“Well, say now, there’s a car pulling up in the driveway and I don’t know who it is. Some man getting out and coming to the door. A strange man. I’d better hang up and go see.”
It was Timothy Rourke at the door. He was confronted by a small, birdlike woman with a sharp nose and very bright eyes and a fluttery manner. She said yes she was Mrs. Harry Wilsson, and, yes, she guessed she and Harry were about the closest friends the Blakes had in town, and oh, was he really a reporter from the Miami paper… “well come right on in and sit down and I’ll try to tell you anything I can.”
The gangling reporter followed her into a small and painfully neat sitting room where the outer shades were drawn to give the room a funereal atmosphere, and he perched uncomfortably on the edge of a hard sofa and looked about the room unhappily for an ashtray without seeing one, and Minerva sat down opposite him and drew in a deep breath and leaned forward and began, “I guess you’ve heard that I was the first one over to the Blake house this morning and that I found the body as you might say, and…”
“Yes, I know that, Mrs. Wilsson,” Rourke interrupted her, pretending to glance down at some scribbled notes in his hand. “And I believe you brought the little girl home with you and are keeping her here until her father returns from Miami this afternoon. How is she taking it?”
“She just doesn’t seem to realize it at all, Mr. Rourke. You did say that was your name, didn’t you? It’s a mercy, I guess, that she doesn’t. So young and all. It was a terrible shock for her, you see. Alone there in the house and all, and waking up this morning so happy and innocent and going into her mother’s room, and what did she see…?”
Rourke said, “Naturally it was a shock. But kids of that age are pretty resilient in my experience. They often understand a great deal more than we give them credit for. She didn’t hear anything during the night?”
“Not a single thing, I guess. She’s always been a very sound sleeper. Ever since she was a tiny thing. Always went right to bed without any fuss, and straight off to sleep. Harry and I have been there lots of evenings for bridge, and I always said Sissy was the best thing the way she went to sleep without wanting a light left on or a drink of water or anything the way so many children do. But Ellie had trained her real good, and I always say…”
“Could I see her for a moment, Mrs. Wilsson.” Rourke got to his feet firmly. “I won’t upset her or disturb her. I’d like to be able to describe her to my readers.”
“Well, of course. If you’re in a terrible hurry. I thought you’d want an eye-witness account…”
“I’d like to come back later when I have more time… and maybe get a tape recording. Right now I have to telephone in a story very shortly. If I could just see the little girl…”
“Right back this way.” Minerva went out of the sitting room and preceded him on tiptoes down a hallway to a closed door leading into a back bedroom. She paused with her hand on the knob, turned to Rourke with a finger pressed against her lips, and then turned the knob soundlessly and pushed the door open.
Bright sunlight streamed in through an open window and glistened on the tousled, golden hair of Sissy Blake, who sat upright and cross-legged in the center of the bed and regarded them gravely.
Minerva said, “I see you’re wide awake, Sissy. I thought you might be asleep. I left the shade down…”
“I let it up to let the sunshine in,” said Sissy. She had smooth, regular features and big, violet eyes. “Do I have to stay here in bed all day? Why can’t I go to school, Aunt Minerva?”
“Not today, dear. Your daddy will be coming home this afternoon and you want to be all fresh and rested to meet him. Here’s a man that’s come all the way from Miami to see you, Sissy. He’s a nice man from the newspaper, and…”
The telephone began shrilling in the sitting room, and Minerva straightened up and glanced down the hall hesitantly.
Timothy Rourke took advantage of the moment to take her arm firmly and push her out the door. “You’d better answer your phone, Mrs. Wilsson. I’ll talk to Sissy just a minute.”
“Well, if you’re sure…”
Rourke said, “I’m sure,” and closed the door between them. He turned with his back against the door and grinned at the little girl seated in the middle of the bed and said, “Hi, Sissy.”
She said, “Hi. What’s your name?” She regarded him with grave curiosity and with no trace of nervousness.
He said, “Timothy,” and took two steps to the end of the bed and sat down on one corner of it.
She said, “Did you know my mommy was dead?”
Rourke cleared his throat and said, “I know, Sissy. I’m very sorry.”
“I’m sorry too. And Daddy will be sorry when he comes home from Miami.”
“I know he will. Tell me about last night, Sissy. You and your mother were alone. Did you sleep all night without waking up?”
“After I went to sleep I did. But Mommy wasn’t alone when I went to sleep. Uncle Harry was there.”
Rourke steeled himself against any show of surprise. “You mean Mr. Wilsson?”
“Yes. He’s the only Uncle Harry I’ve got. First I thought I’d stay awake until Mommy came to bed and then maybe I’d slip in with her because she doesn’t mind when Daddy’s away. Then I heard them talking downstairs and I got up and looked down the stairs and saw Uncle Harry coming out of the kitchen with two glasses in his hand, and Mommy doesn’t like it when I don’t go right to sleep if there’s company and so I went back to bed and pretty soon I went to sleep. Did Mommy hurt when she died, Mr. Timothy?”
“I don’t think so, Sissy.” Rourke’s mouth was dry and his heart was pounding. He heard Minerva coming down the hall and he got up hastily and leaned over to touch the tips of fingers to Sissy’s brow. “I have to go now. You be a good girl and rest until your daddy comes home.”
The door opened and Rourke went past Minerva into the hall saying hastily, “Thanks a lot, Mrs. Wilsson. I’ll have to…”
“Maybe you’d like a cup of coffee, Mr. Rourke. I’ve got a pot fresh made. And then I could tell you a couple of things I’ve thought of that might be important, me knowing Ellie so well and all. More like sisters, we were. Harry and Marvin, too, for that matter. The four of us were always just as close as could be.”
Rourke said through his teeth, “I’m sure you were, Mrs. Wilsson. But you’ll have to excuse me for now. I’ve got to get to a telephone to meet a deadline.”
He hurried on ahead of her and escaped through the open front door while a flow of conversation continued unabated behind him.
My God, he thought, my God! Out of the mouths of babes. It was, he realized, the merest chance that had led Sissy to mention the presence of Harry Wilsson at the house last evening. It meant absolutely nothing to the child. It had no importance whatsoever in her mind. It was like that classic story about the Invisible Man who committed the murder. The postman on his rounds. Although he had been seen by a dozen witnesses, not one of them knew they had seen him. He was just part of the landscape.
Like Uncle Harry in Sissy’s mind. He was always around, wasn’t he? Often in the evenings when she was sent to bed while the foursome had drinks and played bridge in the living room.
There was no difference in the mind of a six-year-old between his being there last night alone with her mother and the other times when the four of them were there together. He was certain she hadn’t mentioned it to Minerva this morning, and it was a lead pipe cinch that Harry hadn’t reported to his wife that he had dropped in on Ellie Blake in her husband’s absence the preceding evening to have a drink with her.
Innocent enough, probably. But, if it were all that innocent, why hadn’t Harry spoken right up this morning as soon as he learned what happened to Ellie in the night?
He evidently did not realize that Sissy had seen him from the top of the stairs. The way she told it so innocently, she had been tucked away in her own bed by her mother before Harry arrived, and neither one of them had been aware that she had gotten up and peeked down at them. This morning, Harry Wilsson must feel that his secret was perfectly safe, whether the visit had been entirely innocent or not. Either way he’d see no reason to come forward and offer gratuitous information and get himself involved in a murder investigation. That didn’t mean the man was guilty of anything… even of an innocent flirtation with his best friend’s well-stacked wife.