young lady, and her husband broke in on you...”

“Oh, yeah!”

“You paid the husband two hundred and fifty dollars.”

“I sure did. He said he’d have me arrested for... for breaking up his home, if I didn’t pay.”

“All right. And the woman with whom you were caught — was it...?” Beagle pointed at Linda Meadows.

Brown’s face registered surprise. “Her? Oh, no, it was Susan Sawyer, the girl who was killed. I saw her picture in the paper.”

“Then,” said Beagle, “how do you happen to know Miss Meadows?”

“Why, she was here the first time I came to call on Susan. She and... uh, Mr. Smallwood. That’s how I knew they were friends.”

“Satisfied, Mr. Beagle?” asked Linda Meadows icily.

“No,” Beagle said bluntly. “I won’t be satisfied until I find Joe Peel.”

“You won’t find him here.”

“I hardly expect to.” Beagle hesitated. “A good evening to you all.” He nodded to Iowa Lee and then stepped to the door. “Can we give you a lift, Mr. Brown?”

“If Miss Meadows doesn’t mind, I’d like to stay a minute.”

“All right, stay,” snapped Linda.

Beagle and Iowa Lee left. On the way down in the elevator, Beagle pursed up his lips. “It’s phony,” he said, “the whole thing.”

“Exactly,” agreed Iowa Lee.

Outside, they got into Iowa Lee’s car. She started up the motor. “Now where?”

“Drive a block up the street,” said Beagle, “then stop.”