Duryea nodded.
“Why, shucks, son, that stuff never hurt nobody — taken in reasonable quantities. I never was one to abuse it.”
Milred said, “So we don’t get to see that movie?”
“Why not? We can make the second show.”
Gramps said, “There’s a mystery picture that they say’s a humdinger. We’ll all go to see it. Now that there Moline girl certainly is class. Seen her pictures in the paper. Certainly looks like a million dollars’ worth of curves.”
Milred said, “You keep an eye on my husband, Gramps. After all, you know, we wouldn’t want to have a scandal in the Wiggins’ family.”
“That’s right,” Gramps agreed. “There ain’t ever been a Wiggins that applied for a divorce.”
Milred showed her surprise. “Why, I thought you and Grandmother were divorced.”
“Yep. That’s right, but she was the one that got it. That’s the way with the Wiggins’ strain. If there’s goin’ to be any divorcin’ done, the other side is the one that has the grounds. That’s mighty good steak, Milred. Couldn’t a’ done it no better if I’d put wet salt all around it, an’... an’ how’s for just a leetle more coffee? We might’s well get this here brandy bottle empty.”
Chapter 14
The desk light was arranged so that the chair on the opposite side of Frank Duryea’s desk was bathed in brilliance. The district attorney and the sheriff were in a less brilliantly illuminated area. Slightly to one side, where he could distinctly hear everything that was said, but would not be conspicuous, the court stenographer opened his books and tried out his pens.
“All ready?” Duryea asked.
Lassen said, “All ready to go, I guess.”
Duryea raised his eyes to the shadowy figure of the sheriff’s deputy who guarded the door to the outer office.
“Let’s have Miss Moline in first,” he said.
She was dressed now in her smooth-fitting gray outfit. Her hair, freed of the salt water, had the full rich glint of amber in the sunlight. She entered the room, promptly crossed over to the chair indicated by the district attorney, sat down and said briskly, “This is going to be more comfortable than our last interview.”
Duryea smiled perfunctorily, and then plunged into the interrogation. “Now, it’s very important that we have these questions answered correctly. So take your time, don’t get excited, and be certain that you’re answering the questions the way you want to answer them.”
She nodded.
“How long have you known Addison Stearne?”
“About a year.”
“C. Arthur Right?”
“About the same length of time.”
“What was the relationship between you and Mr. Stearne?”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I’m sorry if I seem to pry into your personal affairs, but it’s necessary. Was there a love interest on his part — or on yours?”
“No. The man was old enough to be my father.”
Duryea smiled and said, “I think we can reserve the platitudes, Miss Moline. He was in the late fifties. He was wealthy, and he was attractive. Did he ever talk about matrimony with you?”
“Never.”
“I understand you’ve been appointed a special administratrix with the will annexed?”
“Yes.”
“And under the terms of that will, the bulk of the property goes to you?”
“Yes.”
“Men like Addison Stearne don’t leave wills in favor of young women unless there’s a reason.”
“Obviously.”
“Very well, perhaps we can spare you some embarrassing questions if you tell me what that reason was.”
“Does that have anything to do with the murder?”
“It may. I want to know all the details of your relationship.”
“It’s none of your business.”
“It may be that you’re right. Again, you may be wrong,” Duryea said quietly, “but I am the one who is going to be the judge.”
“Why, you have absolutely no right to pry into my private affairs.”
“Let me ask it this way. Did your money in any way come from Addison Stearne? Was he giving you any income, directly or indirectly?”
“That has absolutely nothing to do with the case.”
Duryea said, “As nearly as we can ascertain, Miss Moline, eighteen months ago you were working in a millinery store. You were working for a small salary, and living within that salary. You had, to all appearances, no other source of income.”
She flushed indignantly, started to say something, then caught back the words, and sat looking at the district attorney, her face hot and angry.
“Then suddenly you made the woman who owned the store an offer to buy her out. She fixed her price. You put up the money in cash. You expanded. You advertised, increased your stock, added to your employees, and about eight months later sold out at a very handsome profit. Since that time, you haven’t worked. You have bought and sold property. You have, I believe, invested in some stocks and bonds. Everything you’ve touched has turned to money. It’s at least a fair inference, Miss Moline, that the excellent business judgment which enabled you to make a neat profit on every transaction was furnished by brains that were — if not more shrewd, at least more experienced in business affairs than your own.”
She still remained silent, her eyes glinting with angry lights, her chin held high.
“At just about the time you started on this meteoric rise to prosperity, you began to associate with Addison Stearne. The origin of that association seems to be rather obscure; apparently it was an association which ripened rapidly into intimacy. Am I correct?”
She said, “Your intrusion in my private affairs is an insolent usurpation of high-handed power.”
Duryea said patiently, “Here in this office we become realists. We see life as it is. We don’t theorize. We know that when a man of mature years interests himself in a young and beautiful woman, when this young woman makes no attempt to rebuff his interest, and almost immediately begins to show signs of prosperity, we feel that the relationship is apt to be somewhat more than platonic.”
She hesitated for a moment, then pushed back her chair. “I don’t have to stay here and listen to this.”
A deputy moved over to guard the door.
“I’m afraid that you do,” Duryea said.
“Well, I don’t. I have some rights.”
Duryea said patiently, “Perhaps we can go at it in another way. Let me show you why this inquiry is important.”
“I’ve been waiting for that,” she said, still standing.
“When did you go aboard the Gypsy Queen? What time Sunday morning?”
“I’ve told you, it was ten or fifteen minutes before I ran out to the deck and fell overboard.”
“How long were you aboard the yacht?”
“Just a few minutes — just long enough to find the bodies.”
Duryea said, “I’ve been unable to find anyone who saw you going aboard the yacht on Sunday morning.”
She remained scornfully silent.
“But,” Duryea went on, “I have a witness who saw a young woman boarding the yacht Saturday afternoon.”
She suddenly ceased breathing, standing there motionless for several seconds. Then, slowly, she started breathing once.
“Well?” Duryea asked.
She said, “If you have a witness, bring him in.”
“Were you in Santa Delbarra Saturday afternoon?”
“Don’t be silly!”
“Were you?”
“Listen, you’ve tried to bully me and browbeat me. You’ve made nasty insinuations. I suppose you have a right to ask any question you want, but I also have a right to answer only the questions I deem fair.”
“You’re avoiding the question.”