The Amber Eyes Page 2

  “There is,” Pat said. “That medicine can be had only by prescription. Her own father wrote the prescription.”

  All of this was interesting but far from clear. Until we get the family relationships of all these people straightened out, I thought, we are not going to get very far.

  “Do you think the child was murdered?” I asked.

  “Not intentionally,” Sam said.

  “What can you do about negligence?” I asked.

  Sam said gloomily, “If her father was responsible and he’s as sick as Dr. Evans seems to think, probably nothing. I know Evans. His patients come first. He’s a good man. Who else lives in that house, Jean?”

  “Well, there’s somebody called Rona, who has the room next the little girl’s. I expect she’s a nurse. Mrs. Quayle says this Rona drove Dr. Alby out here by car from Denver.”

  “Quayle?” Sam said. “Who’s she?”

  “She’s Dr. Alby’s sister.”

  “Was she there tonight?”

  “I saw her in the living room as we passed. I don’t know her, really. She came here the other day to ask the name of a doctor nearby because Dr. Alby, she said, was very ill with a heart condition and if there was an emergency they might need one in a hurry. She said he knew a specialist here. I guess that would be Dr. Evans. The phones weren’t connected at that time and she was worried. Before that a Mrs. Doctor Alby was here. She told the telephone company off hard and I guess they got quick service, because that’s the last we heard of them till tonight. Except the time Dr. Alby came up the hill with the little girl.”

  “Who called you there tonight?” Sam cut in.

  Pat said, “The pretty daughter named Caroline. The one with blue eyes and the sweet voice. The one with the loving heart, if my guess is right, Sam.”

  I said, “She’s the girl who was with me in the hall. She came to ask the name of our doctor. I guess Mrs. Quayle hadn’t given it to them, or something. Anyway, Martin Kent, the intern whom you met, had told Caroline the little girl was dead. So Pat went down at once, found it was true, and then Dr. Evans looked at her and called you, Sam.”

  Pat went in for the coffee and handed it around. He said, “Who says the mysterious Rona is not your Mrs. Doctor Alby who cussed out the telephone company?”

  There was no comment and Sam said, “Quayle. From Denver, huh? Kind of unusual name. I know a Quayle who came here from Denver. Lousy stinker who runs a second-hand car lot over on Van Ness.”

  “This Mrs. Quayle has a son here,” I said. “I can’t imagine her having a son who’s a lousy stinker. She’s such a lady.”

  “Doesn’t mean a thing,” Sam said. “Is the family well off?”

  “I didn’t find out,” I said. “Mrs. Quayle kept talking about their lovely homes near Cheesman Park, wherever that is, in Denver.”

  “Expensive section,” Patrick said. “But I doubt if they’re paying a high rent for the house down the hill here. It’s so big the people who own it were pretty sure it wouldn’t rent.”

  “Polio crippled the child’s brain, according to Dr. Evans,” Sam said.

  “Poor little thing,” I said. “So lovely to look at. What a dreadful thing for the family.”

  Sam said, “Takes money to have a kid like that privately looked after. Most people have to put retarded kids in homes for their kind because private care soon runs into too much dough. If she’s got a special nurse, that takes real money.”

  I said, “The doctor has two other daughters, Sam. The one you saw, Caroline, and another. They went to Mills College.”

  “That takes dough,” Sam said. “Mills College and private care for the retarded one. You sure that Dr. Alby has a bad heart, Pat? I mean, would any of them want to pop him off?”

  “Don’t you trust Dr. Evans?” Pat asked.

  “Well, yes. Yes, of course. But … oh, nothing.”

  Pat said, “He walked up here from that house the other day, Sam. He had this little girl with him. We’d just parked out in front. I took one look at his face and sent Jean for water. I thought he would drop dead right then. I helped him inside the yard to a chair and he popped nitroglycerin pills under his tongue …”

  “How do you know that’s what he took?”

  “Sam, I don’t know. I didn’t ask, but that’s a common remedy. I don’t think any man, even a doctor, could fake a heart attack and make it look real. It was real, all right. The sweat on his face could have been what’s called the death sweat. I was scared.”

  “I liked him,” I added. “He’s the sort of doctor I would trust at first sight. Gentle and kind and all.”

  “You jump to conclusions a lot, Jean,” Sam said.

  Somebody came in our back way, through the gap in the shrubbery and on up to the terrace. Even in the moonlight I recognized her strong swinging walk. I smelled Jungle Gardens. Also whiskey. She was the woman with the amber eyes who called herself Mrs. Doctor Alby. She was panting from the effort of getting here by that difficult back route. The flower-printed dress she wore was tom. The men stood up. Pat held a chair for her. She sank into it with a groan. She clasped her throat with one hand. It was sore, she said.

  “Mrs. Alby?” I said.

  She spoke hoarsely. “That’s right. For some reason the police wouldn’t let me come out the front way so I had to come around back. It was tough. I came here to tell you that they’ll blame me. They’ll all blame me. They’ll say I gave her that cough medicine. On purpose.”

  “Did you?” Sam asked.

  “I did not. It’s a lie.” She coughed.

  “Nobody has blamed you yet, Mrs. Alby,” Pat said. “Is your first name Rona?”

  “Sure. I just came here to tell you I know my rights, Officer. I’m Mrs. Doctor Alby and I know my legal rights. I’ve been pushed around by Sophy Quayle as long as I’m going to be, see.”

  So now we had a part of it. Rona was Dr. Alby’s wife and the Sophy she had mentioned was Mrs. Quayle, the ladylike one in gray. Clearly, there was more to come about this strange household. But I saw that Sam Bradish had taken in the significance of her remark.

  “How did you know I was here?” Sam asked.

  “I didn’t. I was going to ask these folks to protect me. Mr. Abbott is a private detective, isn’t he?”

  “Who told you that?” Patrick asked.

  “Don,” Rona said. Her hoarse voice warmed on the name Don. It was a sexy voice. You could positively feel the men vibrating to it. “Donald Quayle. He’s from Denver.”

  “And is this Donald Quayle any relation to Mrs. Sophy Quayle?” asked Sam very quietly.

  “Yes. He’s her stepson.”

  Sam breathed in. “Is he the Quayle who runs a used-car lot? On Van Ness?”

  “That’s right. I didn’t even know he was here. Of course Sophy wouldn’t tell me. She’d rather I dropped dead than tell me Don was here. It’s wonderful.”

  “Is that so,” Bradish said offhandedly. Not as a question.

  “Would you like some coffee, Mrs. Alby?” I asked.

  “No. I’ve been nothing but hired help in that family, Officer. By coming out to Frisco I hoped to get away from Sophy at last. I was out of luck.”

  “Sophy?” Sam asked.

  “Doctor’s sister. Sophy Quayle. She’s here. She got here first. She would. She knew her stepson Don was here. She kept it from me. I bet she gave Lisa that cough syrup herself to make it look as if I did it. She’d do anything to get rid of me. She’d do anything to keep me and Don apart, Officer.”

  Sam said, “How did the little girl get hold of that drug, Mrs. Alby?” She paused, coughed, and spoke in a rough whisper. “I don’t know. Nobody uses that kind except Doctor and he keeps it in his own medicine cabinet, which he keeps locked up, but everybody knows where his keys are, see. He’s got an awful bad heart and almost anything can hurt a heart. A coughing spell or anything. He can’t climb stairs. That’s why we took that big house with an elevator. We haven’t any help yet except a man for the yard and
to look after the incinerator and stuff, so Sophy’s got me cleaning and cooking and doing dishes along with looking after Lisa. No one person could do it all. She’s not even trying to get help. We could get some refugees who want housework but Sophy hates refugees. She had trouble with one of them in Denver. Caroline comes in and helps when she can take time from her job. Not Audrey though. That Audrey wouldn’t soil her long bony hands with housework. She’s like her Aunt Sophy.”

  “Audrey?” Sam asked.

  “She’s Dr. Alby’s oldest daughter—almost twenty-five. Caroline, we call her Carrie, is twenty-two. Their mother died last year and left them a lot of money which they’ll get when they’re twenty-five.”

  “You’re married to Dr. Alby?”

  “Well, it’s legal, but that’s all. Doctor’s a wonderful man. He’ll let me get a divorce now, unless … well, he could die any time, Officer.”

  “Do the daughters live in the house?”

  “No. They’ve got their own apartments. Caroline works in the hospital where Martin Kent is an intern. Audrey says she’s a model. I wouldn’t know. I doubt it. She’s too lazy.”

  “Would you call the Alby family rich?”

  “And how. Rolling. But it was the first Mrs. Alby that had the big money. The doctor’s well off, I guess, but Mrs. Alby had money from a long time back, property in Denver, and oil, and I don’t know what all. She left it to the three girls. She left me some, too. Her estate will be settled in six weeks or so. Oh, I mustn’t talk any more. My throat hurts. I was sick. I mean, it was a shock and I ran upstairs and threw up everything, some whiskey and everything. Could I have some ice water, please?”

  Soon afterward we learned that the first Mrs. Alby had left in trust, taxes paid, three hundred thousand dollars to Audrey and the same to Caroline. Each would come into her capital when twenty-five. Six hundred thousand was left to Lisa, since she was helpless and would need a home and proper care for a long time, probably. In the event of the death of any sister, her share was to be divided evenly between the other two. In Caroline’s and Audrey’s case this provision would be negated when they were twenty-five. In Lisa’s case her share was for life.

  Audrey would be twenty-five in six weeks. Caroline had three years to go. Lisa was dead, so the other two would share equally in her inheritance.

  Three

  The telephone rang. Sam guessed correctly it was for him and took the call. After a couple of yeahs and a final okay he came out and said, “Death’s apparently from asphyxiation. No signs of any force used. A few ounces of the cough medicine in the stomach, enough to produce a stupor, but that much wouldn’t kill even a baby. Complete autopsy may be necessary. Only the child’s prints on that bottle. Did she have dinner with the family, Mrs. Alby?”

  “She never ate dinner with the family, Officer.”

  “What time did she eat last night?”

  “I guess about seven. I fed her some creamed chicken and some custard in the kitchen. I was stuck with getting dinner for that bunch but nobody offered to take Lisa off my hands, needless to say. Well, except Caroline.”

  “Did you put her to bed?”

  “No. Caroline did. She took her upstairs sometime before eight and put her in bed and then came down and said Lisa was playing with some toys and she would go up and tuck her in later. When she went up Lisa was dead. Thank God, it was Carrie found her. Not me.”

  “I’ll go down with you, Mrs. Alby, and call off my watchdogs.”

  Rona didn’t seem to comprehend. What was bothering her was not the police but the family. Sam had to tell her twice that he’d take her home now. As we walked down with her and Sam paused to speak to his watchers in the other police car, she kept complaining that no matter what the police or anybody said, Sophy would make them all blame her.

  “What about your husband?” Pat asked.

  She said blankly, “My husband?” Then, “Oh, Dr. Alby. He’s my husband in name only, if you know what I mean.”

  “How long since you were married, Mrs. Alby?”

  “Just before we came out here. I guess maybe three weeks or a month. I didn’t want to come. Then I thought maybe I’d better. I’d promised the first Mrs. Alby never to leave Lisa. People were saying bad things about me because I stayed on in the house after Mrs. Alby died. I was one of her nurses, you see, and she herself asked me if I would stay on and look after Doctor and Lisa. He thought she didn’t know about his bad heart. But she did. Oh, she was lovely.”

  “And the doctor?”

  “He’s good. He’s so terribly good. He married me to protect my good name as well as to look after Lisa.”

  Pat said, “You didn’t really have to marry the doctor, did you, Mrs. Alby? I mean, no matter what people said. That sounds pretty young, don’t you think?”

  Rona considered this. We were now in front of the Alby house. She said, “You know what? I guess I partly married Doctor to spite his bossy sister Sophy, knowing she’d have a real cat fit. She’s a snob. Doctor married me because I asked him to. It wasn’t as if it could ever be anything, but I thought if I was Mrs. Doctor I could kick Sophy out of the house and out of our lives. He hadn’t long to live and I thought, out here, we’d be rid of her for good. But when we get here she’s here first. That’s life, kids, that’s life. She came out here, really, because she didn’t want me to find out that her stepson Don was already here. I’d given him up. I never expected to see him again.”

  “You’re in love with Don, aren’t you?” I asked, thinking it was a very odd setup indeed.

  “Who else?” she said flatly. “That’s his car. He had it in Denver.”

  A white Porsche was parked in the drive at the Alby house. Had it been there when we left? Pat said it had.

  When we got inside, Mrs. Quayle was sitting on a sofa in the big living room. On the same sofa sat tall, thin, very fashionably dressed Audrey Alby. She had a smart flat-cheeked face but no real beauty. She eyed us with complete indifference. Mrs. Quayle popped up as we entered, and said, “You may go to your room, Rona.” Rona stalked past her toward the kitchen. Mrs. Quayle moaned, “Oh, Mrs. Abbott! It’s so sad. Such a tragic thing to happen just when we’re here and my brother has been so much better.”

  I presented Patrick to Mrs. Quayle and she then introduced Audrey Alby, who said that Aunt Sophia—she made it Sophee-a—had spoken about us. That was a lot, as we were to learn, from Audrey. She didn’t rise or ask us to sit. She helped herself to a cigarette from a box on the coffee table and flicked her lighter.

  Sam Bradish came in and said he would like to go up and speak to Dr. Alby, if the doctor was able.

  “He’s all right,” Audrey said. Her voice was as flat as her cheeks. “He’s up in his room.”

  “Shouldn’t we announce visitors?” Aunt Sophia said.

  Audrey shrugged. “Caroline and Martin Kent are with him. No need for me to go up, really.”

  Sam asked Pat if he knew which room. Pat nodded and they took the stairs in two or three long leaps.

  “Is Doctor … bad?” Aunt Sophia asked me.

  I said, “I don’t think it’s too bad.”

  “Rona did it,” Aunt Sophia said. “She’s a dreadful woman. I wonder how she tore that terrible dress, Audrey?” Then, “Excuse me a moment.” She headed toward the dining room. The swinging door to the butler’s pantry this side of the kitchen emitted a light squeak.

  Audrey laughed.

  I said, “Do you know Mrs. Quayle’s son, Miss Alby?”

  “Stepson,” Audrey said. “He was fifteen when Aunt Sophia married his father. She’s smothered the life out of him ever since.” That word smothered was ill-timed. I had an image of the little girl Lisa whirling around our garden with that honey-colored bear. “Don is unbearably handsome, Mrs. Abbott, and Aunt Sophia is unbearably maternal, and when we get married I’m going to unload her, but quick.”

  “You are going to marry Don?”

  “What else? I have to get him away from those bloodhounds
some way or other. So I’ll marry him and they can bay the moon. That’s a good-looking man you’ve got, Mrs. Abbott, but he can’t hold a candle to Don Quayle.”

  “That I’ll have to see,” I said. “What do you mean by bloodhounds?”

  Audrey yawned. “Aunt Sophia and Rona.”

  “Does Rona know you plan to marry him?”

  “I ticked her off tonight.” Audrey drew up her thin shoulders and let them down tiredly. “I couldn’t care less,” she said.

  This setup was getting curiouser and curiouser all right. I yearned to get deeper into it but just then Pat and Sam came downstairs. Sam went out the front door and Pat walked over to the fireplace, where there was no fire, and lit a cigarette. Audrey’s pale eyes rested on him approvingly.

  “We’re sorry about your little sister, Miss Alby,” he said. Audrey snorted. “Sorry? Are you nuts? It’s the best possible thing that could happen. She was a drag, but nothing like she’d be when she got older. The mistake my father made was not putting her in a home when she was little. When it happened, I mean. She was three. Dad spoiled her. And when he dies, you don’t think Rona would really have looked after her, do you? Rona’s schizoid. God, I’m flaked out. I wish the hell we could leave this lousy house but Aunt Sophia says it wouldn’t be proper.” Her thin lips curled. “Proper!”

  Pat said, “So you’re glad your little sister’s dead, Miss Alby?”

  “Audrey to you, darling. I didn’t say glad. I said it was a good thing. Rona will go off her bean sooner than later and then what?”

  Rona came barreling through the dining room. “What did you say about me, Audrey?”

  Audrey inhaled and then said, “I said if you must slop all over Don, get yourself a kissproof lipstick.”

  Rona’s amber eyes blazed. “It’s just what you wanted, Audrey. Lisa’s dead, so now you’ll get twice as much of your mother’s money, so you think you’ll have Don hogtied. You and that Sophy. You’ll find out.”

  Audrey ignored the remarks. Rona, after a glance at us, headed for the stairs. I could see their full length from where I sat. So could Patrick.