Lay Her Among The Lilies

surprise,” Paula said tartly.

“One of these days, my little harpie,” Kerman remarked gently, “someone is going to haul

off and take at slap at your bustle.”

“That won’t stop her,” I said, ripping open the envelope. “I’ve tried. It only makes her

worse.” I dipped in a finger and thumb and hoisted out a sheet of note-paper and five onehundred-dollar bills.

“Suffering Pete!” Kerman exclaimed, starting to his feet. “Did you give that to the janitor?”

“Now don’t you start,” I said, and read the letter.

Crestways,

Foothill Boulevard,

Orchid City.

May 15th, 1948.

Will you please make it convenient to see me at the above address at three o’clock tomorrow

afternoon? I am anxious to obtain evidence against someone who is blackmailing my

sister. I understand you undertake such work. Please treat this letter as confidential and

urgent. I enclose five hundred dollars as a retainer.

Janet Crosby.

There was a long and painful silence. Even Jack Kerman hadn’t anything to say. We relied

on recommendations to bring in the business, and keeping five hundred dollars belonging to a

prospective client for fourteen months without even acknowledging it is no way to get a

recommendation.

“Urgent and confidential,” Paula murmured. “After keeping it to himself for fourteen

months he hands it to the janitor to show to all his little playmates. Wonderful!”

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“You shut up!” I snarled. “Why didn’t she call up and ask for an explanation? She must

have guessed the letter had gone astray. But wait a minute. She’s dead, isn’t she? One of the

Crosby girls died. Was it Janet?”

“I think it was,” Paula said. “I’ll soon find out.”

“And dig up everything we’ve got on Crosby, too.”

When she had gone into the outer office, I said: “I’m sure she’s dead. I guess we’ll have to

return this money to her estate.”

“If we do that,” Kerman said, always reluctant to part with money, “the press may get wind

of it. A story like this will make a swell advertisement for the way we run our business. We’ll

have to watch our step, Vic. It might be smarter to hang on to the swag and say nothing about

it.”

“We can’t do that. We may be inefficient, but at least let’s be honest.”

Kerman folded himself down in the armchair again.

“Safer to let sleeping dogs lie. Crosby’s something in oil, isn’t he?”

“He was. He’s dead. He was killed in a shooting accident about a couple of years back.” I

picked up the paper-knife and began to punch holes in the blotter. “It beats me how I came to

leave the letter in my trenchcoat like that. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Kerman, who knew Paula, grinned sympathetically.

“Slosh her in the slats if she nags,” he said helpfully. “Am I glad it wasn’t me!”

I went on punching holes in the blotter until Paula returned with a fistful of newspaper

clippings.

“She died of heart failure on May 15th, the same day as she wrote the letter. No wonder

you didn’t hear from her,” she said as she shut the office door.

“Heart failure? How old was she then?”

“Twenty-five.”

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I laid down the paper-knife and groped for a cigarette.

“That seems mighty young to die of heart failure. Anyway, let’s have the dope. What have

you got?”

“Not a great deal. Most of it we know already,” Paula said, sitting on the edge of the desk.

“Macdonald Crosby made his millions in oil. He was a hard, unlovable old Quaker with a

mind as broad as a tightrope. He married twice. Janet, the elder by four years, was by his first

wife. Maureen by his second. He retired from business in 1943 and settled in Orchid City.

Before that he lived in San Francisco. The two girls are as unalike as they can be. Janet was

studious and spent most of her time painting. Several of her oils are hung in the Arts

Museum. She seems to have had a lot of talent, a retiring nature and a sharp temper. Maureen

is the beauty of the family. She’s wild, woolly and wanton. Up to Crosby’s death she was

continually getting herself on the front page of the newspapers in some scandal or other.”

“What kind of scandal?” I asked.

“About a couple of years ago she knocked down and killed a fellow on Centre Avenue.

Rumour has it she was drunk, which seems likely as she drank like a fish. Crosby squared the

police and she got off with a heavy fine for dangerous driving. Then another time she rode

along Orchid Boulevard on a horse without a stitch on. Someone betted her she hadn’t the

nerve, but she did it.”

“Let me get that straight,” Kerman said, sitting up excitedly. “Was it the horse or the girl

who hadn’t a stitch on?”

“The girl, you dope!”

“Then where was I? I didn’t see her.”

“She only got about fifty yards before she was pinched.”

“If I’d been around she wouldn’t have got that far.”

“Don’t be coarse, and be quiet!”

“Well, she certainly sounds a grand subject for blackmail,” I put in.

Paula nodded.

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“You know about Crosby’s death. He was cleaning a gun in his study, and it went off and

killed him. He left three-quarters of his fortune to Janet with no strings tied to it, and a quarter

to Maureen in trust. When Janet died, Maureen came into the whole vast estate, and seems to

be a reformed character. Since she lost her sister she hasn’t once been mentioned in the

press.”

“When did Crosby die?” I asked.

“March 1948. Two months before Janet died.”

“Convenient for Maureen.”

Paula raised her eyebrows.

“Yes. Janet was very upset by her father’s death. She was never very strong, and the press

say the shock finished her.”

“All the same it’s very convenient for Maureen. I don’t like it, Paula. Maybe I have a

suspicious mind. Janet writes to me that someone is blackmailing her sister. She then

promptly dies of heart failure and her sister comes into her money. It’s too damned

convenient.”

“I don’t see what we can do,” Paula said, frowning. “We can’t represent a dead client.”

“Oh, yes, we can.” I tapped the five onehundred-dollar bills. “I have either to hand this

money back to the estate or try to earn it. I think I’ll try to earn it.”

“Fourteen months is a long time,” Kerman said dubiously. “The trail will be cold.”

“If there is a trail,” Paula said.

“On the other hand,” I said, pushing back my chair, “if there’s anything sinister about

Janet’s death, fourteen months provides a pleasant feeling of security, and when you feel

secure, you’re off your guard. I think I’ll call on Maureen Crosby and see how she likes

spending her sister’s money.”

Kerman groaned.

“Something tells me the brief spell of leisure is over,” he said sadly. “I thought it was too

good to last. Do I start work now or wait until you get back?”

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