Virgil Tibbs took out his notebook and became formally official. “Mrs. Pratt, how many stockholders are there in your holding company, including the deceased?”
“Is it necessary for me to discuss this with you?”
Tibbs had had about enough. If Joyce Pratt thought that all he had to do was sit there all day and allow her to insult him, she had another guess coming. He did not change the tone of his voice, but there was an edge to his words that could not be mistaken. “No, it is not necessary. If you prefer, I will arrest you as a material witness and take you to jail. Then you can discuss the matter with your attorney and the prosecuting authorities.” He gambled that she was not familiar with legal processes and matters of jurisdiction.
He won; he watched her as she wilted. “Five stockholders,” she said a little weakly. “That’s including Albert.”
“I believe you organized the company?”
“Well-more or less. I have many well-to-do friends, of course, and because I thought it was a good thing, I told some of them about it. They agreed with me after looking into it and they bought stock.”
“Was the venture fully successful?”
She replied by waving her arm to indicate the whole room.
“Are you the business manager of the company?”
“No. Walter McCormack does that. He has much more experience in the field and, of course, he’s a lot older. Would you-would you care for some tea?”
“No, thank you. And the others?” Tibbs was busy with his notebook.
“William Holt-Rymers.” He thought he detected the suggestion of a sniff in that. “Oswald Peterson.”
Tibbs looked up. “The football player?”
“Oh, do you know him?”
“Only by reputation. One of the stars of the professional game, I believe.”
“Not any more. He used to be, but he isn’t any more.”
Tibbs asked a number of further questions, which brought out the fact that the holding company, a small, tight one, had been a prime investment. “What about Dr. Roussel’s own interest?” he asked finally. “His family is abroad?”
Joyce shook her head. “No, Albert never married. I think he was shy with most women-although he never was with me. He had charm-great charm-and of course the women were attracted to him. Naturally. He would have been a great catch for anyone. But he was always reserved somehow.…”
He wondered how much she was reflecting her own mind. “His stock?” he reminded her.
“Oh, yes, his stock. Well, it was part of our agreement that no one can sell his shares without offering them to the others first. Of course that wouldn’t pertain to inheritances.”
“Do you have any information as to who might be Dr. Roussel’s heir?”
Joyce looked at him narrowly. “His only close relatives were his sister, her husband, I suppose, and there is a niece.” She reached down and smoothed her skirt to suggest a modesty that her next words contradicted. “You’ll probably find this out anyway, so I might as well tell you. Albert was terribly broken up when I married someone else. Everyone knew it. That’s why he never married-he told me so. And, of course, I am the person who financed and made possible his success.”
“What you are saying, Mrs. Pratt, is that you felt he may have left some of his holdings to you?”
“I have no doubt of it, and I don’t think that his sister does, either. Quite frankly I am the girl he wanted, and besides that, as I told you, I brought him his success.”
“And his interest in you has remained-through the years.”
Joyce lifted her head and faced him confidently; when she spoke, her voice was calm and controlled. “On that I can be quite definite,” she answered. “In fact everything had been planned. After Albert’s usual visit with his sister and after the board meeting, we were going to France together. Then we were to have been married there, two months from today.”
chapter 9
The following morning Ellen Boardman chose a simple white dress, which her Uncle Albert had admired, for the unpleasant duty she had to perform. Because the day was very hot, and the sun blazed sharply in the sky, she also wore a cartwheel hat. As she gave her hair a final pat to adjust it into place, she also tried to attune her mind to the idea that she was going to be in the company of a Negro.
If she had been asked, she would have said that she was free of prejudice. And she would have meant it. However, until the moment that Virgil Tibbs had walked in the front door of Pine Shadows Lodge, she had never had any real contact with Negro people. She had talked to many working in various jobs, but it had always been on a different basis. Of course this was not a social engagement she was going on-far from it-but it would be the first time she had ever been escorted by anyone not of her own color. She looked again into the mirror and touched up her lipstick.
When Virgil Tibbs drove up-on time almost to the minute-she met him at the door. He paused for a second to look at her, with admiration, but without any hint of familiarity. Then he greeted her-a little stiffly, she thought. “Good morning, Miss Boardman. I’m so glad it’s such a nice day.”
“So am I,” she replied.
He helped her into the car; for a moment she wondered if he would open the rear door for her, but he did not. As he slid behind the wheel and started the engine, she tried to evaluate him once more. He was certainly neat; his summer-weight suit was well cut and had come from a good shop. Though he had already had a long, hot drive, his white shirt was fresh and immaculate. While he drove, she studied his profile and decided that he was a good-looking man.
Tibbs glanced at her and misread her thoughts. “Miss Boardman, I know how you must feel about the duty ahead of you, but try to put it out of your mind. What happened is all over now-finished and done with. It may help you to think of it that way.”
She did find the thought comforting. “It was very kind of you to come and drive me,” she said.
“I’m happy to,” Virgil answered. He swung the car with expert skill around a curve, moved the automatic transmission into a lower range, and started down the long grade.
In a quiet way the magic of the near-perfect day began to work its familiar miracle to the point where Ellen found herself in an almost relaxed frame of mind. When they reached the bend at the bottom of the first long slope, she indicated the broad turnout where the view of the valley below is at its most spectacular. “That’s my favorite spot,” she said. “I never come past here without stopping for a few minutes.”
In response Tibbs swung the car off the blacktop and onto the gravel.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that I wanted to stop now,” she apologized. “Perhaps when we come back.”
Virgil nodded. “Let’s do it that way.” He turned the car smoothly back onto the two-lane road.
Half an hour later, in the city, Tibbs guided the car expertly through the traffic and pulled up outside the morgue. There he helped Ellen out and escorted her quietly into the building. Though the attendants were kind with her, she was grateful for Tibbs’ presence when she was taken into the grim room where she would have to make the identification. She looked at the still face of death for a moment, closed her eyes bitterly against the sight, and nodded her head.
Quickly she was taken outside and given a form with which to claim the body. It was a coroner’s case, which complicated the legal situation, and several things had to be done. When the formalities were over, Ellen borrowed the telephone and called a funeral home with which she had already made tentative arrangements. She made a second call to her minister and then turned to Tibbs. “Could we go now?” she asked. “And I’d like to talk to you for a few minutes, if I may.”
“Of course.” He took her back to the car, moved it out into traffic, and headed back toward the mountain-resort area.
“Mr. Tibbs,” she said when they had driven a short distance. “Please tell me the truth. I’ve been wondering-why was my uncle found on the grounds of-of that awful place?”