It had been impressed upon her that the responsibility had been given to her and she must assume it: there was no doubt that she would have to deal with it. Walter McCormack had offered to guide and assist her, but she still felt quite unprepared for the role of heiress.
In the driveway, almost like a symbol of her new status, was the impressive black sedan and, seated behind the wheel, the waiting chauffeur. She looked at the man and the machine, trying to clear her mind and assemble her thoughts.
Then she became aware that the man who was patiently sitting in the car was a Negro: that brought a quick image of Virgil Tibbs, the remarkable man whose abilities she had begun to appreciate. She advanced a step or two nearer the car and, when the chauffeur looked up at her, wished him good morning.
“Good morning, Ma’am,” Brown answered.
She noted an accent that Virgil Tibbs did not have; the “g” was all but lost.
“Would you like to come inside?” she asked. “I can find you something cool to drink if you’re thirsty.”
“No thank you, Ma’am,” Brown answered. “I’m all right, thanks just the same.” He gave her a faint smile as he spoke, but there was restraint in it. He was not, she decided regretfully, another Virgil Tibbs.
Then, as though aware that the initiative had all been hers, Brown made an effort to be agreeable. “Real nice place you got here,” he offered.
“Yes, we like it,” Ellen answered. “And our guests seem to, too.”
“I can sure see why,” Brown commented. “I always like to see trees and things like that.”
So did Ellen. “You’ll pass the best view when you go back down the mountain,” she said. “You have to turn off at the bottom of the first hill. There’s a parking area there. The view is spectacular. I usually stop to see it.”
“I’d like to do that, Ma’am,” Brown responded. “But you better tell Mr. McCormack about it. If he wants to stop, then we stop. If he don’t wanna, then we don’t.”
The reply chilled Ellen and made her regret having opened the conversation. She’d meant to be kind, but had only succeeded in underlining the chauffeur’s subservient position. Before she could think further about it, the door opened behind her and Walter McCormack appeared.
He nodded to Brown and said, “We’ll be going now,” and then he turned to her. “I think we’ve pretty well discussed it all now, and I know how you must feel,” he said. “I’ve been through it myself, under different circumstances. Don’t worry about it. Just remember the things I told you. And if anything comes up you’re not certain about, give me a call. You have my number.”
With Brown holding the door, he climbed unassisted into the back of his car and settled down onto the cushions. The dust raised by the tires was still in the air when the phone rang in the lodge. Ellen answered it and heard George Nunn’s voice on the line.
“I’d like very much to see you this evening,” he said. “Will you be free?”
Informed as she had just been, Ellen thought momentarily that his interest in her might well be because of her sudden transformation into an heiress. Then she realized he would have no way of knowing, and he certainly did not impress her as the fortune-hunting kind.
“What did you have in mind?” she asked.
“We’re having a dance here at the lodge tonight. I’d like very much to have you come. Just informal dress,” he added quickly.
Ellen hesitated and then decided to go. She wanted to see George again and in his own element; since everyone would be dressed, it would be a good opportunity. Although she had been at the nudist resort once briefly, she still had a considerable curiosity concerning the place. She accepted and they agreed on the time.
Then, while planning what to wear to the dance, she found herself wondering if Virgil Tibbs was making any progress in the investigation of her uncle’s murder. There was still the unsettling possibility that George or a member of his family might be involved-if not in the actual murder, through some knowledge of it that was being kept to themselves. She glanced at the calendar to make sure it was Saturday. She assumed that the work of finding out who had done the horrible thing would have been halted for the weekend.
In that she was wrong, for Virgil Tibbs had already been in his office for more than two hours, sorting out the notes he had taken and fitting together the bits and pieces he had managed to obtain. A newspaper lay on his desk; on the front page it reported the conviction of the man he had testified against earlier in the week. That closed the matter unless they released him on parole too soon, and then the whole weary job would have to be done all over again. Crime was the only way of life, the only trade, the convicted man knew.
The mail came in and Virgil glanced at the pile. A blue-and-white envelope with the return address of Sun Valley Lodge caught his eye. Before he opened it, he glanced over to see if a similar one might by any chance be on Bob Nakamura’s desk. It was there.
He slit the envelope open and drew out the combination brochure and membership-application form. There were attractive pictures of the pool, tennis court, volleyball courts, and other facilities. One paragraph of the printed text had been crossed out in ink and a handwritten note had been added in the margin. The deleted paragraph read:
Singles. Under no circumstances will married singles be accepted for membership, a married single being defined as an adult who applies without his or her spouse. Single adult men and women will be issued memberships only on a quota basis in order to maintain the family atmosphere of the park. The decision in each case will depend on the individual applicant and the action of the membership committee will be final.
Next to this, in a slanting feminine hand, was written:
Having VIP status, your welcome is assured. Please come.
LINDA
Although he had not the slightest intention of accepting, Virgil was very pleased that he had been asked. His spirits lifted and the monotonous work he had been doing suddenly seemed more interesting. He was still turning the heart-warming thought over in his mind when Bob Nakamura came in accompanied by a very attractive brunette and two small children.
Tibbs got to his feet. “Hello, Amiko,” he said. “Welcome to the treadmill. By the way, Bob, your membership application for the nudist park just arrived. It’s in your mail.”
“Nudist park? You didn’t tell me about that,” Amiko gasped.
Bob tore open the envelope and glanced at the folder it contained. Then he calmly handed it to his wife.
The two men waited while she looked at it, examined the pictures, and even read the application blank on the back. “I don’t think we can afford it,” she said finally. “Although it might be a good thing for the children.”
Tibbs glanced at his watch. “Why don’t we all have some lunch?” he suggested. As he spoke, the phone rang.
He picked it up and listened for almost two minutes. As soon as he hung up, he pressed his lips together, looked again at his watch, and made a careful note. He left it significantly on his desk and glanced at Bob, who barely nodded. This done, Virgil scooped up the younger of the Nakamura children and said, “Let’s go and eat, shall we?”
While Virgil was shepherding Amiko and her youngsters out into the corridor, Bob crossed the room and read the note:
12:46 P.M. Walter McCormack phoned to say he had called on Ellen Boardman this morning to advise her of her inheritance. He talked to her for some time. She now holds the balance of power regarding the sale of the company. McC. advised her against selling, but when the news gets out, he expects she will be subject to some pressures.