“I never heard anything so silly in my life!” Irene Chambers inserted.
“I’m not saying any such thing actually happened,” Sedalia said. “I’m simply pointing out alibis can be manufactured.”
Gerald Rawlins rose to carry his empty glass toward the punch bowl, staggered slightly, looked surprised and set the glass down instead of holding it out to me for a refill. He returned to his chair walking rather carefully.
“It would be difficult to blow my alibi up in the same way you blew up Monica’s,” he said. “The airlines keep a passenger list.”
Jerome Straight suddenly put in, “You remarked it would be strange for the killer not to have an alibi. I haven’t, so that let’s me out.”
Sedalia exploded this self-interested reasoning. “I said if the murder were premeditated. In some ways this one has all the earmarks of a spur-of-the-moment crime.”
Without amplifying this remark, she changed the subject. “The second reason I gathered you all together was to see if we could get a little light on information I got by long-distance phone yesterday. I made calls to people I know in Dallas, Kansas City and Chicago.”
Who these people were she did not divulge, but I knew one of them was a mayor, one a circuit judge and one a police commissioner. Sedalia’s network of influential friends throughout the country gave her sources of information almost superior to those available to the police.
“I learned some interesting things,” Sedalia went on. “For one thing, Mrs. Madigan, I learned you did not divorce your ‘stinker of a no-good husband,’ as you termed him. He divorced you. I won’t publicly disclose the grounds, but you remarked to your lawyer if your aunt ever heard the full story, she would cut yon out of her will permanently.”
Monica flushed. “My lawyer had no business violating a client’s confidence.”
“No,” Sedalia agreed. “But what people tell often depends on who asks them. Anyway, that seems to give you an excellent motive.”
Monica shrugged. “You’ll have a hell of a time proving I wasn’t on that four-thirty train, because I was.”
Sedalia turned to Irene Chambers. “Apparently you were in no immediate danger of having your inheritance reduced, Miss Chambers. But it seems you have bad luck at roulette. I understand a character named Farewell Gus has given you just thirty days to raise the twelve thousand dollars you owe him.”
Irene’s expression was astonished. “How... how did you learn that?”
“Chicago’s mayor is one of my closest friends. Apparently he put the whole police force to work digging up your history. In case you’re interested, it took them two hours to learn everything you’ve done in the past ten years. Very efficient police department you have in Chicago.”
“Apparently,” Irene said. She finished her drink with a defiant gesture. “You’ll have as much trouble proving I wasn’t on the three pm train from Chicago as you have proving Monica wasn’t on the other one.”
Rising from her chair, she started to cross the room to where I stood next to the punch bowl. But after two steps a peculiar expression grew on her face. Carefully, she turned around, set her cup on an end table and resumed her seat.
“In Dallas I learned something too,” Sedalia said, glancing at Gerald Rawlins. “Nothing nearly as sensational, but rather interesting. The auditing firm which went over the books of Fibrolux Plastics confirms the hundred-thousand dollar shortage and traced it to Adrian Thorpe, but they didn’t report it to you. They reported it to a company official named Jonathan Toomey. Unfortunately, my informant can’t reach Mr. Toomey until tomorrow.”
Gerald waved one hand impatiently. “Jonothan is first vice president. Naturally they’d report it to the senior executive after Ad. Jonathan relayed the information to me.”
Sedalia shook her head. “That isn’t the reason they gave. They said they would have dealt with the company treasurer except they couldn’t understand how he had missed the shortage himself. It was pretty obvious.”
Gerald’s normally red face turned even redder. “A polite way of saying I didn’t keep the books too efficiently, eh? Not too polite at that.” Then he shrugged. “All right. So I’m a figurehead treasurer, and I don’t look at the company books twice a year. Ad himself supervised the bookkeeping department, while I played golf, if you want to know. Aunt Aggie insisted I work for the company, but she also refused to let me have any responsibility. So I said the hell with it, and let Ad run things.”
“About the way I got the picture,” Sedalia said.
Chapter Four
Somebody Dies Tonight!
For the first time, Inspector Home spoke. “Not sure exactly what you’re trying to do, Sedalia, but seems to me you’re counteracting your assurance to the killer that you don’t know his identity. You’re demonstrating you know how to dig things up, and letting him see you’re a pretty formidable opponent. Suggest you turn over what you have so far to me and drop out of the case. Kind of short fuse, this killer seems to have, and I got an idea he won’t wait till you catch him before trying to stop you.”
This brought a sudden silence.
Then Irene Chambers said, “Thish is...” She stopped, looked startled and tried again. “This ish...” This time her halt was more abrupt. Her lips tightened and she sank back in her chair, obviously deciding to keep her mouth shut if she was not able to control it.
Slowly Jerome Straight rose from his chair, a peculiar half smile on his long, gaunt face. Opening his mouth wide, like an opera singer preparing for a high note, he took a deep breath.
“Wahoo!” he yelled.
Then, with all eyes on him, he carefully reseated himself, smiled benignly around at all of us — and went to sleep.
Monica Madigan struggled erect, stood swaying and said in an incredulous voice, “We been Mickey Finned! By God, we been Mickey Finned.”
Staggering slightly, she crossed the room and grabbed both my arms to hold herself erect.
“Henry,” she said reproachfully. “You didn’t have to spike my drinks. I love you — I’ve always loved you!”
I looked at her in horror. Sedalia threw back her head and roared with laughter. I glared at her bitterly.
“So now what are your plans?” I asked. “What did you expect to accomplish by getting everyone in this condition?”
Sedalia’s amused glance took in her guests. Jerome Straight was asleep. Irene Chambers was sitting dignified but glassy-eyed with her hands sedately folded in her lap. Alvin Christopher was looking puzzedly at a package from which he was having difficulty extracting a cigarette. Only the inspector and Gerald Rawlins were still more or less in possession of their full faculties, the inspector because he had stopped at two glasses of punch, and Gerald apparently because he had a large tolerance for alcohol.
“You must admit tongues were loosened a bit,” Sedalia said. “But I do confess I hadn’t thought of what would happen beyond the present point.”
This I might have known. When Sedalia had an idea, she went ahead with a single-mindedness of purpose which took no regard of possible consequences. And now that we had a house full of intoxicated people, she was entirely capable of blithely going out for a walk and leaving me to handle the situation as best I could.
Monica’s hands on my arms were beginning to lose their grip and her expression was suddenly sleepy. Holding her erect, I looked down to where Sedalia was sitting.