The Finishing Stroke (4 page)

‘Thank heaven you don't think me precocious!' Ellery looked apprehensive. ‘You're over twenty-one, aren't you?'

Ellen laughed. ‘I'll be twenty-two in April.'

‘Then let's go find ourselves an abandoned inglenook or something,' Mr. Queen said enthusiastically, ‘and pursue this inquiry further.'

The big green Marmon ‘8' going up Alderwood's main street in the deepening snow was having a hard time of it. The tyres were chainless, and the rather erratic driving of the girl at the wheel kept her companion on the edge of his seat.

‘For God's sake, Valentina, watch the road!'

‘Compose a tone-poem, Marius,' the girl said. ‘I'll get you there in one piece.'

‘The least you could do, in the name of common sense, is to stop at a garage and have the chains put on.'

‘Relax, we're almost there.'

Valentina Warren was a passionate and volatile girl with a theatrical background of large roles in summer stock and small ones on Broadway. She secretly modelled her appearance and style on Joan Crawford; she had seen
Untamed
five times. To get to Hollywood was Valentina's great crusade; to become a famous movie star was her Holy Grail.

For the drive upcountry she had dressed in the latest in winter sportswear according to
Vogue
– a skiing costume of braided Norwegian trousers, with a forest green broadcloth vest and matching beret. Over this she had draped, cape fashion, a heavy green wool coat with black fox collar and cuffs. Valentina inclined to the colour green because, in combination with her airy gold hair and ground-chalk complexion, it gave her what she considered ‘a Greek tragedy look'. One of the few things that made Valentina angry was to be called ‘a lot of fun'. She equated fame with solemnity.

If epic gloom was not in the Warren girl, it filled young Marius Carlo to the brim. He was of mixed Spanish and Italian descent, with a dash of Black Irish, and his soul was as dark and pitted as his skin. He had a positive flair for self-depreciation; romantic and imaginative, painfully aware of his physical shortcomings, he made less of himself than he was. He defended himself with sarcasms.

Carlo was a composer of solid talent if no great originality, with his musical roots in Stravinsky and Hindemith. Recently he had come under the spell of the Austrian modernist Arnold Schönberg, and he had begun to compose prodigiously in the Schönbergian idiom – terse atonal works which no one heard but the adoring clique of Greenwich Village poets, artists and musicians who had attached themselves to him like a fungus. For his daily bread he played the viola in Walter Damrosch's symphony orchestra, heard coast-to-coast each Saturday night at nine over NBC. This was his cross; and when he had been invited to spend the holiday in Alderwood he had seized the opportunity to report himself to the Damrosch business office as stricken with double lobar pneumonia.

‘Let them play their goddam Tchaikovsky without me,' he had snarled to his friends. Then he had added with characteristic hopefulness, ‘Maybe they'll fire me.'

He had been born with undeveloped arches in both feet, and he still had to wear heavy supports in his shoes. They gave him a laboured walk which, when he hurried, turned into a sort of scuttle. ‘Marius the Crab, that's me,' he would say bitterly.

Valentina negotiated the glassy main street of Alderwood safely and headed her Marmon toward the north end of town.

‘Marius, do you know what's up?' she asked abruptly.

‘What's up where?'

‘Up here. What's this house party all about?'

‘How should I know? The days when I was in John's confidence are footnotes in the sands of Time.'

‘Oh, stop being so Oedipean. You know what I mean. John's up to something, but what?'

‘Ask him.' Marius glowered at the snowy road. ‘I hope the hooch is good.'

‘He's been dropping awfully mysterious hints,' Valentina said thoughtfully. ‘About something big coming off around New Year's. I wonder what it is.'

The young musician showed his teeth in what might have been a grin. ‘Maybe you'd be better off not knowing.'

‘What's that supposed to mean?'

‘Slow down, damn it!'

‘All
right.
Marius, what do you
know
?'

‘Have you seen Rusty the past few weeks?'

The actress was startled. ‘Not since before Thanksgiving.'

‘The baggage glows, especially on the fourth finger of the left hand.'

‘They're engaged?' Valentina cried.

‘Friendship ring.
They
say. A little nothing of four carats.'

‘You think that while we're up here …'

‘With John anything is possible, even marriage.' Marius shrugged. ‘Kismet. What will be, will be.'

‘Oh, come off it. I don't believe that.'

‘You don't?' he said softly.

Her violet eyes flicked over him. Then she looked back to the road. ‘Not necessarily,' she said, just as softly. ‘Marius, you know … you could help me. We could help each other.'

He glowered at her. Then he laughed. ‘You bitch. You've seen it. I didn't think it showed.'

‘Will you, Marius?'

He did not reply for a moment.

Then he muttered, ‘Why not?' and sank deeper into his thin balmacaan and muffler.

‘It's still coming down,' Ellery announced as he and Ellen Craig paused in the hall to stamp the snow off their shoes.

‘And getting darker and colder,' Ellen called. ‘What a wonderful beginning for Christmas!'

‘Come in by the fire, you two,' her uncle said. ‘Ellen, your hands are frozen.'

‘But look at the oven in her eyes,' John Sebastian grinned. He was tending bar in the temporary absence of Felton, who had driven the Craig Peerless down to the railroad station. ‘Here, Sis, have a cocktail.'

‘Gosh, yes!'

‘Ellery?'

‘Definitely. How many more are coming, John?'

‘Four. Another, Marius?'

‘Indefinitely,' Marius Carlo said.

‘I wouldn't worry,' Craig said. ‘Dan Freeman and Roland Payn are driving up together, and that Lincoln All-Weather Cabriolet of Dan's will go anywhere. Sam Dark's just at the other end of Alderwood. And if Mr. Gardiner is coming out by train –'

‘I do hope the New York trains have kept running,' Rusty said. ‘We can't have that sweet old man missing the party, can we, darling?'

‘I would cut my throat,' John said, illustrating with a forefinger. ‘Drink, Val?'

‘Not just now, thank you.' Then Valentina said brightly, ‘What's this about a minister coming, Rusty? Are you two going hick town on us?'

Rusty laughed.

‘All in good time, kiddies,' John said. ‘Here, Ellery, let me freshen that.'

‘Easy, boy – whoa! Mr. Craig, did you say Freeman is coming? Dan Z. Freeman?'

‘Yes, Mr. Queen.'

‘“I will tell thee wonders,” eh? How did you ever get Freeman to accept a house-party invitation? He's one of the shyest birds I've ever met. You know, he's my publisher.'

‘I know,' Craig smiled.

‘Well, two people here will have something in common, then,' Marius Carlo mumbled, staring into his glass. ‘You can complain to Freeman about the promotion he didn't give your book, Queen, and Freeman can tell you all about the sales of the important titles on his list.'

‘Why, Marius,' Ellen said in dismay.

‘Don't mind him, Ellery,' Rusty said. ‘Marius has a contempt for everything he thinks isn't art.'

‘But especially for bad art,' Marius said.

‘And especially,' Ellen snapped, ‘if it makes money.'

‘Marius, you shut up!' Valentina said. ‘He doesn't believe a word of it, Ellery. He's just consumed with jealousy. I thought your book was
merveilleux
.'

‘And I think we ought to change the subject,' Ellery said cheerfully, but as he did so he looked Marius over with interest. ‘Who is Roland Payn, may I ask, Mr. Craig?'

‘My attorney, an old friend.' The big man, too, was inspecting the young musician. ‘And Sam Dark's been our family doctor ever since he came to Alderwood. Ah, Mrs. Brown. We've been waiting for you to join us.'

‘I've been looking over our horoscope reading, Mr. Craig,' Rusty's mother cried, bouncing into the room, ‘and I do believe I made a wee mistake. The position of Jupiter at your ascendant –'

‘I take it I have reason to feel relieved,' Craig smiled. ‘Martini, Mrs. Brown?'

‘I'd
adore
one. The juniper has
such
significance, you know. Don't ever cut a juniper bush down in Wales; you'll die in a year.'

‘Drink some of the gin they're allegedly making from it these days,' John said, ‘and you'll die a lot quicker than that.'

Ellery said gravely, ‘It also cures snakebite and strengthens the optic nerve, Mrs. Brown.'

‘Really, Mr. Queen?' Rusty's mother exclaimed. ‘I hadn't known that. John, didn't Rusty say you expect more people?'

‘Four, Mother Brown.'

‘Why, that will make us a party of twelve. How very relieving, John! Imagine if you'd asked
one more person
.' She gulped her martini and shuddered, whether from the gin or the horrible thought Ellery could not determine.

‘Twelve?' Marius Carlo held out his empty glass. ‘Don't you count the servants, Madam?'

“The servants?' Mrs. Brown looked blank.

‘No one counts the servants. Comes the –'

‘– revolution. We know, Marius.' Valentina was annoyed with him. She threw her head back and became throaty. ‘Come on, Johnny, let us in on it. The bi-i-ig secret.'

Sebastian laughed. ‘For one thing, I have a birthday on the fire – January sixth, two weeks from today. I'm hoping you can all stay until then.'

‘Why?'

‘Four reasons.' He was enjoying his mystery. ‘Right after midnight of January fifth, four important events are scheduled to take place in my life.' He shook their questions off, grinning. ‘Wait till the others get here.'

‘But I am,' a high-pitched male voice said from the doorway. ‘Let the festivities begin!'

‘Sam.' Craig hurried forward with pleasure. ‘No trouble getting here, I see. Mabel, take Dr. Dark's things.' The Craig maid, a strawberry-cheeked Irish girl, ran in to be greeted by the newcomer with a vigorous pinch on the cheek. Mabel giggled, took Dr. Dark's fur hat, greatcoat and galoshes, and disappeared. ‘Let's see, now, Sam. I don't believe you've met Mrs. Brown …'

Dr. Sam Dark was a large fat man, almost as large as Arthur Craig, and even broader. His sandy hair bushed like a busby from his smallish head; he would have looked ridiculous except for his eyes, which were bright with shrewdness. His blue serge suit was unpressed; one cuff button dangled on a long thread. But there was a solidity, a set of dependability, about him that Ellery liked on sight.

‘Have you arranged to stay the entire week?' Craig asked when Dr. Dark was seated by the fire with a glass cuddled in his huge hand. ‘The answer had better be affirmative.'

‘Hollis and Bernstein are covering for me,' the fat doctor nodded. ‘It's a long time since I've enjoyed a family Christmas. As one old bach to another, Arthur, you've done better than I. Ellen, John, here's to the tourniquet that binds, and let's hear no nonsense about blood being thicker than water!' He drank like Hercules.

‘You didn't preside at John's birth, Doctor, did you?' Ellery knew vaguely that there was some interesting story about John Sebastian's origin.

‘Lordy, no,' Dr. Dark said. ‘John came to me
post uterum
, you might say.'

‘Aged six weeks, wasn't I, Dr. Sam?' John said.

‘Seven,' Craig corrected his ward. ‘You see, Mr. Queen, John's parents died within a few days of each other, back in Nineteen Five. Claire and John – John's named for his father – were driving back from New York to Rye in a blizzard and smashed their car up near Mount Kidron. The accident brought on this fellow's birth prematurely, and Claire died that night. John died of his injuries less than a week later. Before he went, he appointed me the baby's guardian – there were no close relatives on either side, and no other children; John Junior was their first. A practical nurse, a Mrs. Sapphira, whom John Senior had hired when Claire died, came along with the baby. Devoted soul. She never left us – died in this house only a few years ago. Between Sapphy and me, we managed to drag the young ruffian up.'

‘With considerable help from me,' Dr. Dark objected. ‘Many a time I had to run over here in the middle of the night because Johnny-boy happened to look crosseyed at Sapphy or Arthur.'

‘With considerable help from everybody,' John said, his hand on Craig's shoulder. ‘Sapphy, Dr. Sam, Ellen when she came to live with us – but most of all this bearded character. I'm afraid, Arthur, I haven't been as vocal about it as you've deserved.'

‘Hear, hear,' Marius Carlo said, before Arthur Craig could reply. ‘At the drop of a tear I shall play “Hearts and Flowers” on that piano – if it's in tune, which remains to be seen.'

‘Marius doesn't understand sentiment,' Rusty said sweetly, flipping her red bob. ‘You see, he never had a father
or
a mother. He was spawned on a stagnant pool. Weren't you, dear?'

Marius looked at her, black eyes flaming. Then he shrugged and raised his glass.

‘Weren't you and John's father in business together, Mr. Craig?' Valentina asked hastily.

‘Yes. Sebastian and Craig, Publishers. I was the production half of the partnership. I knew very little about the editorial end, so with John's death I sold out and went back to my original trade, the printing business.'

‘You make it sound like a stepdown, Mr. Craig,' Ellery said. ‘I'd rather be able to say I owned The ABC Press than many a publishing house. You didn't sell out to Dan Freeman, did you? No, he'd have been far too young.'