When the police investigated Hamel’s death, they would be satisfied that no outsider could have been involved. Nancy was out on the yacht. Washington Smith and his wife were above suspicion. So... suicide.
But I knew Nancy had smuggled Pofferi into the ranch house, and I was now certain Pofferi had shot Hamel and had staged the scene to look like suicide.
I sat up with a jerk.
Right at this moment, Pofferi must he hiding somewhere in the ranch house. He couldn’t get off the Largo without Nancy’s help, and she had to stay to answer police questions.
So what should I do? Call the cops and tell them that Pofferi was hiding in the ranch house? Then what?
Keep out of it, baby, I said to myself. If you start flapping with your mouth, you’ll be in trouble. So keep out of it.
I went to bed. It took me a little time before I slept. For the first ten minutes, I wondered what Pofferi was doing: what Nancy was doing: what the cops were doing. I had no answers, so eventually, I slept.
The telephone bell woke me at 10.23. I dragged myself across the bed and picked up the receiver.
“Yeah?”
“Bart!” Bertha’s strident voice slammed against my eardrum.
“Hi, honey,” I said feebly.
“Have you seen the papers? Hamel’s shot himself!”
“Yeah... I know.”
“Did you talk to him?”
“For God’s sake, baby...”
“Did you talk to him?”
“No.”
She made a noise like a hornet trapped in a bottle.
“Okay, Bart. You have had your chance, and you fluffed it.”
“You can say that again.”
“My fink called me. He wants to marry me.”
I stiffened.
“Do you want to marry him, baby?”
“Why not? He has this yacht, a penthouse, servants and a bloated bank account, so why not?”
“Wait a minute! Think! Do you want to spend the next best years of your life waving your fanny at a kink?”
“For that yacht, his penthouse, his slaves and his money, I’d do a lot more than wave my ass. Wouldn’t you?”
I heaved a sigh.
“You have a point. Okay, go ahead and marry him. Be happy.”
“When I marry him, I’ll be faithful. This is the big goodbye, Bart. You can’t say you didn’t have your chance,” and she hung up.
I lay back on the pillow, feeling depressed, then I began to use my smart brain. There were many other beautiful dolls in the world. Variety is the spice of life, and a change of doll-scene offered fresh excitement. Anyway, that gag about Bertha being faithful, was the big laugh of the day.
I went asleep again.
After a late dinner, I read Hamel’s obituary in The Paradise City Herald. His suicide made front page headlines. There was no mention of the suicide note. I guessed Mel Palmer had swept that under the rug. There was a vague suggestion that Hamel had been over-working and had become depressed. His wife had collapsed, and Palmer, very much in charge, had gone down to the barrier to be interviewed by the press and the T.V. vultures. No one was allowed past the barrier. I imagined Mike O’Flagherty was having the time of his life. Palmer had made a brief statement. Mrs. Hamel would grant no interviews.
All around me in the restaurant, people were talking about Hamel’s death.
One loud-mouthed woman summed it up. She said, “Well, when a guy writes the muck he did, he must have been a nutcase. I mean, those bedroom scenes! He’s better off dead.”
I wanted to tell her how wrong she was, but I didn’t. I thought of Hamel. I had liked him. I felt sorry for him.
Soon after 23.20, I drove to Paradise Largo. As I pulled up at the barrier, I saw some dozen men, sitting on the grass verge, smoking and talking. The press vultures never gave up!
O’Flagherty came out of the guardhouse.
“Man!” I said. “You are certainly having a ball!”
He grinned.
“Yeah. No one gets by me, Bart. No one got by me. I told Lepski.” O’Flagherty’s moon-shaped face was glistening with sweat. “What a thing!”
“Sure is.” I waited until he raised the pole, watched by envious eyes, then I drove to Herschenheimer’s gates. Carl let me in.
“Man!” he exclaimed. “The old man’s flipping.”
“So?”
He grinned.
“So nothing. He’s keeping Jarvis out of bed. Just look busy. I’ve had enough of it. See you.”
When he had gone, I went into the cottage, found a pack of sandwiches waiting, and I sat down. I wondered what was going on across the road. I wondered if Palmer was still there, fussing around.
As I began to eat the sandwiches, Jarvis appeared. I saw he was doing a flipping act.
“Mr. Anderson, I couldn’t sleep until I talked to you.”
“Something wrong?”
“Yes.” He moved forward and sat down. “What a day I’ve had! I have had to give Mr. Herschenheimer a sedative. He is now sleeping.”
I munched on the third sandwich.
“What’s cooking?”
“Mr. Washington Smith and his wife have been dismissed.”
This news didn’t surprise me. It made sense. Knowing what I knew, Smith and his wife would be a menace to Pofferi, hiding in the house.
I put on my surprised expression.
“Dismissed?”
“Yes.” Jarvis looked miserable. “Mr. Palmer told them they must go immediately. They were given no time... just pack and go. Dreadful! After fifteen years of faithful service! They were paid a year’s salary. Mr. Palmer explained that Mrs. Hamel wanted them to go. He was nice about it. He seemed shocked.”
“That’s tough,” I said.
“I will miss Mr. Smith. It is difficult to understand. Mr. and Mrs. Smith kept that house beautifully.”
“Any news of Mrs. Hamel?”
Jarvis lifted his lean shoulders. From his expression, I could see Nancy Hamel was no longer in favour.
“Mr. Smith didn’t even see her to say goodbye. It was so abrupt.”
I took another sandwich: thinly cut lobster meat with a touch of mayonnaise.
“So who’s going to run the house?”
“That is something Mr. Smith or I cannot understand. Mr. Smith was told by Mr. Palmer that Josh Jones will look after things until Mrs. Hamel leaves. She intends to sell the estate as soon as the burial has taken place.”
“Josh Jones? Who is he?” I asked, probing.
“Mr. Hamel’s crewman.” Jarvis looked down his nose. “A no-good nigger.”
“Is Mr. Palmer still over there?”
“He left after the police had gone.”
I now had all the information I needed. I wanted Jarvis out of the way. I told him he looked tired. I said I would be right here if he needed me and taking the hint, he went back to the house. I gave him five minutes, then walked down to the gates and climbed the tree.
There was a light on in the living room, but the curtains were drawn. I wondered if Nancy and Pofferi were behind those curtains, talking together, planning what they would do with the money once Nancy inherited it. I sat with my back against the tree, waiting and watching.
Nothing happened.
After an hour, the light went out and a light went on in a room at the far end of the ranch house. Nancy’s bedroom? Then I heard the sound of a car approaching. Leaning forward, I saw the car stop outside Hamel’s gates. From my perch in the tree, I could see right down on the car’s roof. I watched Josh Jones get out of the car, thumb the red button and wait. The gates opened. He slid into the car and drove up the drive. The gates automatically closed.
The porch light went on as he pulled up and the front door opened.
Framed in the doorway was Pofferi!
There was no mistaking the broad shouldered, squat figure. Jones shouted to him and the porch light went out. I tried to pierce the darkness, but I could only make out the silhouette of the car.