“Maybe,” Healy said.
“Course with Chief Trask on the track,” I said, “you probably don’t need too much misdirection.”
Healy separated a peppermint Life Saver from the roll and popped it into his mouth. He didn’t offer me one. “Well, he’s just a hick cop. Not a high-powered fast gun in from the city. Couldn’t even solve a simple missing person squeal.” He sucked on the Life Saver. “You find the kid yet?”
“Nope.”
Healy said, “Oh.”
We went back to the living room. The photographs had been taken. The measurements made. The corpse was wrapped in a blanket and lying on a stretcher. Trask looked at Healy. Healy nodded and Trask said, “Okay, let’s get him out of here.”
Two Smithfield cops picked up the stretcher and went out the front door.
“Union Hospital,” Trask yelled after them. “And tell ’em it’s for Doc Woodson when you get there.”
“Anything missing, Trask?” Healy asked.
“Mrs. Bartlett says no. She don’t see anything gone. Liquor cabinet was open but nothing missing.”
Marge Bartlett was sitting with her knees pressed together on the couch. The lines around her mouth seemed to have deepened. She needed to freshen her makeup.
“What was he doing here, Mrs. Bartlett?” Healy said.
“Who?”
“Maguire. What was Maguire doing in your house while you were away?”
“Oh, Earl has his own key. He’s an old and dear friend. He often lets himself in. We’re having a party tonight, and he said he’d come out early and help me set up the bar and things because Roger wouldn’t be able to get home till after supper. Almost time for... My God,” she looked at her watch, “it’s after four. My company is coming in three and a half hours. I’ve got to get ready. Spenser, you’re going to have to help me.”
I nodded. Healy said, “Do you have any idea, Mrs. Bartlett, who might have done this?”
“To Earl? I don’t know. He was a lawyer; perhaps he made enemies.” She shrugged. “I don’t know. Lieutenant, I simply must get ready. I’m having sixty-five people here tonight. And I’m already very late.” She was on her feet moving toward the hall as she spoke.
Healy looked at her with a puzzled expression. “It’s grief, Lieutenant,” I said. “She’s hiding her grief and carrying on.”
Healy snorted. Trask said, “Well, she is. She’s being damned brave.”
“Brave,” Healy said.
“I’ll question her later on,” Trask said, “when she’s gotten herself together more. Ya know.”
“Yeah,” Healy said, “you do that.”
Trask said, “Got any theories, Lieutenant?”
“I’d guess someone was in here expecting no one to be home, and Maguire came in and surprised him. There was a fight, Maguire went for the poker, and whoever it was hit him with something else and broke his neck. Then he got out of here.”
“From the way the rug’s bunched up and the body’s lying, I figure he came at him from the dining room,” I said.
Healy said, “Maybe.”
Trask said, “How’d he get in?”
“That’s a problem. Maybe one of the screens was unlocked or the door was ajar. Maybe somebody had a key.”
Trask looked shocked. “Wait a minute, who the hell would have a key except the family?”
Healy shrugged. “Maybe the lock was picked,” Trask said.
“How long you been chief here?” Healy asked.
“Seven years,” Trask said. “Before that I was a sergeant.”
“How many people have you run into out here that can pick that kind of a lock?” I said.
“There’s always a first time.”
“We’ll wait and see what the doctor can give us,” Healy said. “If I was you, Trask, I’d put a man here.”
“I had one, but when Mrs. Bartlett went off with Spenser, I took him off. She was supposed to call when she came back. I only got twelve goddamned men, Healy.”
“I know. Spenser, you hanging in here?”
“Yeah. I’m staying in the guest room. If you get a chance, let me know what the doctor says about cause of death.”
“Oh, of course,” Healy said. “Want I should iron your shirts for you or anything while I’m here?”
I let that pass. “Well,” I said, “time to dig out the old gold lamé tux and freshen up for the party.”
Both Trask and Healy looked very sourly at me. I knew how they felt. I felt the same way.
15
Helping Margery Bartlett overcome her grief involved a lot of housework. The caterer arrived about twenty minutes after they’d hauled Maguire away in a blanket. He had two eight-foot tables in his truck and enough food to cover both of them. It was warm and I had my coat off. The caterer’s assistant stared covertly at the gun on my hip but made no comment. I helped them set up the tables and carry in the food.
Marge Bartlett was hustling about in a passion of haste, directing me where to put the cold ham and what kind of silverware needed to go beside the schmaltz herring. Roger Bartlett got home about six o’clock and was told to set up the bar before he was told about Earl Maguire.
“Sonova bitch,” he said, “sonova bitch.” He kept shaking his head as he lined the bottles up on the counter in the kitchen. At 6:30 Marge Bartlett retired to her room to begin getting ready, and Roger Bartlett went down to the store for soda. I called Susan Silverman. It was late on a Saturday, but there was no harm trying, and if I had to stand around at a cocktail party in the subs, I might as well have a date. She answered on the second ring.
“Mrs. Silverman, I’m calling to tell you that you’ve won the Jackie Susann look-alike contest. First prize is an evening with a sophisticated sleuth at the Bartletts’ cocktail party tonight.”
“And second prize is two evenings,” she said.
“Well, I’m doing guard duty here, and I wondered if you wanted to come along and carry my ammo.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“Okay. What is anyone wearing?”
“I would say it’s dress-up stuff. You know, sixty-five people. The food catered. A punch bowl. Ice sculpture. White linen tablecloth. Real silver. Mrs. Bartlett has started getting ready, and the guests don’t come till eight.”
“All right, I’ll dress accordingly. Will you pick me up?”
“No, I’m sorry, I can’t. There was a murder here today and Mrs. Bartlett’s been threatened and I can’t leave her. Can you drive yourself over okay?”
“A murder? Who?”
“The Bartletts’ lawyer, Earl Maguire. I’ll tell you about it tonight.”
“What time do I arrive?”
“Eight o’clock.”
“See you then.”
I said good-bye. There was a pause at the other end, then she said, “Jackie Susann?”
“Maybe it was Jackie O.,” I said.
She said, “Well, it’s better than Jackie Coogan, I suppose,” and hung up.
Bartlett came back in the house with a case of club soda and put it on the floor beside the refrigerator.
“I’m going to take a shower,” I told him. “Lock the door and don’t let anyone in till I’m back down here. Okay?” I was much jumpier about the threats to Marge Bartlett since Maguire had turned up dead.
“Well, don’t be long,” he said. “I gotta get ready too.”
“Ten minutes,” I said.
“Right.”
“Oh, by the way, I’ve invited a woman I know, Mrs. Silverman from the high school. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Mind? Hell no. A man needs some female companionship, long as he doesn’t get carried away and end up married. You know? Don’t need to be married to have fun. Right? Don’t need that.”
“Sure don’t,” I said, heading up the stairs.
I stuck to my word and was out of the shower in four minutes and dressed in another five. I put on a dark blue two-button suit with wide lapels and a shaped waist, a blue and white checked shirt, and a wide red tie striped blue and black. I didn’t have any shoe polish, but I managed to freshen up my black boots with some Kleenex. I clipped my gun on and went back downstairs. I hoped there’d be no gun-play tonight. My hip holster was brown, and it didn’t go with my outfit.