"Tomorrow?"
She nodded. “If I can manage it. I don’t know what’s on.” “I don’t either but I can sneak off.”
“I can too. I'll call you when I know.” We kissed long and blissfully; then she was gone in a screech of gears. She was one of the worst drivers I’ve ever known, but she was also a wonderful girl. I experienced an emotion which was something more than my usual athleticism; then I quickly put all romantic thoughts out of my head. She was a lovely girl; the night had been perfect; the moon bright; what should’ve happened did happen and that was that. I am not the serious kind in these matters, I said to myself sternly as I opened the back door quietly and stepped into the kitchen.
2
I came to bed.
My head felt as if someone had whetted an axe on it and at first I suffered from double vision. Everything was blurred. Then, with an effort, I brought Mrs. Veering into focus.
She was standing over me, an anxious look on her face. Light streamed in the window.
"What time is it?” I asked.
“Ten o’clock. You certainly had us scared out of our wits! What on earth happened to you?”
I put my hand to my head where an enormous lump had formed. No skin had been broken and there was no bandage, only an aching head. “I haven’t any idea. I got home about dawn and...”
Greaves appeared in the doorway. “Has he been conscious long, Mrs. Veering?”
“Just this minute. If you...”
“Could you leave us alone, please. I’d like to ask Mr. Sargeant a few questions.”
“Certainly." With a reassuring pat, Mrs. Veering trotted off. shutting the door behind her.
“Well?” the policeman looked at me, half smiling.
"Well what?” I felt awful. I noticed I was wearing only a shirt and shorts. I was suddenly very hot under the blanket. I threw it off and sat up dizzily, swinging my legs over the side of the bed.
“Were you tryin to do our job for us, Mr. Sargeant?”
“Go away.”
“I’m afraid you must answer my questions. You received a severe blow but according to the doctor there was no concussion and you’ll be able to get up whenever you like.”
“Would you do me the courtesy of going away and coming back when I feel better?” My head was pounding with pain as I moved shakily toward the bathroom. “I'm about to perform a natural function,” I said sharply.
“I can wait.”
I groaned and went into the bathroom where I put my head under the cold water tap; then I took two Empirin tablets, figuring if I wasn’t supposed to take any I’d have been warned. I was being treated too damn casually, I thought.
When I returned, Greaves was seated in the armchair by my bed, making marks in a small notebook.
“You still here?”
“What happened?” He looked at me expectantly.
“A woman dressed all in black and carrying what seemed to be calla lilies was crossing the kitchen when I entered. When I asked her if I might be of assistance, she brought the lilies down on my head, shrieking "Thus to all members of the MacTavish Clan!”
Greaves looked faintly alarmed, as though not sure how serious the blow might have been. “Calla lilies?” he asked.
“Or something.” I took my clothes off, hoping that would get rid of him, but he still regarded me with the same abstracted air while I got into a bathing suit.
“You didn’t see her face?”
“I am making fun of you,” I said, feeling light in the head, as though I’d drunk too much too fast. I sat down weakly on the edge of the bed. “Didn’t see anybody. Walked in the kitchen door and bang! that was the end until I just now opened my eyes.”
“You were struck from the right side by a metal object held by a person as tall or a little taller than yourself. . .
“Or standing on a chair. . .
“Or standing on something, yes. You were discovered at seven-thirty by the cook who screamed for four minutes. One of my men brought you up here and a doctor was called.”
“No clues?”
“We call them leads, Mr. Sargeant. The police department is not...”
“Then were there any leads? like a strand of blond hair soaked in blood or maybe the old dandruff of a middle-aged murderer scattered beside my still form?”
“Nothing but your still form was found.” He paused, indicating that for his money it wasn’t still enough.
“Well, there’s nothing more I can say.”
“You were out. You left the house after I expressly asked everyone to stay in. You were dressed in a. , .
“Tuxedo with a loose inner button. I went to the Ladyrock Yacht Club...”
“After which you and a Miss, Liz Bessemer drove north to Amagansett.”
This stopped me. “What happened then, in Amagansett?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care. Miss Bessemer dropped you off here at five-twenty or thereabouts.”
“I suppose your man saw all this?” the one who was sound asleep when I came home.”
“He was sound asleep and he’s been replaced.” Greaves was calm, implacable. “Sargeant, what do you know?”
He whipped this last out like a spray of cold water in my face. He was leaning forward now, intense, grimly serious.
“About what?” The Empirin hadn't begun to work yet and my head ached fiercely.
“You know something you haven’t told us, something important . . . you know enough for the murderer to want to kill you.”
This had occurred to me some minutes before when I came to, aware I’d been clubbed. I was in the dark, though. I was fairly certain neither Brexton nor Claypoole knew I’d overheard their conversation. They were the likeliest pair.
Greaves was on a different tack, however. I found out soon enough what was on his mind. “What did you see out there in the water, when Mrs. Brexton was drowning? What did Brexton do exactly? what did Claypoole do? and the woman, did she speak? did she call for help?”
“You think I saw something out there that somebody . . . the murderer, didn’t want me to, is that it?”
“That’s it.”
I shook my head which was beginning, slowly, to clear. “I’ve gone over the whole thing a dozen times in my mind since it happened, but I can’t find anything unusual . . .anything you don’t already know.”
“How close was Brexton to his wife when you got to him?”
“About five feet, I'd say . . . not very close. He was gagging and getting blue in the face. I grabbed him while...”
“Claypoole grabbed Mrs. Brexton.”
“Yes. Then we came into shore.”
“Brexton never touched his wife, did he?”
I shook my head. “I don't think so. The spray was in my eyes. I was bucking surf all the way. When I got there, she was sinking, going down again and again, hardly struggling enough to get herself back up. She didn’t make a sound.”
“And Claypoole?”
“He was behind me all the way until we finally got out to them: then he spurted on ahead and grabbed Mrs. Brexton.
I had my hands full with her husband.
“How did Claypoole handle her on the way in?”
“I wasn’t watching. About the same way I managed Brexton . . . standard Junior Life Saver stuff.”
Greaves lit a pipe thoughtfully. “He’ll try it again.”
“Who will try what?”
“The murderer will take another crack at you.”
I chuckled, though I didn’t feel any too merry. “I don’t think that’s why I was cracked over the head. After all, if somebody was interested in killing me, he wouldn't rely on one blow to do it. On top of that how’d he know I was going to come creeping into the kitchen at five a.m.? and what was he doing there?”