All this time Esther had had the wisdom to sit perfectly still, with only a slight expression of dismay. Subtly she was suggesting that Amy’s accusations were too wild to merit her denial.
“There’s another point worth considering,” said Allan. “There has never been the slightest breath of scandal about Mrs. Gregory. She and her husband are the most devoted couple I know.”
“Of course.” Peter was simmering. “Everybody knows that.”
Murchison pursed his lips and looked thoughtfully at Allan. “There’s one point you haven’t mentioned: the Nembutal. Some capsules may be missing, according to your statement. Perhaps your housekeeper saw some of the patients who called here between 5 and 7 this afternoon after you and the nurse had left.”
“She saw me,” said Peter defiantly. “I wasn’t going to mention it, because it didn’t seem to be relevant, but now I’ll have to. I came here this afternoon around 6 o’clock to get some emperin for my mother’s neuralgia. The housekeeper let me in, but there didn’t seem to be anyone else around except the cat. That’s how I got that bit of cat fur on my sleeve, Amy — playing with Houri.”
“And you just helped yourself to Nembutal?” suggested Murchison.
“Of course not! Why should I do an idiotic thing like that?”
Allan intervened: “You do understand that I’m not sure whether any Nembutal is missing or not?”
Murchison turned to Amy with a smile that was not unfriendly. “There goes the one bit of corroboration you ad. Better forget the whole thing and get a good night’s rest.” He became gravely polite as he addressed Esther: “Are you and your husband patients of Dr. Galt?”
“My husband has been his patient. I haven’t been ill since I came here.”
“And I suppose you can account for most of your time this afternoon tween 5 and 7?”
“Of course.” Esther smiled through her distress, sunshine piercing a storm cloud. “I was at home all afternoon until I went to the Corbetts’ for dinner. My husband was out, but our house guest, Mr. Payne, can probably assure you I didn’t leave the house. He was in his own room writing letters. The window beside the desk in that room overlooks the front drive. I am sure he would have seen me go out.”
“And the servants?”
“They were in the kitchen. Two maids, Bridget and Anna. So I couldn’t have gone out the back way, either. And there are no French windows.” Esther’s smile seemed to say, “Is all this necessary?”
Murchison’s answering smile agreed that it was not. “Thank you, Mrs. Gregory. That clears up everything.”
Amy felt physically ill. “Aren’t you going to — do anything?”
Murchison looked at her, no longer friendly. “What do you expect me to do? The District Attorney’s office has to decline prosecution if there isn’t enough evidence to win a case in court. In this case there’s no evidence at all. I really think you owe Mrs. Gregory an apology. Good night.”
Through a haze across her eyes and a drumming in her ears, Amy heard Allan and Peter saying “Good night” to Murchison in voices loud with relief as they escorted him out.
Amy looked at Esther. “Well?” Amy’s voice was hard.
But Esther answered softly, “Well?”
“It’s between you and me, isn’t it?”
If Amy hoped that the sting of her words would bring that revealing look of frenzy to Esther’s face again, she was mistaken. Esther’s smile was so gentle, so tired, that Amy began to wonder. Had she been deceived by a trick of the lamplight? Had she really surprised that look on Esther’s face at all?
“My dear child” — there was a slight vibrancy in Esther’s voice — “I am distressed to think you could believe me capable of such things.”
Amy looked at her steadily. “It’s witchcraft. Both Peter and Allan defended you, though it meant discrediting me. You could charm a dead man out of his shroud. You almost charmed me. Almost. Not quite. If only I knew who he was, the man you talked to this afternoon, the man who killed Sharpe. Peter can be a fool. Allan admires you. And Payne was at your home with you this afternoon while poor Curtis was out. Why couldn’t you and Payne have left the house together and come over here? Your maids were in the kitchen. They might not have seen you leave.”
Esther dropped her eyelids. Her face was still. “Can you really believe that I don’t love Curtis?”
“I’m sorry. You sound as if you meant it, but I heard you talking to the other man. If anything happens to Curtis now, I... I’ll spend the rest of my life bringing it home to you. I’m warning you.”
Amy could not understand Esther’s sudden smile. Honest anger or hypocritical scorn would have been normal responses. But why that look of sly, almost mischievous irony? As if Amy had done or said something utterly stupid that played directly into Esther’s hands...
Amy woke late the next morning. In a wan voice, she answered the tap on her door: “Come in!” A maid entered with a breakfast tray. Natalie followed, trailing an exquisitely fragile lavender peignoir. She lit a cigarette and waited until the maid had gone. “Amy, you know I love you, but why did you have to cause Peter such embarrassment last night? He tells me you practically accused his friend, Esther Gregory, of murder without any evidence at all.”
“His friend?” Amy put down her coffee cup. “I thought Esther was your friend. And there was evidence.”
As Natalie listened, a shrewdness came into her eyes Amy had never remarked before. “I suppose the man was Payne.”
Amy was amazed. “You believe me? You think Esther capable of such a thing?”
Natalie smiled. “My dear child, I’ve always suspected that Esther was capable of anything. That’s one reason she fascinated me.”
“But I thought she was your friend!”
“A woman my age doesn’t make friends, Amy. I don’t like Esther. I like being with her. She’s decorative and if I’m giving a party I know the men will have a good time if Esther’s there. But I’ve always thought she would be a dangerous woman if she were thwarted.”
“Then you don’t think I did wrong last night?”
“On the contrary, I think you did very wrong. Not because I care about Esther, but because I care about you. What business is it of yours if Esther has a lover?”
“No business of mine at all,” agreed Amy. “But murder is everybody’s business.”
“Murder?” It was Natalie’s turn to be amazed. “Esther is not a fool!”
“But I heard her say—”
“Oh, talk!” Natalie brushed the idea aside. “People who talk about murder don’t commit one. Just as people who talk about suicide never kill themselves. You happened to catch Esther and her lover at a morbid moment, daydreaming about something they would never have the nerve — or the stupidity — to carry out in cold blood. I’m not afraid of Esther’s murdering Curtis. I am afraid of his divorcing her and washing a great deal of dirty linen in public.”
Amy sighed. As usual she and her mother had been talking at cross-purposes. When Natalie said, “I’ve always suspected that Esther was capable of anything,” she meant anything scandalous, not anything criminal. Violence was something outside all Natalie’s traditions and experience.
“I don’t care what happens to Esther,” Natalie was saying. “But I don’t want my daughter mixed up in a nasty thing like this. Or my son.”
“But... Peter isn’t involved!” protested Amy.
“Are you sure?” Natalie frowned. “Esther is at the age when women make fools of themselves over younger men.”
“Then it was more hope than faith that made you say, ‘I suppose the man was Payne’?”
“He’s a likely candidate, but — Peter never did have the brains you have. The only thing now is to pick up the pieces.” Natalie cast an appraising look at Amy, the look of any mother whose daughter is ‘unpredictable.’ “Curtis Gregory is downstairs now. He wants to see you. That’s why I woke you. I have an impression that he’s as anxious to protect Esther as I am to protect Peter, and Curtis thinks you can help. I hope you’ll do whatever he suggests.”