“I don’t really understand,” she said, turning to Doc Winning and Delores for an explanation.
“To tell the truth, Mrs. Grayson, I don’t really understand it all myself,” I said. “Delores, you think you can brew some of that delicious coffee of yours?”
“There’s coffee on the stove right now,” she said, glaring at me. “I think you should leave, or we’ll be forced to call the police. You’re disturbing my mother.”
“I don’t think I’m doing much for your peace of mind either,” I went on.
“You’re enjoying this scene, aren’t you, Mr. Peters?” Winning said, moving to sit across from me while Mrs. Grayson fluttered to a place next to him.
“Yes,” I admitted. “Once a year or so I get a moment like this and I like to roll it around on my tongue like the good brandy I can’t afford.”
“Are you hinting at something?” Delores said.
“A cup of fine coffee. Take your time. You won’t miss anything. I’ve got a ghost story to start, and then we can all take turns finishing it.”
She looked at Winning, who nodded at her, and she hurried off to the back of the house.
“Mister Thor,” Jeanette Grayson began.
“His name is Peters, Jeanette,” Winning corrected.
She recognized my name and shut up. We sat looking at each other for two or three minutes till Delores came in and handed me a cup of coffee.
“I put in two spoons of sugar and some cream,” she said.
“You have a good memory,” I said, sipping the coffee.
“Mr. Peters, you are annoying.” She folded her arms and sat.
“It took me some time to figure the whole thing out,” I began between sips. “I probably still have some of it wrong, but I think it makes sense.”
“Go on,” said Winning.
“First, I should tell you that Ressner has been caught.”
That got them. They looked at one another, and Winning held up a calming hand.
“That’s good,” he said. “I hope he hasn’t been hurt.”
“He’s fine. Just about now he’s probably telling his tale to two Los Angeles Homicide cops with a lot of muscle and very little sympathy.”
“My father should have a lawyer,” Delores Ressner shouted, getting up and going to the phone.
“That’s a good idea,” I said. “I’ve got a good one named Marty Leib. He’s a bit expensive, but we won’t spare the dollars where Dad is concerned, will we?”
“Mr. Peters,” piped up Mrs. Grayson. “This sarcasm is uncalled for.”
“Let me tell it and any of you chime in to correct me,” I began. Delores put the phone down and listened.
“Somewhere during the last four years while Jeffrey Ressner was going his mad merry way in the Winning Institute, one of you, probably Doc Winning, got the idea of using Ressner to make a few million dollars,” I began. “Ressner would be allowed to escape. He’d go looking for his benevolent wife and loving daughter.”
“It worked fine to that point. He got in touch with Delores and told her he was at the Los Olvidados Hotel. She went to see him and let him hatch his scheme against Mae West. It was all right if he got caught. It would show the world how mad he was, and you could let him escape again. As it turned out, he wasn’t caught. He ran into me and got away.”
“That was a problem. I tracked him down through the Engineer’s Thumbs and you knew I might catch up with him before the whole scheme went through. So you got him to go into his Dr. Winning act with me, throw me off, use me. He thought he was toying with me. What he was doing was setting me up as a witness, a witness to a pair of murders I’d pin on him. How am I doing so far?”
“This is ridiculous,” Mrs. Grayson said, standing up and almost weeping.
“Right,” I agreed, “but close to what happened. I came running up here, and Delores intercepted me, telling me that Daddy was in the next room talking to the mean old stepfather. I swallowed it whole and went in. Here’s the point where I have some choices. Any one of the three of you could have put the knife in Grayson. I’m putting my money on Delores, who did him in and then came out in her bathing suit to greet me and serve me a cup of coffee. My guess is you killed him when you saw me coming up the driveway and hustled Ressner into the Packard to make a run for it and look guilty as hell. Is this coffee poisoned?”
“I’m sorry,” Delores said. “But it’s not.”
“O.K.,” I went on, finishing the coffee. “I didn’t catch Ressner. So you got me on Talbott’s trail. Ressner is crazy but he’s no fool. Why would he call Talbott and give his right name? He was acting like a man who wanted to get caught, and catch him I did at the Manhattan Bar. More guesswork now. Ressner got Talbott in the back room. You waited for me, knowing I’d take the bait again. I’m not too bright and easy to hook. You hustled Ressner out after stabbing Talbott. My bet this time is that Doc Winning did the killing and blasted me when I went through the door. You all killed Grayson for the money you girls will inherit You killed Talbott for one or two reasons I don’t know about. I’ll give you one good one. With Talbott’s murder filling the newspapers, Grayson would be lost in the shuffle. But I was still on the trail, and I might foul things up, so you cooked up the wild turkey chase to Fresno, pinched my wallet-I’ll give that one to Delores who probably followed me in the Packard-and let me walk into the Winning Institute while Daddy went nuts with another shot at Mae West and this morning’s mess with Cecil B. De Mille. I tell you he is one inept madman, but my guess is that he’s probably harmless or was until Doc Winning put a bug in his ear and sealed the ear. Last idea, you would have been happy if Jeffrey Ressner met with an accident while rampaging after celebrities. He almost did have that accident. If he got caught, you’d get your hands on him fast and see to it that he didn’t say anything embarrassing. But even if he did, no one was likely to believe him.
“It wasn’t a bad scheme,” I concluded. “Just too complicated. Too many holes. Too much ad-libbing. Believe me, it’s the dumb ones who are hard to catch. They just do it and run. Then they keep their mouth shut and may never get caught. It’s you cutie pies who stick your feet in the frosting.”
“I never wanted Jeffrey to be hurt,” Mrs. Grayson said earnestly.
“None of us want Mr. Ressner hurt,” said Winning, fumbling for his pipe, finding it, and putting it nervously into the corner of his mouth. “I’m afraid, Mr. Peters, you just created, as you said, a ghost story. You certainly have no evidence for any of this.”
“Right,” I said, standing up. “I can’t prove any of this, but with what Ressner is probably saying right now-”
“He’s psychotic,” said Winning, removing his pipe. “Any psychiatrist will confirm his condition. As you just said, no one is going to believe him.”
“But they’d probably believe me,” I said. “I wonder what happens when I tell my tale to my brother the Homicide cop and he takes each one of you into a little office for some coffee and a chat. You’ll start stepping all over one another’s story, and my bet is the poor widow will crack before the first cup is cool. I’ve got about two bucks in change I’ll bet on it, and I know a bookie who would give about eight to one against Mrs. Grayson after looking at her for thirty seconds.”
“I think you underestimate us and overestimate yourself, Mr. Peters,” said Delores, walking over to calm her mother, who was close to hysteria.
“Maybe. Why don’t we just wait and see? I’ll leave you three here to talk it over.” I made a move to the door, but Winning’s voice stopped me.
“Wait. Peters, I think I have something that will show you how wrong you are, that will convince you.”
I turned to look at him, at all of them, and waited. He moved quickly into the back of the house, fumbled in one of the rooms, and came in holding a.38 automatic.
“Just stand still, Peters, while we consider our next step.”
Mrs. Grayson was weeping now, and Delores moved to her side.
“The next step is obvious. You kill him, and we bury him in the desert,” she said.