William Daley two years ago, and she fell in love. Hard. And he loved her. Last year they married, a June wedding. I was a bridesmaid.
“Libby hadn’t turned thirty yet and she couldn’t have been happier. Everything in her life was wonderfu)—the movies, her new husband. She still talked to me then, mostly about having children. She had a future. Then her husband goes off on that fool trip, thinks he’s going to teach the Chinese to play baseball . . .”
I knew the trip she was talking about. Last winter, Daley had organized a baseball tour of Asia and Europe that featured some of baseball’s biggest names.
I also knew how the tour had ended. “And Daley died on the trip,” I said.
She nodded. “Bad oysters. He ate some bad oysters ... and that’s it. He’s dead, and Libby’s life is ruined.” I remembered the zeal with which Margie consumed oysters at the Sea Dip Hotel. Maybe she imagined she was avenging William Daley’s death. “She was married to him for eight months, didn’t see him for the last four, and then . . . she’s a widow.”
“Didn’t see him? She wasn’t with him on the trip?” Why wouldn’t a new bride join her husband for a world cruise?
“No . . . maybe that’s what bothered her so much. Maybe she thought if she’d been with him she could have helped him. But she couldn’t go on a ship. She was terrified of water.”
“Afraid of water?”
“Uh-huh. Ever since she was a little girl. She told me.”
“But she went swimming Saturday night. That’s how she drowned.”
“She couldn’t swim. She must have fallen in.”
“But she had no clothes on. You don’t take your clothes off to fall in. You take your clothes off to go swimming.”
“I told you! She couldn’t swim!” Margie sounded angry that I couldn’t comprehend this simple fact. It wasn’t all I couldn’t comprehend.
“How do you know she had no clothes on?” she suddenly asked in a calmer voice.
Oops, I guess I let that slip. Did I want to tell Marguerite that I was the one who found Miss Hampton’s body? No, for some reason I didn’t. “I have a friend,” I said. “He’s a reporter. And he told me.”
“Why?” Her eyes probed me sharply.
“He thought I might know something about what happened. Or ... that I might be able to find out for him.”
“Is he writing something about her? I don’t want that. There’ve been too many horrid things written about her already.”
“No. He promised me it’s not for print.”
“Her death wasn’t an accident, was it.” Her question sounded like a statement of fact.
“I don’t know. I thought it was. I figured she met Virgil Ewing after the party and they went for a midnight swim. You remember when he said . . .”
Margie nodded.
“She was naked and she was found drowned,” I said. “If she wasn’t swimming, why would—” I halted as I realized there was another reason to take your clothes off. But from what I’d heard of that activity, it didn’t generally result in drowning.
I changed tack. “After I left the party, what happened? Did it seem she was more with one fellow than another? Did it look like she’d be leaving with one of them?”
“Nooo.... Things were the same. All the men fighting over her. Then—Oh! She left alone. I saw her, I remember she wasn’t looking well. It was just a little while before I left.”
“Wait a minute. I just thought of something: why would Virgil Ewing even ask her to go swimming if she’s afraid of water?”
Margie chuckled. “He wouldn’t know about it. Libby wasn’t one to admit she was afraid of anything. I’m probably the only person who knew. She let it slip during one of our late-night chats.”
“Hmm.... Well, maybe I should talk to some people and see what I can find out about all this.” I was thinking in particular of speaking with Virgil Ewing, Sloppy Sutherland, and Tom Kelly.
“Why you?”
“I want to find out what happened.”
“So do I. And she was my
“Libby hadn’t turned thirty yet and she couldn’t have been happier. Everything in her life was wonderfu)—the movies, her new husband. She still talked to me then, mostly about having children. She had a future. Then her husband goes off on that fool trip, thinks he’s going to teach the Chinese to play baseball . . .”
I knew the trip she was talking about. Last winter, Daley had organized a baseball tour of Asia and Europe that featured some of baseball’s biggest names.
I also knew how the tour had ended. “And Daley died on the trip,” I said.
She nodded. “Bad oysters. He ate some bad oysters ... and that’s it. He’s dead, and Libby’s life is ruined.” I remembered the zeal with which Margie consumed oysters at the Sea Dip Hotel. Maybe she imagined she was avenging William Daley’s death. “She was married to him for eight months, didn’t see him for the last four, and then . . . she’s a widow.”
“Didn’t see him? She wasn’t with him on the trip?” Why wouldn’t a new bride join her husband for a world cruise?
“No . . . maybe that’s what bothered her so much. Maybe she thought if she’d been with him she could have helped him. But she couldn’t go on a ship. She was terrified of water.”
“Afraid of water?”
“Uh-huh. Ever since she was a little girl. She told me.”
“But she went swimming Saturday night. That’s how she drowned.”
“She couldn’t swim. She must have fallen in.”
“But she had no clothes on. You don’t take your clothes off to fall in. You take your clothes off to go swimming.”
“I told you! She couldn’t swim!” Margie sounded angry that I couldn’t comprehend this simple fact. It wasn’t all I couldn’t comprehend.
“How do you know she had no clothes on?” she suddenly asked in a calmer voice.
Oops, I guess I let that slip. Did I want to tell Marguerite that I was the one who found Miss Hampton’s body? No, for some reason I didn’t. “I have a friend,” I said. “He’s a reporter. And he told me.”
“Why?” Her eyes probed me sharply.
“He thought I might know something about what happened. Or ... that I might be able to find out for him.”
“Is he writing something about her? I don’t want that. There’ve been too many horrid things written about her already.”
“No. He promised me it’s not for print.”
“Her death wasn’t an accident, was it.” Her question sounded like a statement of fact.
“I don’t know. I thought it was. I figured she met Virgil Ewing after the party and they went for a midnight swim. You remember when he said . . .”
Margie nodded.
“She was naked and she was found drowned,” I said. “If she wasn’t swimming, why would—” I halted as I realized there was another reason to take your clothes off. But from what I’d heard of that activity, it didn’t generally result in drowning.
I changed tack. “After I left the party, what happened? Did it seem she was more with one fellow than another? Did it look like she’d be leaving with one of them?”
“Nooo.... Things were the same. All the men fighting over her. Then—Oh! She left alone. I saw her, I remember she wasn’t looking well. It was just a little while before I left.”
“Wait a minute. I just thought of something: why would Virgil Ewing even ask her to go swimming if she’s afraid of water?”
Margie chuckled. “He wouldn’t know about it. Libby wasn’t one to admit she was afraid of anything. I’m probably the only person who knew. She let it slip during one of our late-night chats.”
“Hmm.... Well, maybe I should talk to some people and see what I can find out about all this.” I was thinking in particular of speaking with Virgil Ewing, Sloppy Sutherland, and Tom Kelly.
“Why you?”
“I want to find out what happened.”
“So do I. And she was my
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