To the District Attorney of Santa Felicia County —
Are the police deaf to the voice of a woman crying out from her grave for Justice?
The fire which killed Iris Young was no ordinary fire, her husband no ordinary man, his employee, Miranda Shaw, no ordinary servant. One of these 3 people is dead.
3-1 = 2
2 = a pair
Is this what the anguished voice from the grave is trying to tell you?
Listen! Heed!
This alert comes from:
As a precaution Seeker inked out the club name and address at the top of the page and the left-hand corner of the envelope. Truth didn’t necessarily mean the Whole Truth.
Switching identities, Fair Play wrote a short note to the Admiral advising him to reject further pension payments now that he was a wealthy man, and to consider reimbursing the taxpayers for previous payments.
He lay back in the chair and closed his eyes. Righteousness flowed through his system like a spring tonic. The pain in his hip had disappeared, the broken-legged mare had been old anyway, and he would go to Waikiki for Christmas and eat poi and drink mai tais.
When Aragon phoned the Admiral’s house a woman with an English accent told him Mrs. Shaw had taken the girls to the Penguin Club for lunch and a swim and would probably be gone all day. He called the club and talked to Ellen.
“She’s here,” Ellen said. “She’s been showing up with the girls every day lately. The Ingersolls are letting her use their cabana while they’re in South America and she just sits in it by herself.”
“Why?”
“She wants to avoid people. Most people.”
“Who’s the exception?”
“Grady. He came back to work about a month ago.”
“You don’t sound very happy about it. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“Not like this.” There was a short silence. “She’s still crazy about him, sick-crazy. She sits up in that cabana posing and preening and staring down at him. He can’t stand to look at her and she never takes her eyes off him.”
“I heard it different. The rumors going the rounds of the country club are about her and the Admiral. What do you think of that?”
“Nothing. He’s an old man.”
“A rich old man.”
“Forget it. I see her every day and I’m telling you the way she watches Grady is— How rich?”
“A whole bunch rich, you should know that.”
“I knew his wife was rich, which isn’t necessarily the same thing.”
“There’s no reason to believe he won’t inherit a large part of her estate.”
“But suppose— Oh, never mind. It was just a thought. I have to hang up now anyway. Henderson has an errand for me in town.”
“I’d like to come down and talk to Miranda. Is that okay?”
“With me it is. With her maybe not.”
“I can try.”
“Try ahead,” Ellen said. “If I’m not here, go right on up to cabana number twenty-one.”
He left his car in the club parking lot. As he was walking across the street to the front door he saw Grady about fifty yards away heading for the employees’ entrance at the back. Aragon waved at him but got no response. Either Grady didn’t recognize him or didn’t want to.
A wide thickly carpeted staircase led to the row of cabanas on the second floor. The impression of opulence ended abruptly at the top. The corridor was a kind of long dark tunnel dimly lit at each end by a sixty-watt bulb suspended from the ceiling. The brown wooden floor was strewn with swimmers’ towels like mounds of dirty snow on a mud road.
He knocked on the door of 21 and Miranda’s voice responded immediately.
“Who’s there?”
“Tom Aragon.”
“Aragon?” She opened the door. “My goodness, this is a surprise.”
She sounded as though it was a pleasant one. Too pleasant. It made him vaguely uncomfortable.
She wore a pink and yellow silk caftan and her long hair hung loose over her shoulders. It was a couple of shades lighter than when he’d last seen her on the street with the two girls in April. Her hair wasn’t the only change. In April she’d been a little depressed, resigned to her fate and not expecting any change for the better. Now she seemed in high spirits. Her eyes sparkled and she had an almost feverish color in her cheeks.
“Come in, Mr. Aragon, come in.”
“Thank you.”
“How did you find me? Oh — Ellen, of course. Dear little Ellen, she knows everybody’s secrets, doesn’t she?”
He considered the reference to Ellen inaccurate on all counts but he didn’t challenge it.
The cabana was a small three-sided room furnished with webbed plastic chairs and chaise and a glass-topped table. The fourth side had a half-railing which showed the pool below, and beyond it the sea, and twenty miles to the southwest the hazy blue offshore island, a piece of mountain caught and held. Between the island and the shore were the oil platforms like isolated steel prisons built for incorrigibles.
After a few amenities — she was fine, he was fine, the weather was fine — she changed the subject abruptly.
“Grady’s back,” she said. “Did you know that?”
“I had a glimpse of him outside.”
“Doesn’t he look beautiful?”
“I... well, he was pretty far away. I’ll take your word for it.”
“You’re probably laughing at me because men aren’t supposed to be described as beautiful. Only what if they are! You might as well admit the truth.”
“All right, I admit the truth,” Aragon said. “Grady is a beautiful man.”
She smiled. “That’s better. He really is, believe me. You didn’t see him at his best when you came down to Pasoloma with those papers for me to sign. He was in shock.”
“I can understand why. Has he gotten over it?”
“Of course. He needed a little time to think, that’s all. The instant we met again when he came back here to work I knew nothing had changed between us, that we were as much in love as ever. Naturally, he can’t be obvious about it, but I catch him watching me out of the corner of his eye. It’s so cute... Glance over the railing and see if he’s down there now on the lifeguard tower.”
“Yes.”
“Is he staring up here?”
“No.”
“He’s very good at pretending to ignore me.”
“Is that how you want it?”
“Of course it is. We can’t afford to be seen together just yet. The police are everywhere. Fortunately Grady understands, he’s being extremely tactful about the situation. He disappears the minute I enter the club and stays out of sight until I’m settled up here in the cabana. But it will be nice when we can act natural again.”
“You claim the police are everywhere,” Aragon said. “What are they doing?”
“Asking questions about Iris Young, every conceivable sort of question. And I’m sure they’re getting every conceivable sort of answer, especially from the girls. Juliet and Cordelia are like children, they’ll say anything to draw attention to themselves. I expect some of their statements will be critical of me. They’ve never liked me, they’re not used to anyone giving them orders or even advice, but that’s what I’m paid to do and I do it.”