Read Online Miss Withers Regrets by Stuart Palmer - Free Book Online
Authors: Stuart Palmer
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I think what you really want isn’t just to get Pat Montague out of jail. You want him completely cleared, and that can’t happen until we find the real murderer. Are you sure that will make you happy?”
Lawn hesitated.
“These family affairs can be very difficult. You and your father have lived with your sister Helen ever since she married Cairns, haven’t you? Forgive my frankness, but he must have been very much in love with Helen to take on her whole family too.”
“Or impressed with father. Father used to be famous, you know. He was on Broadway in The Red Mill and Graustark and The Chocolate Soldier, things like that.”
“And was Helen very much in love with her husband?”
“You’d better ask her that.”
“I would, but she wouldn’t answer. Look, child, I’m only trying to get the background. I’m not just prying.”
“Well, then,” Lawn admitted, “I’d say that Helen isn’t emotionally mature enough to love anybody except herself. The love affair between Helen and Helen should go down in history, like Romeo and Juliet. Oh, I’ll admit that she had a sort of crush on Pat long ago, just boy-and-girl stuff, but she was a good wife to Huntley. Helen was cut out to be a rich man’s wife, designed perfectly for the life he could give her. They fitted like—like a picture and a frame.”
“You wanted your sister to marry Cairns, didn’t you? Was it because he had money?”
Lawn looked puzzled. “I certainly wasn’t opposed to it, not knowing Helen as I did, and do.”
“According to what I have heard, you did your best to break up Pat’s romance with your sister so that she would fall into Huntley Cairns’s waiting arms.”
The girl’s pale, mask-like face showed no expression. “Did Pat say that?”
Miss Withers didn’t answer. “It must have been Pat,” Lawn decided. “Jed Nicolet wouldn’t have—he’s a good friend of mine.”
“It is true, isn’t it?”
Lawn suddenly put down the cup of coffee, which she had barely tasted. “Truth!” she exploded. Then she rose and turned towards the other room. She was not walking catlike now, but heavily and dully, as if all the starch and spring had gone out of her. “Please forget that I came here,” she said. “Just forget the whole thing.” And she went out, leaving the door open.
“Well!” murmured Miss Hildegarde Withers. She closed the door, bringing back with her the New York morning papers. She could not resist turning to the somewhat meager stories about the Shoreham murder while she sipped her coffee. It would certainly do no harm to see what the papers said, especially since the choice had been made so easy for her. She wasn’t going to get mixed up in the case; everybody, including herself, seemed determined about that.
There was a photograph of Huntley Cairns, evidently taken some years ago when he had been on a Defense Bond committee. He looked placid and pleased with himself. There was also a picture of what this particular paper at least had decided upon as the murder weapon, a garden rake held firmly in the hand of Officer Ray Lunney, in a somewhat smeary flashlight photo taken beside the Cairns swimming pool. There was another photograph of the strange, torn garment which the dead man had been wearing.
That was all the press had been able to uncover, or else the Sunday edition had been put to bed too early for any more of the gory details.
Miss Withers pushed aside the newspapers without even reading the comics. Not even Dick Tracy or Barnaby’s fairy godfather could inspire her now. But she had given up detecting, she reminded herself, and by a determined effort set her mind back upon the proper track. Crossing the room, she turned on the light over the aquarium. Gabriel, the angelfish, was fine and well this morning. She dumped some powdered food into the feeding triangle, watched it cascade down as the fish wildly gobbled at it. There was still only one neon tetra in evidence, and try as she
Lawn hesitated.
“These family affairs can be very difficult. You and your father have lived with your sister Helen ever since she married Cairns, haven’t you? Forgive my frankness, but he must have been very much in love with Helen to take on her whole family too.”
“Or impressed with father. Father used to be famous, you know. He was on Broadway in The Red Mill and Graustark and The Chocolate Soldier, things like that.”
“And was Helen very much in love with her husband?”
“You’d better ask her that.”
“I would, but she wouldn’t answer. Look, child, I’m only trying to get the background. I’m not just prying.”
“Well, then,” Lawn admitted, “I’d say that Helen isn’t emotionally mature enough to love anybody except herself. The love affair between Helen and Helen should go down in history, like Romeo and Juliet. Oh, I’ll admit that she had a sort of crush on Pat long ago, just boy-and-girl stuff, but she was a good wife to Huntley. Helen was cut out to be a rich man’s wife, designed perfectly for the life he could give her. They fitted like—like a picture and a frame.”
“You wanted your sister to marry Cairns, didn’t you? Was it because he had money?”
Lawn looked puzzled. “I certainly wasn’t opposed to it, not knowing Helen as I did, and do.”
“According to what I have heard, you did your best to break up Pat’s romance with your sister so that she would fall into Huntley Cairns’s waiting arms.”
The girl’s pale, mask-like face showed no expression. “Did Pat say that?”
Miss Withers didn’t answer. “It must have been Pat,” Lawn decided. “Jed Nicolet wouldn’t have—he’s a good friend of mine.”
“It is true, isn’t it?”
Lawn suddenly put down the cup of coffee, which she had barely tasted. “Truth!” she exploded. Then she rose and turned towards the other room. She was not walking catlike now, but heavily and dully, as if all the starch and spring had gone out of her. “Please forget that I came here,” she said. “Just forget the whole thing.” And she went out, leaving the door open.
“Well!” murmured Miss Hildegarde Withers. She closed the door, bringing back with her the New York morning papers. She could not resist turning to the somewhat meager stories about the Shoreham murder while she sipped her coffee. It would certainly do no harm to see what the papers said, especially since the choice had been made so easy for her. She wasn’t going to get mixed up in the case; everybody, including herself, seemed determined about that.
There was a photograph of Huntley Cairns, evidently taken some years ago when he had been on a Defense Bond committee. He looked placid and pleased with himself. There was also a picture of what this particular paper at least had decided upon as the murder weapon, a garden rake held firmly in the hand of Officer Ray Lunney, in a somewhat smeary flashlight photo taken beside the Cairns swimming pool. There was another photograph of the strange, torn garment which the dead man had been wearing.
That was all the press had been able to uncover, or else the Sunday edition had been put to bed too early for any more of the gory details.
Miss Withers pushed aside the newspapers without even reading the comics. Not even Dick Tracy or Barnaby’s fairy godfather could inspire her now. But she had given up detecting, she reminded herself, and by a determined effort set her mind back upon the proper track. Crossing the room, she turned on the light over the aquarium. Gabriel, the angelfish, was fine and well this morning. She dumped some powdered food into the feeding triangle, watched it cascade down as the fish wildly gobbled at it. There was still only one neon tetra in evidence, and try as she
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