"That is a shocker," I said. "What on earth do you suppose he was doing there?"
"I don't know," she wide-eyed me. "Do you suppose he had anything to do with the catnapping?"
The greatest actress since Duse.
"Why don't you ask him?" I suggested.
"I've got to be completely honest with you, Archy," she started-and my antennae stiffened. When people say that to you it's time to button your hip pocket to make certain your wallet is secure. "Frank has an awful temper," she went on. "I'm afraid of angering him. He can become quite physical."
"The brute beats her," Meg said wrathfully.
"Not exactly," Hertha said. "But he has struck me on occasion."
I was terribly tempted to remark that if she was truly a seeress she would foreknow the blows in time to duck. I said nothing of the sort of course. I said, "Dreadful."
"So you see I can't ask Frank about it," the medium said sorrowfully. "But I hope it may help you recover the cat."
"I'm sure it will," I said. "And I thank you for being so cooperative."
I finished my beer (sadly, only an 8-oz. can) and bid the ladies adieu. They were both looking at me thoughtfully when I left the apartment.
I drove home slowly, reflecting on what I had just been told. It was obvious the two women had compared notes, and Hertha now knew the original reason I had given her for wanting to find Peaches was false. She was aware the cat had been snatched and I had been employed to find it. That much was clear.
What wasn't quite so apparent was how she knew the missing feline was presently incarcerated in a motel cabin. Either she was telling the truth and had seen the cat and Frank in a psychic vision or she had overheard conversation at home revealing the cat's whereabouts and Frank's guilt.
But then I realized how she knew was unimportant. What was vital was that she was intent on implicating her husband. The story of the physical abuse she suffered at his hands might or might not be true. But I felt Hertha had a deeper motive for wanting her spouse apprehended and perhaps tucked away for an appreciable period in the clink.
I was still pondering the medium's motive for snitching when I arrived home, saw the Lexus in the garage, and knew my parents had returned from church. When I entered the house, my father was standing in the open doorway of his study.
"Are you acquainted with a woman named Mrs. Irma Gloriana?" he demanded. It was almost an accusation.
"Yes, sir, I am," I replied.
He nodded, beckoned, led the way into his study, and closed the door. He sat behind his desk and motioned me to an armchair.
"I think you better tell me about her," he said.
"It's a long story, father."
"Dinner will not be served for another hour," he said dryly. "Surely that will be sufficient time."
Usually mein papa does not question me about details of my discreet inquiries. I think he suspects
I cut ethical corners-which I do-and he'd rather not have knowledge of my modi operandi. Successful results are really all that concern him.
But since he wanted to know about Mrs. Irma Gloriana, I told him. And not only Irma, but husband Otto, son Frank, and daughter-in-law Hertha. I also gave him an account of the seance I had attended and related how I had managed to locate Peaches in Cabin Four of the Jo-Jean Motel. I concluded with a brief report on my most recent meeting with Hertha Gloriana and Meg Trumble. In fact, I told him everything you already know.
He listened closely and never once interrupted. When I had finished, he rose and walked slowly to the sideboard where he carefully packed one of his silver-mounted Upshall pipes. I took that as permission to light up an English Oval. He regained his swivel chair and held his loaded pipe a moment before flaming it.
"Then I gather you and Sergeant Rogoff believe the Glorianas are guilty of criminal behavior," he pronounced.
"I cannot speak for the sergeant," I said, "but I am convinced that Frank Gloriana connived with Laverne Willigan to steal the cat and hold it for ransom. I also think Otto Gloriana, probably Irma, and possibly Frank were involved in the murders of Lydia and Roderick Gillsworth. But I have no idea as to their motive."
He finally lighted his pipe. When he had it drawing freely without a gurgle, he blew a plume of smoke at the coffered ceiling. "Perhaps we'll learn tomorrow," he remarked.
I was astonished. "Tomorrow, father?" I said.
He nodded. "Shortly after returning from church,
I received a phone call from Mrs. Irma Gloriana. A very forceful woman."
"Yes, sir, she is that."
"She wishes to see me tomorrow. She said it was an important matter concerning Roderick Gillsworth. I thought it best to listen to what she has to say. We're meeting in my office at ten o'clock. I'd like you to be present, Archy."
"Of course," I said, grinning. "Absolutely. Looking forward to it, sir. May I tell Sergeant Rogoff about the meeting?"
He considered that request a long, long time. I had learned to wait patiently, knowing that eventually his mulling would end and he'd come to a decision.
"Yes," he said at last, "you may tell the sergeant. And he will be informed as to the results of the meeting if circumstances and ethics allow. It may possibly aid his investigation. You say this woman was formerly the madam of a brothel?"
"Yes, sir. According to the Atlanta police."
"A coarse woman?"
"No, sir, I would not say that-although Al Rogoff might possibly disagree. As you said, she is a forceful woman. I find her almost domineering. Very sure of herself, very heavy in the willpower department. I see her as the Chief Executive Officer of the Gloriana family, the dynamo, with perhaps a tendency to tyrannize." I hesitated a second. Then: "There is something else. In my opinion she is a disturbing woman. Physically, that is. She exudes a certain sensuality. I believe she is aware of it and uses it. I put her age at close to sixty, but there has certainly been no diminution of her sexual attractiveness."
One of my father's hairy eyebrows slowly ascended. But all he said was, "Interesting."
But then, as I rose to leave, he added, "I usually find your reaction to people very perceptive, Archy."
Praise! How sweet it was.
That evening I called Al Rogoff, reported on my meeting with Hertha Gloriana, and informed him of my father's Monday morning appointment with Mrs. Irma Gloriana.
"Oh boy," Al said. "I have a feeling the lady is about to drop a bomb. Keep me up to speed on what happens, Archy."
"Did you get your spies into the Jo-Jean Motel?"
"Yep. Man and woman in Cabin Five, right next to Otto's pad. They've already reported by radio. He's had two visitors so far. I make them as Frank and Irma. Be sure to call me tomorrow after your father's meeting."
"Wait a minute," I cried. "Don't hang up. Those erotic poems Gillsworth wrote-did he mention any names?"
"No one you know," Rogoff said.
"Come on, Al," I said, "don't play games. What names did he mention?"
"Just one. Astarte. I looked it up. Goddess of fertility and sexual love."
"I know her well," I said. "She lives in Miami Beach."
Then he did hang up.
But that long, aggravating day had not yet ended. Later that evening I was in my sanctum, working on my journal, when Laverne Willigan phoned.
"Another ransom note, Archy," she told me. "It was slipped under the front door sometime tonight."
"Uh-huh," I said. "Will you read it to me, please?"
She did. The letter commanded Harry Willigan to assemble fifty thousand dollars in fifty-dollar bills, unmarked with no numbers in sequence. Then he or his representative would deliver the money to a messenger. That was the term used: "Messenger." He would be waiting in the parking area of a twenty-four-hour convenience store on Federal Highway at midnight on Monday. The address given, I judged, was about a mile from the Jo-Jean Motel.