The Second Talmage Powell Crime MEGAPACK™: 20 More Classic Mystery Stories

The Delicate Victim

Originally published in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, July 1971.

Terry Bixby stopped the white convertible in the driveway of the imposing redwood rancher in Tanglewood Heights. Looking at the lovely home, he slumped behind the wheel. Thoughts of the future wrung a groan from him.

He wondered which would go first — the home, the car, the furniture. Everything was third-mortgaged and refinanced to the hilt. He wasn’t a magician, and without a monetary miracle, strangers were going to be enjoying their car and throwing those wonderful poolside parties.

Terry sensed movement beside the car and lifted his face from his hands. In her chic, polished cotton dress and sandals, glistening black hair casual about her tanned, lovely face, Miriam was the perfect image of the smart suburban homemaker.

The deep violet of her eyes went a shade darker as she watched the haggard way Terry got out of the car. “You didn’t get the loan,” she stated thinly.

“When I left the finance company,” Terry snapped back, “I couldn’t even get a drink in Chez Pierre. Seems our liquor bill is more than slightly overdue.”

“Too bad, darling,” Miriam’s words crackled brittle ice shards, “you had to pass up your afternoon cocktail!”

“Don’t ride me, Miriam! Not this evening.”

Of course not, you poor dear,” his wife said nastily. She folded her arms and tapped a toe. “But just what do you propose we do now?”

Terry took a heavy breath. “I don’t know,” he admitted. He looked longingly at the house, the landscaped lawn, the poolside furniture just visible beyond the rear corner. His handsome young face flickered with the look of a small boy who’s just learned there’s no Santa Claus. “All we wanted was to live decently.”

“On easy credit and too little income,” Miriam said, her practical, female side asserting itself. “You’ll have to get up the nerve to ask old man Hergeshimer for a raise, that’s all!”

Terry’s knees wobbled at the mere thought. “Not a chance. I’m hanging onto my job by the skin of my teeth as it is. I don’t want to remind my boss I even exist.” He threw a desperate glance around him. “We’ll not give it up! We’ll find a way, if I have to... to rob a bank or something.”

Miriam’s laugh was remotely amused. “Really, Terry. You, in the role of nerveless bank robber? Whit a quaint notion! Anyway, we have another little problem that just popped in.”

“Spare me.” Terry’s eyes implored heavenward. “I thought we had already cornered the market on problems. What is it now?”

“We have a house guest. A little lady who says she is your great-aunt Griselda.”

“Griselda? I haven’t any... Wait a minute, would her last name be Carruthers?”

“So she says,” Miriam said.

“I haven’t seen her since I was a kid.” Terry glanced at the house. “I vaguely remember her as a slick young woman who supplied the rest of the family with its secret gossip. I think she eventually took off for New York and the lure of footlights.”

“She finally landed in our house,” Miriam said. “She arrived by taxicab about two hours ago. Said she’d flown all the way from Caracas and was delighted to have the phone book turn up the name of her only surviving relative here in the city.”

“Caracas?”

“A city in Venezuela, darling.”

“I know where Caracas is!” Terry glared at the house. “Okay, we’ll give her a dinner, a roof for the night, and let her fly right out again.”

Great-aunt Griselda was a dainty and wonderfully preserved woman. Her hair was feathery frost about an oval-shaped face that still retained an echo of its once captivating, porcelain prettiness.

The reunion took place in the living-room, Griselda hugging Terry and stepping back to look at him with a gentle hint of warm and happy tears in her flashing blue eyes. “You turned out to be a truly handsome man, Terry! And with such a lovely wife. I’m so happy to know that life has been kind to you, with this charming little home and all.”

“It’s nice to see you, Aunt Griselda,” Terry lied beautifully, remembering that she was only going to be here for the night.

“Perhaps you’d like to freshen up,” Miriam suggested, “while I finish getting dinner together.”

“Don’t put yourself out, dear. Any morsel will do for me.”

She ate more than a morsel of everything Miriam produced on the table.

“Delicious, delightful!” Aunt Griselda remarked throughout the meal.

Terry lifted a dubious brow. The dinner of roast, potatoes, and asparagus had been the usual scorched and lumpy results of Miriam’s efforts in the kitchen ever since their one servant, a cook-maid, had given up trying to collect the arrears of her salary and walked out three weeks ago.

“The General,” Griselda said, giving her lips a last dainty touch of her napkin, “would have enjoyed the dinner. He did so like his spot of roast beef. Perhaps because was English, you know.”

“The General?” Terry looked up from the plate where he’d scooted food back and forth with the tip of his fork.

“But of course you didn’t know,” Aunt Griselda said. “My late husband, dear.” For an instant, despite her years, her eyes were those of a coquette. “The most interesting, lovable, and charming of all my husbands.”

Terry suspected the General wasn’t long gone. “I’m sorry about your bereavement, Aunt Griselda.”

“Thank you, dear, but I’m feeling better already, being here with you and Miriam. The General and I always felt at ease with younger people. Those gouty folks in the diplomatic and banking circles weren’t our speed. Indeed not. The General and I could swim, ride, golf, fly our plane, and party with the jet set — right up to the day when the bomb killed him.”

Miriam sat straighter. “Bomb? Did you say bomb?”

“Planted in the General’s limousine by those horrid terrorists.” Aunt Griselda’s eyes fired with vengeful wrath, “The cowardly, despicable...” She drew a breath to control the direction of her feelings. “But I really didn’t intend to dampen—”

“Not at all, Aunt Griselda,” Terry said. “What happened?”

“The bomb,” Griselda mused on a past moment of horror, “killed them both. The General and Ferdie.”

“Ferdie?” Terry ventured. “Not... your son?”

Griselda returned to the present with a tender look at Terry. “No, dear. The General and I never were blessed with children. Perhaps that’s why I looked you up. My arrival wasn’t at all accidental. I have no one now but you, Terry, and lovely Miriam.” She looked fondly from one to the other. Then she gave a little sigh. “But we were talking about Ferdie. He was the most excellent of chauffeurs; the product of a fine training school in England.”

Quite naturally, Terry and Miriam slipped a look at each other.

Miriam said casually, “I imagine a chauffeur like that would be expensive.”

“Expensive?” Griselda said, a bit blankly. Then she shrugged. “I suppose so. With the General’s millions we never bothered to count trifling costs. Of course I set up a trust to take care of Ferdie’s poor parents. It was the least I could do.”

Terry was becoming itchy with interest. “It reveals but another facet of a remarkable woman. By the way, did you meet the General in Venezuela?”

“No, dear. I was on the Riviera several years ago, the ideal place, really, for one to readjust after divorcing a second husband. I met the General there.” Her eyes grew dreamy. “The man for whom I’d waited all my life; dashing, handsome, debonair. A perfect gentleman, and the lover of lovers...”

Terry held off from intruding in Aunt Griselda’s memories for a moment. “Was he in the military at the time?”

“Military?” Aunt Griselda smiled with a hint of condescension. “His title was purely honorary, dear, bestowed on him by the King of Trans-Kublait. My husband’s interest was oil. He brought in wells from the Middle East to South America. It was his last business coup that took us to Venezuela — and the dreadful bomb.”

A fluttery eagerness to please their guest had crept to life in Miriam. “Wouldn’t you like more dessert, Aunt Griselda? Coffee? An after-dinner brandy?”

Aunt Griselda smiled her pleasure. “A spot of vintage Cognac—” She caught herself. “But of course anything you have on hand will do beautifully.”

During the following week changes took place in the Bixby household. Aunt Griselda was cozily ensconced in the east corner bedroom, the largest and sunniest.

Terry hocked his golf clubs for the price of good brandy. Mornings, he and Miriam tiptoed about the house, Griselda having quietly mentioned that she did enjoy her morning naps.

After dinner one evening, Terry directed a remark concerning money at Miriam, for Aunt Griselda’s benefit.

“I’m glad you brought up the subject,” Aunt Griselda said.

Terry’s heart warmed from the way she’d risen to the bait.

“I’ve had a talk with a local attorney and broker,” she informed them. “You’ll be interested to know that I’ve transferred considerable sums from Swiss banks — and written a will most favorable to my charming family.” She reached across the table and clasped their hands.

“Why... uh... Aunt Griselda... I didn’t mean...” Terry’s soaring spirits choked off his words.

The old lady missed his real feelings. She patted his hand. “There, there, dear, I understand; and please forgive me for referring to that lurking moment in the future when we shall be parted.”

She pushed back her chair. “Miriam, I’ll have a brandy in the den, please. This American television fascinates me, especially the quaint commercials.” Griselda glided toward the den with regal imperiousness.

Miriam gave Terry her I-could-wring-your-neck look. With the old lady out of earshot, Miriam added a hiss, “You lunkhead! You let the chance to put the bite on her slip right through your fingers!”

Terry groaned. “I’m sorry.”

“You should be. I spent the afternoon answering phone calls — from creditors.”

Terry shifted uneasily. “I wonder how much the old fool is worth?”

“From bits and pieces I’ve picked out of her,” Miriam said, “I’d say about five million.”

“Five...” Terry grabbed the edge of the table and hung on. “Get moving with that brandy. We can’t keep five million dollars waiting!”

Terry dreamed that night of monstrous stacks of currency mildewing in underground vaults. He woke with a drained feeling, and was thirty minutes late when he arrived at Hergeshimer & Co., Real Estate, Mortgages, Appraisals, Investments.

Terry tried to slip unobtrusively to his desk in the far corner, but Miss Buttons, the receptionist, must have been watching for him. She called his name and motioned him toward her desk.

“You’d better get into the old bear’s office right way,” she said. “He was out here asking for you.”

The corner of Terry’s mouth twitched. “Did he say what it’s about?”

“You kidding? But from the quiet, overly-polite manner he was wearing, I’d say he’s drooling with sadistic schemes inside.”

Terry forced one foot to precede the other in the direction of Hergeshimer’s office.

The old bear’s private secretary admitted Terry immediately. Hergeshimer rocked behind his desk, regarding Terry’s cowed figure with the gentlest of eyes. “Good morning, Bixby.”

“Good morning, Mr. Hergeshimer.

Mr. Hergeshimer smiled. “You’re fired, you lazy bum.”

Terry sank weakly toward a chair.

“Don’t use the furniture,” Mr. Hergeshimer said, most courteously. “You’re no longer connected with this company. You’re trespassing.”

“But, Mr. Hergeshimer—”

“No need for further talk, Bixby. Your severance pay is waiting at the cashier’s desk.”

Terry’s shaking hands wadded into limp fists. “At least you owe me an explanation.”

The old bear stopped his quiet rocking. “Owe you? If I owe you anything it’s a lawsuit to recover salary taken under false pretenses. As to my reasons for firing you, there are many. You are a prime, double-dyed example of the modern trend toward a half-day’s work for a double-day’s pay. Your sole concern is the salary and fringe benefits. The job involved is a bothersome annoyance to be shirked as easily as possible.”

The creases in Mr. Hergeshimer’s big face wreathed a pattern of raw pleasure. “In short, Bixby, you are a creep. The sword has been hanging over you for some time. Your failure with Conway yesterday cut the thread.”

“I tried to call Mr. Conway—”

“One time, Bixby. Just once. Then you were off to the country club. But Conway reached his office at three o’clock. If I hadn’t thought of giving him a ring myself, we might have lost the account.”

The old bear turned his attention to a tray of papers on his desk, blotting Terry from existence.

Terry dragged his feet into the comfortless luxury of his house and fell into a living-room chair.

Miriam came in, drawn by the sounds of his arrival. With robot-like motion, he turned his head and looked at her. “I’ve lost my job,” he said.

Her lips tightened to the vanishing point. “Oh, great! You’re a real success, Terry!”

He clutched the arms of the chair as if he would rip them off. “Don’t start on me now, Miriam,” he warned. Carefully, he relaxed his hands and drew a breath. “I’ve thought about it all the way home. Where is Aunt Griselda?”

“In the breakfast nook, nibbling a Texas pink grapefruit laced with sherry.”

Aunt Griselda made a rather exotic image against the bay of windows that enclosed the breakfast nook. She was wearing a wrapper of brilliant colors that she’d said the General had picked up for her in Algiers. Touching her coffee with a spot of cream, she glanced up. “Why, good morning, Terry. Taking the day off?”

“Well, not exactly... As a matter of fact, I’ve lost my job.”

The shadow of concern slipped from Aunt Griselda’s eyes. “For a moment, when you walked in with that look on your face, I thought something serious had happened.”

“This is pretty serious to Miriam and me!”

“But you must keep it in perspective, dear. Jobs are lost and found every day. As the General always said, any willing hands can find a constructive task. When one door closes, another opens. If the General were here, he’d advise you to regard this as a great opportunity to go out and find yourself a better job.”

She wavered in Terry’s vision as his control began to slip. He was so sick of the General’s stuffy, secondhand platitudes he could have crammed them back in Aunt Griselda’s small, pearly teeth. “A few empty words are all you’re going to offer us?”

In the act of rising, Aunt Griselda paused. Looking at him, her eyes cooled. “You know,” she said quietly, “I’ve the suspicion that I’m being tolerated in this house.”

Miriam dug an elbow in Terry’s rib. With a sweet smile, Miriam said, “Why would we do a thing like that, Auntie?”

“For my money,” Aunt Griselda said bluntly. “Perhaps I made the wrong entry. Would I have been welcome if I had arrived in rags?”

“Ever so welcome,” Miriam entreated. “Please believe me. We do love you — for yourself.”

“Sure,” Terry said. “I was upset for a minute, is all. Taking my feelings for my ex-boss out on you, Aunt Griselda.”

Griselda looked from one to the other. “In sickness or accident I should put unlimited funds at your disposal. Terry is my only living relative. One day, when I’m gone, you’ll have all that I possess. But you must solve this little present difficulty on your own, Terry. You’ll be a better man for having done so — and that is my sole consideration.”

Terry and Miriam stood perfectly still, watching Aunt Griselda cross the dining room and move out of view.

“We’ll never get it,” Miriam hissed, “until the day she dies.”

“She knows she’s got a grip on us,” Terry said.

“She’s made slaves of us,” Miriam added.

“Even slaves rebel and take what’s rightfully theirs...”

It was out in the open, the tantalizing, overpowering prospect.

Terry stole a glance at Miriam. The cold determination in her face gave him a slight shock. He realized that Miriam was way ahead of him. Miriam had been thinking about Aunt Griselda’s demise from the moment the old lady had revealed her financial status.

“She’s had her years,” Miriam said. “It wouldn’t be any great loss.”

Terry struggled with a single word: “How?”

“She’s going to take her morning shower right now. We are witnesses for each other. No one can dispute our words. Aunt Griselda is going to slip and fall in the bathroom. Start mustering your grief for your dear, departed aunt, Terry,” Miriam stated abruptly.

While her decision retained its initial iron hardness, Miriam hurried across the dining room, shoulders square. She didn’t look back.

Terry stood with everything inside of him drawing tighter and tighter. He heard a door open, voices speak. A muffled scream. The thuds of a struggle in a remote part of the house. Another scream, longer, higher in its wailing pitch.

Terry clamped his eyes shut and clapped his hands over his ears. The silence seemed endless. Then a form materialized in the hallway arch. It was Aunt Griselda. She was wriggling and jerking smooth the wrinkles in a blue silk dress which she had just slipped into.

She looked across at Terry with the degree of frosty contempt that only the very worldly-wise person can muster.

“My dear boy, through a sense of graciousness I’ve endured the boredom of this house, with nothing but stupid TV programs and the oblivion of catnaps to sustain me. I’ve eaten your wife’s atrocious cooking to pay her an unwarranted compliment. I have taken more brandy than is proper in order to lull the gastric destruction resulting from the selfsame cooking and boredom. I have forced an interest in your stupid little ideas and talk. I accepted it all...” her eyes clouded briefly, “because the weight and loneliness of my year suddenly crushed me, when the General passed on. I, who have traveled every continent and consorted with princes, came here resolved to get down to your provincial level, to appreciate the things you do, to be at last the little old auntie someone might take to their heart.”

She was moving briskly to the front door.

Terry broke his paralysis. “Aunt Griselda, we didn’t mean—”

“I know quite well what you meant. But you’ll never inherit five million dollars.” She opened the front door. “By the way, Miriam was quite awkward in her attack. It took, you know, a superb woman to attract a man like the General. One had to know how to sit a spirited horse, fire a big-game gun, strike a golf ball, and appreciate the fine points of a bullfight. One was never far from danger in the exotic, far corners of the earth — and the General taught me karate a long time ago. I never had to use it until today, when the twisted streets and swarthy villains are so far behind me...”

Terry stumbled after Aunt Griselda to the doorway. He watched the delicate victim walk coolly to the sidewalk and start watching for a taxicab. He knew he would never see the trim figure again.

With a sort of rudderless manner in his actions, Terry somehow got turned around and headed for the bathroom.

Miriam was on the floor, looking stringy-haired and half-drowned. Her face was white with pain and the shock of returning consciousness.

Terry’s stomach turned over as he stared at her right arm. It had been broken just below the elbow. He saw the ragged ends of bone that almost burst the skin.

Miriam stirred; moaned; gibbered a scream, and then another.

“Oh, shut up,” Terry said in a nastier tone than he’d really intended. “Now we’ll have to throw my severance pay away on a lousy hospital bill...”