The Resurrection Man (9 page)

Anora had to take another tissue. “George used to say to me sometimes, ‘Why do you put up with a crock like me?’ and I’d tell him, ‘Because I love you, you foolish old goat.’ And I did, you know. I’d get awfully exasperated with him sometimes, but I never stopped loving him. What’s to become of me now?”

“You’ll be all right, Anora. Just do the best you can from day to day and sooner or later things will work themselves out.”

“And it won’t be for long, there’s some comfort in that. Oh, Sarah, did you get hold of the undertakers?”

“Yes, they’re sending someone out right away to talk to you about the arrangements.”

“Then I’d better go put some clothes on. Now that the police have cleared out, neighbors will be calling to find out what’s going on. What do you think I should tell them?”

“There’s no sense in trying to keep this quiet. I’m sure it will be in the news by noontime, if not before. I think the sensible thing would be to call one or two friends yourself, or have Phyllis do it. Then shut off the phone and don’t let Phyllis open the door except to the undertaker or people you know. Those media reporters can be awful pests.”

“Oh, Lord, I hadn’t thought of that. All right, Sarah. Just don’t breathe a word to your Aunt Appie, she’d be out here sympathizing all over the place. I couldn’t stand that. Jim Harnett’s gone to tell his wife, I expect. Marianne’s a good soul, she’ll come if she knows I want her. And Ellie Pratch. I’ll ask them to lunch, that will give Phyllis and Cook something to do so they won’t be out there having the horrors. You and Max are welcome to stay, but I’m sure you have other things to do.”

“Well, we did run off and leave Theonia stuck with Davy,” Sarah admitted, “and Max has to go to the office. Don’t you, dear?”

“Yes, I do, but could I ask Anora one more question before we go?”

The old woman sighed. “Go ahead. I’ve answered so many already, one more can’t hurt. What is it, Max?”

“When you were talking to Levitan about the spear, you mentioned a little brown man. Was there any special reason?”

“Did I say that? I wonder why. Sounds as if I’d been reading Willkie Collins. Oh, I remember. It was yesterday afternoon, George and I were sitting on the east veranda. It was shady there then. That’s one of the nice things about this house, we have a veranda for every time of day. George was reading the paper, or pretending to, and I was working on my needlepoint. You don’t care about that, the thing of it is that I’d forgotten to bring my little scissors out with me. So I went in to get them, then it struck me that lemonade and cookies might be enjoyable, so I stopped to ask Cook to send some out when she got them ready. All in all, I suppose I was in the house for ten or fifteen minutes. When I went back out, George was up out of his chair, leaning over the railing.”

M
AX WAS STILL WAITING
for the punch line, but Sarah had caught on immediately. “George did that? How unusual. What do you suppose impelled him to get up?”

“He told me a little brown man in a bright-red jogging suit had just run across the front lawn and back into the garden. George was curious to see what he was up to. George thought the man looked like a Tamil.”

“A Tamil? Aren’t they Sri Lankans or something?”

“If that’s what they’re calling themselves now. George thought perhaps the man might have come from Ceylon or down around Madras. He’d been in both places himself, back when he used to travel, he’d even picked up a smattering of the language. I think George was hoping the fellow would come back and talk to him.”

“Did you see the man yourself?” Max asked her.

“Oh no. I’d hardly expected to. I was quite willing to grant that George would know a Tamil when he saw one, but that red jogging suit was a bit too much to swallow. I expect George must have nodded off, the way he did, you know, and had a dream about the old days. That happened quite often. Sometimes the dreams were so vivid that he’d be absolutely convinced they’d really happened.”

“Do you suppose that’s where some of his stories came from?” Max asked.

“Very likely. That would explain why he could never remember the endings. You know how it is with dreams, you always wake up too soon. Anyway, Phyllis came out with the lemonade and I forgot about the little brown man. Or thought I did, but apparently I didn’t. Why, Max? Surely you don’t think he means anything?”

“It’s curious, that’s all. One last question, Anora; have you ever done any business with a man named Bartolo Arbalest? He calls himself the Resurrection Man.”

“Yes, certainly we have. As a matter of fact, Bartolo was here not long ago. George’s niece’s daughter, Jane, has finally decided to make an honest man of the chap she’s been living with for the past two years or so, and they’re having a formal wedding, of all things. So George and I decided we might as well give her the elephant candlesticks. You remember them, Sarah.”

“Yes, of course. They’re Indian, aren’t they? Silver gilt, with filigree howdahs on their backs and fancy gold and silver blankets with rows of miniature bells on the edges. You used to let me brush my fingers along the bells and make them tinkle. It was the tiniest, sweetest sound.”

“That’s right.” Anora was almost smiling. “Children always loved the elephants, Jane was crazy over them. Once when the family was visiting, she and her brother got into a tug-of-war over whose turn it was to ring the bells. In the melee, one of the howdahs got broken and the other elephant’s trunk got twisted out of shape. Jane cried and cried. But anyway, I put the elephants away, meaning to have them repaired sometime. You know what that means. That filigree is so delicate, I didn’t even know where to take them. So the upshot was that they just sat for years in the butler’s pantry. Then this wedding came up and I didn’t feel it was right just to go out and buy something, so I thought of the elephant candlesticks.”

“How did you get on to Arbalest?” asked Max.

“Serendipity. Ellie Pratch mentioned that a cousin of hers had had some gewgaw repaired—I forget what—by this new man who’d just come to Boston from the West Coast and started a shop doing restorations, and that he’d done a wonderful job. The best part of all was that you didn’t have to take the work to him, you just called up and he came to your house. So I called Bartolo and out he came. We had a lovely visit, he and George got to talking about Oriental antiques. It was one of the most interesting evenings we’d spent in a long time, I hadn’t seen George so animated since I don’t know when.”

“Have you got your elephants back yet?”

“Yes, Bartolo was quite prompt, and I must say he did a beautiful job, or somebody did. Of course we could have bought Jane a real elephant for what he charged, but he’d told us in advance how much it was going to cost and explained all about his atelier, as he called it. He has various other artisans working for him, all of them experts at one thing or another. Bartolo’s conversation gets a bit high-flown at times, and he’s certainly not overburdened with false modesty, but evidently he’s as good as he claims to be.”

“I’ve heard that Mr. Arbalest is quite the showman,” said Sarah.

“Oh, lordy me, yes. He swooshed up to the door in a Rolls with a chauffeur in livery. I haven’t seen such elegance since that time Mary Roberts Rinehart came to tea at my aunt’s house in Bar Harbor before it burned down. The chauffeur came in right behind Bartolo carrying what looked to be a suitcase, and stood next to his chair the whole time we talked, not moving a muscle. I didn’t know whether to offer the man a seat and a drink or send him out to the kitchen with Cook, so I kept my mouth shut for once and let George handle the conversation. George really enjoyed himself, it was quite like old times. When they got ready to leave, I did ask the man—Gould or something, his name was—no, Goudge—if he’d like a velvet pillow to carry the elephants out to the car on.”

“Didn’t that crack him up?”

“I thought his lips twitched a bit, but I couldn’t be sure.” Talking was doing Anora good, she had a little color in her face by now. “That suitcase thing he’d brought with him was all padded on the inside, as it turned out. Goudge spent about twenty minutes getting the elephants stowed inside, with Bartolo eagle-eyeing him every second. That did give one a feeling of reassurance, as I presume it was meant to do. And when the elephants came back, you couldn’t see any sign of where they’d been mended. They were all cleaned up too. Nothing so vulgar as being highly polished of course, but they looked absolutely magnificent. I rather hated to part with them, but seeing Jane so pleased was worth the sacrifice. She even wrote us a thank-you note, which was quite something for Jane. Now if only she doesn’t get robbed again!”

“When was she robbed, Anora?” Max asked rather sharply. “Was it since you gave her the elephants?”

“Yes, it was just last week. Fortunately all the wedding presents are over at her parents’ house, since she’s to be married from there. She and Carl have only a small apartment in the Fenway. There’s supposed to be a security system in the building and they have all sorts of locks and chains on their door, but you know there’s no way to keep out a really determined thief. Though why anyone would go to all that effort and then not even steal the television set is beyond me. Anyway, Jane’s going to look for another place so she can show off the elephants. But I mustn’t keep running on like this, no doubt you have things to do. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your coming.”

They were going through the usual parting rituals when Phyllis came looking for Anora. “Mrs. Harnett’s on the phone, Mrs. Protheroe. She wants to come over. Shall I tell her you’re resting?”

“No, say I’ll expect her for luncheon in about an hour. Ask if she’d mind inviting Mrs. Pratch to come with her. Otherwise I don’t want to see anybody except the undertaker’s man. And be sure you make him show you his card before you let him in. Turn down the telephone as soon as you’ve finished talking with Mrs. Harnett. I don’t want to take any more calls. Then draw me a bath and tell Cook to fix something light.”

“What would you like, Mrs. Protheroe?”

“I don’t care what, a soufflé or an omelet, perhaps. Set the table in the breakfast room. Get the Persian runner out of the upstairs back bedroom and spread it over that ghastly mess on the hall carpet. We’ll have to get someone to take it up but I can’t handle that today. Lay newspapers under the runner so you won’t get its back all stained.”

Anora was back in charge, Phyllis exuded relief as she held the door for the Bittersohns to go out. “She’ll be all right now that we’ve got company coming,” she whispered. “I’m just so thankful you called when you did.”

“Don’t hesitate to phone us if anything else happens,” Sarah urged. “And take care of yourself, Phyllis. Don’t get overtired. Let me know if things are too much for you, I’ll see that you get help.”

“Will you bring the little boy next time? Mrs. Protheroe loves children, just so they don’t start breaking things.”

They said a final good-bye, Sarah got back behind the wheel and waited for Max to get his leg comfortably stowed.

“Okay, kid, let ’er roll. Sarah, did you believe that story Anora told about George seeing a little brown man in a red jogging suit?”

“Well, I can’t imagine Anora making it up, and I never saw any sign of George’s having psychic powers. If it was a dream, as she seems to think, it must have been an awfully strange coincidence. Unless Mr. Arbalest got to telling them about the quaint little chap who does calisthenics in his alley during that chummy talk they must have had. Did you notice that Anora called him Bartolo?”

“I imagine getting on first-name terms with his richer clients is part of Arbalest’s sales technique.”

“Yes, I suppose it would be,” Sarah agreed. “Still, I do think brown men in red jogging suits would have been an odd subject to come up during a highbrow conversation on Oriental antiquities.”

“Maybe the jogger’s old enough to qualify as an Oriental antiquity himself.”

“Very clever, dear. If the man were that old, he’d hardly have been doing calisthenics. Besides, Charles said his hair was black.”

“He could have restored the natural color with that glop they advertise on television.”

“Bah, humbug,” said Sarah. “Charles also said there were gray hairs showing.”

“Then he only restored some of the color. Typical ruse of your ageing red-suited Tamil jogger. Setting said jogger aside for the nonce, have we any bibelot that needs restoring?”

“Something along the lines of an opening wedge, you mean? Max dear, can’t you think of a cheaper way to get in touch with Bartolo Arbalest? How about sending Brooks over to apply for a job?”

“I thought of that, but it wouldn’t work. Brooks is adamant about the velvet beret.”

“Then why don’t we just walk up and thump the knocker? You don’t actually suppose Mr. Arbalest emits an evil aura that causes little brown men to go around spearing people, do you? And if by any chance he does, wouldn’t it be a job for the police or a witch doctor instead of us? Darling, I just don’t want you to get hurt again.”

“I don’t want me to get hurt again either,” Max assured his wife with unequivocal sincerity. “I just want to find out what the hell kind of racket Arbalest’s running. Or who’s running one against him, as the case may be. You didn’t happen to notice anything missing from Anora’s house that would have been valuable enough to kill poor old George for?”

“No, but I didn’t look; I was too concerned about Anora. Maybe she and Phyllis will turn up something once they’ve pulled themselves together and begun checking around. There is an awful lot of stuff in that house, of course, and some of it must be good. The Protheroes are old money, and there’s all that Oriental art and whatnot.”

“Would an inventory have been made at any time?”

“I’d be inclined to doubt it. The insurance would have been far more than they’d have wanted to pay, and I can’t think why else they’d have bothered. George was too indolent and I don’t believe Anora cares all that much. She’s interested in people, not things. Still, I suppose she wouldn’t want not to find out what the killer’s motive was. One can’t just sit idle and let awful things happen. Are you going to tell Lieutenant Levitan what we know?”