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YOU HAD TO SEE IT t0 feel the full dramatic impact
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THE DARK WELL

  

By Richard M. Ellis

  
Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine Volume 15, No. 11 (November 1970). 
"Woman like Blanche Ames, endin' up like this," muttered Dr. Johnson as he examined the body. "Enough to make you sick." 

The doctor got no argument from Sheriff Ed Carson or myself. Mrs. Ames, a dumpy, middle-aged widow, had been stabbed repeatedly and left in a crumpled heap on her bedroom floor, at the end of a trail of blood and torn clothing that led halfway through the house she had shared with her younger brother. 

"Nice guy, our killer," I said. 

"Yeah," said Sheriff Carson with a sigh that ruffled the ragged lower fringe of his pepper-and-salt mustache. "Well, Doc?" 

Dr. Johnson wheezed to his feet. "She was knocked out, I'm glad to say, sometime before she was killed by a knife-thrust that severed the carotid artery, here, in her neck. The rest of the wounds are more or less superficial aimless slashin' around with the knife." 

"Was she raped?" I asked. 

"Not far as I can tell here, Lon," said the doctor. 

"Mebbe her brother come home 'fore the killer got to that," Carson said, "and dealin' with the brother made the killer lose interest in anythin' but gettin' out and away." 

Mrs. Ames' brother, Lloyd Parmeter, was in the livingroom at the front of the house. He'd been shot through the heart. He was found lying just inside the front door, his door key still clutched in his hand. 

I asked now, "When did it happen, Doc?" 

"Near as I can make it, sometime between, say, seven and midnight last night. Closer to seven, mebbe. And both Mrs. Ames and Parmeter died at about the same time." 

The doctor tramped out to summon his ambulance crew to haul the bodies over to the hospital morgue for autopsy. 

Carson and I stayed a moment longer in the bedroom. It was a pleasant room, the furniture massive and highly polished, bathed now in autumn morning sunlight flooding in the windows in the far wall; pleasant, except for the silent figure that lay on the blood-spattered gray carpet. 

When found, the dead woman's naked body was covered by a patchwork quilt that the killer had evidently taken from the bed. The knife he'd used wiped clean he'd left atop a chest of drawers beside the door leading to the hallway. One of Carson's deputies had taken the knife away to test for fingerprints. 

Now the lanky, rawboned sheriff stirred. "Let's see if the boys have turned up anything else. Then mebbe go next door and talk again to those two women that found this mess." 

From the bedroom we moved along a corridor toward the front part of the house, staying close to the wall to avoid splotches of blood on the corridor's polished wooden flooring. We passed open doors that gave us quick views of a bathroom, a linen closet, and a couple of other bedrooms, the largest that of Lloyd Parmeter. Only he and his sister, Blanche Ames, had lived here. 

It was a few minutes after ten o'clock when we emerged into the livingroom. The sheriff, his two deputies, and myself Lon Gates, Pokochobee County Attorney had been at the house not quite half an hour. 

Deputy Buck Mullins was standing near the front door, huge fists on his hips, his square inch of forehead wrinkled in ponderous thought as he stared down at the dead man. He said, "Looks like he didn't have no warnin' at all. Just opened the door, stepped inside and bam, he was dead." 

"Yeah," said Carson. "Way it appears, if he'd got home a few minutes sooner he might've saved his sister's life." 

"Or a few minutes later and he might have at least saved his own," I put in. "His timing was lousy." 

After the gruesome scene in the back bedroom, studying Lloyd Parmeter's body was almost a relief. He could have been asleep, if you ignored the small circle of blood on the front of his white shirt. 

He was dressed for the street, wearing a suit and a light topcoat that had flopped open when he fell. He was on his back, one leg drawn up, arms outflung at his sides. When found, his key had been in his loosely clenched right hand; near his left hand was a briefcase containing business papers. 

Parmeter, backed by his sister's money, had operated a local real estate brokerage. 

I'd known him slightly and hadn't particularly liked him. His handshake was always a little too hearty, his white-toothed smile a little too sincere, and his gray eyes a little too cold and calculating for me. He'd been in his early forties, a good many years younger than his sister. 

As far as I knew, he'd never been married but he had quite a reputation as a ladies' man. I'd heard him quoted as saying it wouldn't be fair to the rest of womankind to tie himself to any one woman. 

Deputy Mullins said, "Avery is still checkin' with the neighbors on the block. So far, nobody's turned up who saw or heard anything out of the way around here last night." 

Carson went over to squint at a bone-handled knife that was on top of a cloth spread on a coffee table. Mullins followed. 

"Nary a print on it," Mullins commented. 

I said, "You haven't found the gun he used on Parmeter?" 

"Nah, Mr. Gates," said Mullins. "That knife he picked up in the kitchen it matches a set of steak knives in a drawer in there but I reckon the gun was his. He brung it with him, and carried it away. From the size of the hole in this feller's chest, it was a little gun twenty-two, mebbe." 

"Big enough," Carson said. "What about that back door we found standin' open?" 

Mullins shrugged. "I guess that's the way he got into the house, but he didn't leave no prints on the doorknob, just smudges. He must of wore gloves." 

"They always do," sighed the sheriff. 

There was a clatter at the open front door and Dr. Johnson came in, followed by two men lugging a long wicker basket between them. They passed through and disappeared down the hall leading to the bedrooms. 

I'd been looking at the small heap of torn clothing that Mrs. Ames had evidently been wearing when she was attacked; a bra and panties, a cotton petticoat, and an old flannel robe. We'd found the robe just this side of the blood in the hallway, the other garments scattered beyond it. 

Carson was telling his deputy, "Stay with it. Lon and me're goin' to see if the two women who found the bodies can tell us anythin' more." 

The sheriff and I went out the front door. I shaded my eyes from the sudden glare of sunlight as we cut across the sweep of lawn toward the house next door on the west. A crowd was gathering, attracted by the ambulance and the lineup of official cars parked on the street. 

The Monroe chief of police and two of his men were on hand, to take care of any traffic problems that might develop, and to try to keep curious citizens away from the house. Now the chief waddled over to intercept us as we crossed the lawn. 

"What's the word, boys?" he boomed heartily. Since the investigation involved capital crimes, it was the county's baby, not the city's, so the chief could afford to be hearty. 

"Bad," said Carson. "Appreciate it if you'd percolate among the people here. See if anyone turns up who might know something about what happened last night." 

The chief nodded. "Well, course I got my own work to worry about. Awful busy, and as few men as I have." 

Carson and I moved on, leaving the chief frowning after us. 

The owner of the house next door to the Parmeter-Ames place was lurking just inside his front door. His name was Henderson, a big man with heavy jowls and narrow eyes. He barked, "You caught him yet?" 

"Not yet," the sheriff said. 

"Helluva note," Henderson fumed. "Could just as easy have been my wife. I worked late at the store last night, and she was here alone!" Henderson glared accusingly from Carson to me and back again. 

"Are Miss Baker and Mrs. Denman still here?" I asked. 

"What? Yes, yes, come on in. They're back in the kitchen with Noreen. Anytime women get in a tizzy, they head for the nearest kitchen. You can count on that." A moment later we entered a big, sunny kitchen and found three women sitting around a plastic-topped table that was cluttered with coffee cups and an overflowing ash tray. 

"About time," snapped Mrs. Mary Denman, a middle-aged, leathery woman with beady eyes and pugnacious jaw. "Keep me and Aggie waitin' here half the day." 

"Now, Mary," said the tall, rather willowy Agatha Baker, sitting to Mrs. Denman's left. 

The third woman, Noreen Henderson, suddenly quavered, "It's all so awful! That going on next door, and me here alone. Awful!" 

Henderson, standing behind her chair, dropped soothing hands on her shoulders. A plumply pretty blonde, young enough to be her husband's daughter, she leaned forward to avoid Henderson's touch. I'd heard stories about plump little Noreen. 

Carson said, "We'd like to hear again how you two ladies come to find the bodies. Miss Baker?" 

Agatha Baker nodded hesitantly. She had a rather faded-rose prettiness and guileless air but she also was known as a shrewd business woman. Her father had left her well off, and she had at least doubled the inheritance on her own, so I had heard around town. She said, "There's not much to tell. Today is Saturday and Mary, Blanche, and myself planned to go downtown to shop for the weekend. Mary and I came by for Blanche at nine, something over an hour ago." 

"That's right," Mrs. Denman horned in. "I got out of the car and went to the door myself. Didn't get no answer when I rung the bell. Then I tried the door. It was closed, but not locked." She paused abruptly. 

I prompted, "You pushed the door open?" 

"Yes and there was Lloyd Parmeter. First, I thought he was passed out, drunk it wouldn't be the first time but then I seen the blood on his chest." 

Miss Baker grimaced. "Mary screamed. I went to see what was wrong. There was Lloyd, and over on the far side of the room what appeared to be a a spatter of blood. It didn't seem likely that it was Lloyd's blood, so we went into the house, calling for Blanche. We found her." 

"Uh huh," said Carson. "And you came over here to phone." 

"We knew we shouldn't touch anything in there, even the telephone," Miss Baker said. "Besides, we wanted out." 

"Couldn't believe what they told me, when they come runnin' up on my front porch," Henderson growled. "I went over and had a look-see myself. Then I believed it. 

His wife shuddered. "And I, I was here alone." 

"It happened sometime durin' the evenin', before midnight. You notice anything at all?" asked Carson. 

Noreen Henderson vigorously shook her blonde head. "I was in my room, watching television. Until J.C. came home." 

"That was about nine o'clock," said Henderson. "The lights was on over there when I drove in, but everything looked same as usual." 

"And you didn't hear or see anything after that?" 

"Not a thing. Me and Noreen went to bed early, and," Henderson broke off, his lowly face reddening. 

Agatha Baker filled the silence, after a faintly disgusted glance at the blushing Henderson. "I spoke to Blanche on the phone late yesterday afternoon. She mentioned that Lloyd would be out for the evening, and she."

"She was plannin' to stay home and nurse a sick headache," Mrs. Denman said. "I talked to her when was it? About seven o'clock, I guess. Anyways, she told me she'd see Aggie and me this mornin'." 

I noticed that Agatha Baker frowned slightly, but she didn't speak. Instead, she pushed back her chair and rose to her feet. Carson took the hint. 

"If that's all you ladies can tell us, there's no reason you can't go on home now." 

"What I want to know is, what're you all doin' to find the the fiend who murdered poor Blanche and Lloyd?" cried Mrs. Denman, also getting up. 

I said, "If you have any suggestions..." 

"Why, you ought to be combin' out them beer joints down on Second Street, and over in shantytown. Certainly not messin' around here!" 

She turned and bustled from the kitchen, clucking like an angry banty hen. Agatha Baker gave us an apologetic smile and followed her friend. 

"She's right," Henderson growled a moment later. "Man that'd do a thing like this, he sure don't live in this neighborhood. Best people in Monroe," but his voice, if not his words, was tinged with doubt. 

The sheriff and I left. Out front, the mid-November sun shone down from a cloudless deep-blue sky, but a chilly wind was blowing, plucking the last dead leaves from the big trees that lined the street, swirling them at our feet. The ambulance had left for the morgue. The crowd was still there, though; bigger and a good deal more vocal than before. So far, the town cops had managed to keep clear the area immediately in front of the Parmeter-Ames house. 

Here, the chief of police met us. He was chewing on a frayed cigar, and looked both harried and pleased. "Me and the boys've heard from several people neighbors that Mrs. Ames and young Parmeter ain't been gettin' along." 

"How come?" asked Carson. 

"Dunno, but the talk is they've had some pretty fierce quarrels. So mebbe Parmeter."

"Lloyd Parmeter has a fair to middlin' alibi," Carson said. The chief blinked, then reluctantly nodded. 

Carson and I went into the house. Though the ceiling light was on in the livingroom, after the bright sunshine it was like entering a cave. 

A door on the far side of the room banged open and Buck Mullins lumbered in, followed by the sheriff's other deputy, Jack Avery. They saw us and stopped short. 

"Found this under a hedge, way down at the east end of the alley that runs out back," said Avery. He held up a badly wrinkled brown wool dress. "Might not've spotted it, 'cept the sun was gleamin' on this here brooch pinned to the front of it." 

Carson took the dress. As he examined it, his lips pursed into a silent whistle beneath his bedraggled mustache. 

He muttered, "Name tag inside the collar... Blanche Ames. And there's what appears to be bloodstains all over the collar and shoulders of it." 

He folded the dress and placed it on the chair that held the dead woman's undergarments and the robe. 

"Now, why should the killer try to hide that dress," I said, "and try to make us think she was wearing the robe?" 

"Why should he rip off the woman's clothes as he chased her down the hall if he did and then go to the bother of tuckin' a quilt real neat-like round her dead body?" replied the sheriff. He sighed and turned to Avery. "You hear anythin' from the people livin' on the block?" 

"Nothin' much," said Avery, a tall, skinny man with puffy-lidded eyes that made him look as if he might topple over asleep any second. "Feller who was out walking his dog claimed he seen Mrs. Ames drive off, alone, about seven-thirty last night. That's the only thing." 

Carson grunted. "Just a half hour after tellin' one of her friends she planned to stay home all evenin'. Well..." 

I mentioned that I'd got the idea Agatha Baker might have known more than she told us on that point. 

The sheriff grunted again. "Whatever, let's try to find out where Mrs. Ames went, and where Parmeter was at. Findin' that dress kind of puts a crimp in the idea the killer was just some passin' sex-pervert." 

"Don't see why," grumbled Deputy Mullins. 

"Because he went to some pains to try to make it look like the woman was wearin' this robe, instead of a dress, when she was attacked. And there's a couple other things." 

"Hell, none of it makes sense," Mullins complained. 

"Accordin' to how you look at it," said Carson. 

Jack Avery thoughtfully blinked his puffy-lidded eyes. "I did hear from a couple people that Lloyd Parmeter and his sister had a fallin' out about somethin' here lately. Fact, they been expectin' Lloyd to pack up and take off, bag and baggage. Nobody that I talked to knew what the trouble was." 

Mullins snorted. "I guess now, Sheriff, you'll try to tell us Lloyd took and carved up Mrs. Ames, and she had just energy enough left to put a bullet through him 'fore she died." 

"No, but I am beginnin' to be real curious about the cause of the squabble between them," said Carson. 

I crossed to the phone on a little desk in a corner of the room and called my wife. She belonged to most of the same ladies' clubs as had Blanche Ames. As I knew from experience, a sparrow couldn't fall in Pokochobee County much less Monroe, population 4,500 without it being a subject of conversation around the bridge tables. 

Martha didn't fail me. 

A few minutes later I hung up the phone and turned back to Carson and the deputies. "Parmeter was wanting to get married, and sister Blanche wasn't happy about it." 

"Why not?" 

"It seems she didn't like the lucky girl, though evidently Blanche had never met her. Some girl Lloyd had on the string up at the capital. The real beef seems to've been that Lloyd planned to move up there and go into business. Martha said that Blanche had been pretty close-mouthed about it all, at least by the usual standards of gossip." 

Carson ran a hand through his already tangled thatch of gray hair. "And Parmeter needed his sister's blessin', in the form of cash, to make the move. Otherwise, he'd have to start all over." 

"Sounds reasonable," I agreed. 

The phone I'd just put down shrilled; I answered it, thinking it might be my wife with an added tidbit, but the caller was Agatha Baker. 

She said, "I thought you and the sheriff might still be there. I, I wonder if you could come by my apartment? There's something I didn't want to mention it at the Hendersons', and I can't see that it matters now, but." 

"All right, Miss Baker. Just what." 

But she had hung up. 

I relayed the message to Carson; he nodded and, after giving his deputies some instructions, he and I left. 

During the short drive through the neighborhood streets to Agatha Baker's place, I groused, "You say it wasn't a sex crime okay. What was it? Not robbery. There was a fair amount of money in Mrs. Ames' purse, which was in plain sight on her bedroom dressing table. So?" 

We covered another block. 

Then Carson said, "I dunno, Lon. The only thing I feel reasonable sure of is that the killer had a good, logical reason for wantin' the old lady dead. From his viewpoint, anyhow. And he went to a lot of trouble to make it look like somethin' it wasn't, like switchin' that street dress for the robe Mrs. Ames was wearin', to give the idea she'd been home all evenin' and not expectin' company." 

I said slowly, "If Parmeter hadn't blundered in and got himself killed, he'd make a prime suspect. Assuming this quarrel with his sister was serious enough." 

"Yeah, Me, I'm wonderin' why he came in the front door." 

I stared at the sheriff's craggy profile. "What?" 

"His car was in the garage, alongside the one belongin' to Blanche Ames. The garage is attached to the house, with a door leadin' right into the kitchen. Why didn't he go in that way, instead of clear around the side of the house and in through the front door?" 

"Oh, for the kitchen door was probably locked, bolted on the inside." 

"Matter of fact, it wasn't locked at all." 

I said bitterly, "Haven't we got enough to worry about?" 

"Mebbe," said the sheriff. "But it is interestin'." 

He pulled in at the curb in front of Agatha Baker's home. It was a large, red-brick house that Miss Baker split up into three or four luxury apartments, keeping the ground floor for herself. 

She let us in. She looked a bit angry as she gestured us to chairs in the tastefully decorated front room. 

"Actually, this is Mary Denman's idea," she said. "I wasn't going to say anything and I can't imagine that it matters but I let it slip to Mary, while I was driving her home a few minutes ago. She insisted that I tell you." 

Carson raised tufted eyebrows. "Anythin' that'll help." 

"All right." Miss Baker stood there, twisting her long pale fingers together. "When Blanche called me yesterday afternoon, she was rather excited, and worried. It seems that the woman Lloyd wanted to marry was driving down from the city. Her name is Reynolds, I believe, and she was due to get here about eight. Blanche was going to meet her at the Seven Oaks Motel." 

I sat forward on my chair. "You didn't think this was worth mentioning to us?" 

"Frankly, I didn't think it was any of your business. Or anyone else's, now. It couldn't have any connection to what what happened to Blanche. Could it?" 

The sheriff grunted. "Go ahead, Miss Baker." 

"That's all. I gathered that Lloyd didn't know the woman was coming. The main purpose for the visit was so that she and Blanche could get acquainted." Agatha Baker smiled slightly. "I imagine it was a rather strained meeting, the way Blanche felt. But of course I don't know that Blanche actually saw the woman. I didn't hear from her again." 

I said, "You and Mrs. Ames were pretty close, weren't you?" 

Her face tightened with emotion. She said slowly, "Blanche was a good friend, Mr. Gates. For a lot of years." 

"Yes. Outside of the recent to-do about her brother's proposed marriage, was she worried about anything? Anything at all, personal, business?" 

"No, of course not." Miss Baker frowned huffily at me. "Blanche was the dearest, kindest person I've ever known. She didn't have an enemy in the world, if that's what you're asking." 

I shrugged. Carson took up the questioning, and I looked around the room. Through an archway I could see a dining room, and I did a double take. Seated at the head of the polished oak table in the dining room, facing me, was a huge toy panda bear. Its bright black glass eyes gleamed merrily. 

Now, Carson was pushing to his feet. Agatha Baker had told us all she could, or would. Moments later, as the sheriff and I went down the walk to the car, I glanced back. 

In the doorway, looking after us, she stood straight, tall and prim, her dark hair glinting in the sun. She was something of an enigma in Monroe, because of both her unladylike astuteness in making money, and because she had never married, though I had an idea she'd had plenty of offers. Even now, well on the wrong side of forty, she was an attractive woman and she kept a toy panda bear. 

Well, to each his own, or her own. 

"Wonder why Mrs. Ames lied to Mary Denman," said Carson, as we drove away. 

"What? Oh. If she'd told Mary Denman where she was going last night, every old hen in town would've known about it ten minutes later," I said. "Probably would've been a regular traffic jam at the motel, everyone wanting to see what happened when Blanche and this gal from the city met." 

Carson snorted. "I'm kind of curious about that, myself." 

The motel was just beyond the last straggle of houses and gas stations on the east edge of town. It was, by Monroe standards, fairly new and well constructed, with two rows of neat frame cabins facing each other across a courtyard. Spaced along the courtyard were the oak trees that gave the place its name. 

We found the manager in the office at the front of the courtyard. "Reynolds? Yes, sir, Sheila Reynolds is the way she registered. Checked in here little before eight last night. I wish she'd gone somewhere else." 

"How's that?" asked Carson. 

"Oh, not like you might think. She didn't try to run in any men customers. I don't stand for that kind of." 

"Uh huh. What did she do?" 

"Well, she'd barely got checked in and gone to her cabin when another woman showed up. Older woman seems like I've seen her around town, but I don't know her. Anyways, she went into Sheila Reynolds' cabin, and 'fore long they was havin' one hell of a cussfight in there. Got so bad that people on either side complained to me. I went down there and asked 'em to please hold it down to a roar." The manager paused for breath. 

"What were they fighting about?" I asked then. 

"No idea. Not long after I spoke to 'em, the older woman come bustin' out and took off in her car. That was at eight-thirty, or thereabouts." 

The manager directed us to a cabin midway along the row on our right. As we approached the cabin, the door opened and a girl appeared, stopping short when she saw us. 

"Miss Reynolds?" said the sheriff. 

She hesitated, then nodded. She was young and pretty, with dark red hair spilling down over the shoulders of the rather tight sweater she wore. Her green eyes widened when we introduced ourselves. 

"How about that?" she said. "I was just on my way to see you. You beat me to it. Come on in." 

"We understand you saw Mrs. Blanche Ames last night," Carson said. "Is that right?" 

The girl nodded. She took a cigarette from an open pack on a nightstand beside the rumpled bed that, with a single chair and a dressing table, made up the furnishings of the cabin we entered. She lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply. Her bright green eyes flicked from me to Carson, and back again. 

"Okay. You two evidently know who I am and why I'm here in your town, so there's no use horsing around. I heard just a little while ago what'd happened to Lloyd and that old witch. Heard about it at a cafe where I had breakfast. What do you want from me?" 

She flipped ashes from her cigarette with a businesslike gesture and waited, her head cocked to one side. 

"Tell us what happened here last night," I said. 

Her plaid skirt ended well above her knees; it hiked up even farther as she sat down in the chair. "I don't mind telling you. But what's it matter? The way I heard it, the old woman and Lloyd were knocked off by some stray nut." 

"Mebbe," said Carson. 

Sheila Reynolds' finely plucked eyebrows rose. Then she shrugged. "Okay. I live at the capital. I met Lloyd when he was up there on business, and we hit it off pretty good. Better than pretty good... But when he told his sister about me, she like to've gone through the roof. Maybe she was one of those kinds of sisters, you know? The sick kind." 

She punched out her half-smoked cigarette in an ash tray, then went on. "Finally I decided to come down here and meet this Blanche, face to face. Lloyd wasn't getting anywhere with her so I called her yesterday, long distance, and set it up to meet her here last night." 

"Parmeter didn't know you were coming?" 

"Not from me, and I doubt very much if Blanche told him. No, I planned to surprise him after I'd seen the sister. Big deal. She charged in here breathing fire, and let me have it with both barrels. You know? Accused me of being a lot of things. Even offered me money to get the hell out of Lloyd's life, and stay out. That's when I kinda lost my temper." She grinned ruefully. 

I said, "The manager of this place told us it got a little noisy in here." 

"What happened next?" the sheriff asked. 

"Blanche left, just about a minute before I'd have thrown her out on her fat ear. Most maddening woman I ever saw, and I've seen some beauts. I'm a hostess in a cocktail lounge, you know, and some of the dames that come in there you wouldn't believe. But Blanche," She broke off with an eloquent shrug. 

Carson glanced at me, his eyes twinkling. I had an idea he was thinking, as I was, that we'd finally reached the cause for Blanche Ames' violent disapproval of this girl. 

"You say you work in a cocktail lounge?" I asked. 

Sheila Reynolds bristled. "Something wrong with that?" 

"Not a thing." 

"Okay. Well, that's all there was to it. After she left here, I tried to phone Lloyd but I couldn't reach him. No answer either at his home or his office. I never did get him." Tears suddenly welled in her eyes. 

"What time did she leave?" 

"Right around eight-thirty sooner than she expected to be leaving, no doubt. Thought she could bully me!" 

"Uh huh. How was Mrs. Ames dressed, Sheila?" 

"How was I didn't really notice. A light tan polo coat over a dark brown, woolen sheath, with a silver brooch at the neck, low-heeled brown pumps." 

"Yeah, all right," Carson broke in. "We may want to see you again, if you don't mind stickin' around a day or two." 

She said grimly, "I'll be here. Don't worry about that. My full name is Sheila Reynolds Parmeter. Lloyd and me were married last week, in the city. He wanted to keep it quiet until he could talk his sister around. Fat chance!" 

The sun was almost overhead when Carson and I left the motel and drove back toward the downtown area. 

"So much for that," I said. "Blanche didn't want her poor little brother to get tangled up with a barmaid. She went out last night to try to buy the girl off." 

The sheriff nodded absently. "Ain't hard to see why Lloyd went off the deep end, even to marryin' the gal." 

I agreed. Remembering her red hair and snapping green eyes, I added, "It also isn't too hard to imagine her putting a shiv in someone if she got stirred up enough." Carson didn't answer. We reached the courthouse square in the center of Monroe's meager business district. Since it was Saturday, the ancient courthouse was closed, except for the sheriff's office on the ground floor, but there were a good many people milling around outside. It wasn't every day that two more or less leading citizens got themselves murdered, and there was something of a holiday atmosphere among the crowd. Carson and I managed to get inside before we were spotted, and went along the echoing corridor to his office. 

Buck Mullins was on the phone when we entered the outer office and crossed to the sheriffs private cubbyhole on the far side. The deputy joined us a minute later. 

"I been usin' that phone so much my ears is ringin'," Mullins grumbled. "For all I found out, I might as well not've bothered. A lot of nothin'." 

Carson leaned back in his swivel chair and propped a size twelve on the edge of his desk. "Let's hear it." 

Mullins scowled at a scribbled notepad in his hand. "I couldn't get a line on where the old lady went last night." 

"We dug that up." 

"Huh. Well, Parmeter closed his office about five-thirty and drove over to a private bottle-club he belonged to. Avery's out now checkin' with the guy who runs the joint. Ought to be back any minute." 

Carson nodded. "Anything more from Doc Johnson?" 

"He called a while ago. Says the old lady's skull was cracked, and that she was for sure knocked out before she was killed. And the slug from Parmeter's chest is a twenty-two. Bent up some, but prob'ly not too much for ID, if we should find the gun. He also kind of closed in the time. Now he says those two died right around nine o'clock, give or take an hour on either side." 

"All right. What else have you got?" 

Mullins growled, "I told you, nothin'. Nobody I talked to had a bad word to say about Mrs. Ames. Parmeter ain't quite so popular but it don't appear he had any particular troubles, outside this business with his sister him wantin' to get married." Mullins suddenly chuckled lewdly. "You believe ever'thing you hear about him, he must've played footsie with half the females in Monroe." 

"Wouldn't be surprised," said the sheriff. 

"Yeah. He even managed to get engaged to Agatha Baker some years back, but she evidently got wise to him and give him the boot," Mullins said. 

I wondered briefly if that was when Agatha had bought the toy bear. Then I heard the clomp-clomp of hurried footsteps in the outer office, and Deputy Jack Avery burst in. For once he looked wide awake. 

"I got somethin', but I ain't sure what," he snapped. He took a couple of deep breaths, and went on, "Parmeter was at this bottle-club last night. Acted like he meant to stay the evenin', drinkin' and playin' poker with some of the fellers there. When he got a phone call." 

Carson sat up straight in his chair. 

Avery grinned. "Yeah. Feller that owns the place answered the phone. It was a woman, and it ain't the first time she'd called there, wantin' Parmeter. But last night he wasn't glad to hear from her. In fact, he was overheard tellin' her to go to hell. But then he said, 'Okay, okay but this is the last time, Noreen.' He flung down the phone and left. This was at a few minutes after eight." 

I said slowly, "Noreen. Well, well." 

"Mebbe one Noreen Henderson wasn't as all alone last night as she kept tellin' us she was," Carson said. "Come on, Lon." 

The noon whistles were blowing as Carson tapped on the front door of the Henderson house. Noreen wasn't glad to see us. Opening the door a few inches, she glanced past us toward the yard of the Parmeter-Ames place next door, and seemed relieved to see that the crowd over there had dwindled to a handful of kids. Her gaze came back to us, and hardened. 

She said, "You'll find J.C. at the store downtown." 

"It's you we wanted to talk to," Carson said mildly. 

"Me? What about?" 

"We're curious about how many times Lloyd Parmeter was over here keepin' you company, on evenin's your old man worked late," I said. "Like last night, for instance." 

"Oh, no," she breathed, backing away but leaving the door open. She kept backing until she hit a chair and half fell into it. Carson and I followed. 

Noreen Henderson stared up at us, her blue eyes wide and glazed with fear. "Listen, it wasn't at all like you think. Lloyd was a friend, that's all. J.C. knew." 

"Did he?" 

She covered her face with her shaking hands. "Please, don't tell him. He'd kill me." 

"What happened last night?" 

"Nothing! I I got in touch with Lloyd and asked him to come see me. He'd been avoiding me for a couple of weeks. He drove in at his place a little after eight, and came on over here. We talked a while." She dropped her hands. Her face was slack and sweaty. 

Carson asked, "What did you talk about?" 

"Lloyd just told me he was through. That he'd married this, this tramp of his in the city, and he wouldn't be seeing me anymore." She shrugged plumb shoulders. "I didn't especially care. I was more relieved than anything else, believe it or not." 

I grunted dubiously. "What time did he leave you?" 

"Twenty minutes till nine. J.C. was due at nine, so I was watching the clock. I went to the door with Lloyd, and watched him cross the yard and unlock his front door and go inside. He slammed the door real hard behind him. He hadn't acted mad at least not when he left but I guess he was." 

Carson said, "Did he bring his briefcase over here?" 

"Oh, yes. He didn't stop at his house when he arrived, just hustled on over. I was watching for him." 

"And he went home at eight-forty." 

"That's right. I didn't see or hear a thing after that, till J.C. came in at nine. I I took a shower and got all prettied up during that twenty minutes I had to wait for him." She licked her pouting lips and ran a hand over her mass of blonde hair. Then she suddenly looked thoughtful. 

"What is it?" I asked. 

"I don't suppose it means anything, but a couple of times while Lloyd was here I kind of thought I heard someone outside the windows. You know? Like someone moving around out there, though it was probably just dead leaves blowing in the wind." 

That was all we got from her. As Carson and I went out the front door, Noreen put a hand on my sleeve; I paused, while the sheriff went on ahead. 

She whispered, "You won't tell J. C. about this, will you? Please don't." 

"That depends." 

She smiled up at me through her long, false eyelashes. "You're kind of cute. I like you, Lon." 

"Fine. Be sure to vote for me at the next election," I said, and got out of there. 

The sheriff gave me a quizzical look when I joined him on the lawn. "You think she knows more'n she told us?" 

I shrugged. "Maybe maybe not. Actually, I think all she's worried about is Henderson finding out she was playing around with Lloyd Parmeter." 

I started toward the county car, but the sheriff said, "Let's take another look around the place over there." 

We walked to the Parmeter-Ames house. A uniformed town cop was lounging on the front porch. He eyed us suspiciously, but agreed to allow us to go inside.

In the livingroom, Carson stood with his hands on his lank hips, frowning into space. Meanwhile, to the renewed suspicion of the cop on the porch, I tried slamming the heavy wooden front door but the weather stripping along the bottom of the door dragged on the thick carpet. Even muscle-bound Buck Mullins couldn't have given that door enough of a shove to make it slam shut. Closing it all the way took firm and sustained pressure. 

I said, "So what Noreen heard was." 

"The gunshot that killed Parmeter, more'n likely," said Carson. "Yeah. That part all fits together nice and neat. Only, if Mrs. Henderson was tellin' the truth about the time, Parmeter was killed before his sister. Not afterwards." 

"Huh?" Then I saw what he meant. It was at least a quarter-hour drive from the Seven Oaks Motel to this house, and both the motel manager and Sheila Reynolds the new Mrs. Parmeter had told us that Blanche Ames didn't leave there until at least eight-thirty. 

Carson nodded thoughtfully. "Mebbe, just mebbe, we've had the right idea all along, only turned the wrong way round. What if it was Parmeter who was the real target, and Mrs. Ames who came in and caught the killer in the act?" 

That opened up some interesting possibilities, all right, but I said, "Hell, the way the old woman was mauled, whoever did that had to hate her." 

"She's not a bit deader than Parmeter," said the sheriff. "You leave aside all the gory stage scenery, and what happened to her was that she was slugged, and stabbed through the neck. The rest was done after she was dead. And we know, or think we know, why it was done. To throw us off the trail." 

I had to admit it made sense. In fact, if Parmeter's death was the real goal, drawing all the attention to his sister's much more spectacular death made very good sense indeed; but I reminded Carson, even though it was now fairly sure that Lloyd Parmeter was the killer's first job, that didn't prove that the second job on Mrs. Ames hadn't been the main event. 

"True enough. But it does kind of get us over a hurdle that's been stoppin' us all morning! Nobody, with the possible exception of the Reynolds gal, appears to have any kind of reason for killin' Blanche Ames. But Parmeter is somethin' else." 

"So perhaps there wasn't any reason, except she saw the killer and had to be shut up. Yeah, but we don't know that." 

Carson groaned dolefully. "What we don't know would fill a whole wagon full of empty barrels..." 

He crossed the room to the phone and dialed his office. 

While he talked, I paced back and forth across the big, deep livingroom. At the rear wall I paused and looked to my right along the hallway that led to the bedrooms. 

I shook my head and made another trip to the front door and back. Carson was still talking on the phone, or rather, listening. I stopped to light a cigarette. 

Finally, he grunted and put down the phone. "Well, nothin' new. Or at least, nothin' helpful. What ails you?" 

"It just occurred to me, Parmeter's new wife is likely to be a reasonably well-off girl before long." 

Carson perched on the arm of a chair. "Yeah?" 

"Yeah. With Lloyd dead, little Sheila inherits whatever estate he might've had." 

"Only, he ain't got any estate. His sister was the moneybags in the family, and she." 

"She's dead, too," I broke in. "And if she died first, or it can be arranged to look as if she died first it doesn't matter if it's only one minute before Parmeter himself during that minute he inherited from her, providing he's her legal heir. So, when he dies, the whole works goes to his widow." 

Carson took a deep breath, let it out in an explosive sigh. "I presume the gal had somebody do these killin's for her. There's no way she could've got here to knock off Lloyd at eight-forty, unless you figure the motel manager is in it with her. And Noreen Henderson. And." 

"All right, all right." The enthusiasm I'd been building started to die away. "At least it's a theory." 

"Yeah, but you wouldn't think Sheila would come down to Monroe on the night when her killer-friend was supposed to do his work." 

I threw up my hands in defeat. 

Carson went on, "Not to mention that my deputy just told me that Mrs. Ames' will, which he checked, leaves all her money to the county children's hospital. And I got a hunch a gal like Sheila would find out about that will, before she." 

"All right," I yelled. 

Carson grinned, then said, "I don't know what I'm cacklin' about. The little notion I was workin' on just went by the board, too." 

"What was that?" 

"I was thinkin', what if old J.C. Henderson didn't come home at nine last night, like he told us, but twenty minutes or half an hour before that? In time to listen outside his livingroom windows, and hear his wife and Parmeter talkin'. And then hustled on over here and in through the back door, which we found open this mornin', remember?" 

I nodded. I also remembered that Henderson's wife had told us she had a vague idea someone might have been listening at the windows. 

Carson went on, "He shoots Lloyd, and before he can get out the back door, Mrs. Ames comes in through the door to the garage, so he has to kill her, and the rest of it." 

"And rushes home to Noreen with blood all over his clothes, unless he happened to have a change with him," I said sardonically. "Because the killer surely got blood on him." 

The sheriff winced. "The big trouble is, there was at least four, five people saw him leave his store last night a few minutes till nine o'clock, no earlier." 

I snapped my fingers. "I've got it. He and Noreen were in it together. She held Parmeter while J.C. shot him. And then." 

"Okay, now we're even." Carson laughed, but not for long. "You think Noreen would cover for Henderson?" 

"No." I shook my head. "Not for two minutes. And I don't think she did the killings, either. She hasn't got the brains, or the guts." 

Carson had gone back to frowning into space, or rather at something over on the far side of the room. 

He said, absently, "The thing is, there's nothin' to see. The bloodspots are in the hall, around the corner and out of sight from in here." 

"What? The blood." 

"I didn't think nothin' about it her sayin' she looked in from the front door and saw a puddle of blood on the far side of the room. Just figured she'd been too upset to get things straight. But now I wonder." 

I realized what he was getting at. "Hell, that's the screwiest theory yet. Blanche Ames was her best friend!" 

"What if it come to a choice between Blanche Ames and savin' her own neck?" Carson replied. "The more I think about it. For instance, how do we know it wasn't Lloyd who broke the engagement with her, 'stead of the other way round?" 

I found a chair and sat down abruptly. "It can't be." 

"Yeah. Far as we can find out, she's the only one that knew Blanche was goin' to see that gal at the motel. Now, suppose she walked over here it ain't but a few blocks from her place to wait for Blanche to come home, so she could find out what'd happened at the motel. That'd figure, if she was still interested in Lloyd Parmeter for herself." 

I thought about the toy bear, presiding over an empty dining table. I said, "It's possible. If all this time she was planning, hoping, to get Lloyd back." 

"And then, listenin' outside the Henderson windows, heard him say he was married." Carson picked up the phone. He called Mrs. Mary Denman, who told him she hadn't seen Agatha Baker last night. Just before he hung up, she told him something else. 

"She talked to Agatha on the phone a little while ago," Carson snapped. "It seems Agatha is goin' to be out of town this afternoon. Let's get over there in a hurry." We did. 

Agatha Baker was wearing slacks and a cardigan sweater that did nothing for her angular figure. She looked curiously at us as we stood in the pleasant front room of her apartment, and this time she didn't offer us chairs. 

"I was just leaving," she said. "It's lucky you caught me. Now, what?" 

"Going on a trip?" I asked, glancing at a small pigskin bag on the floor beside the front door. 

Her dark eyes flickered, then steadied. "No, of course not. I've been cleaning out closets anything to keep myself occupied and there were a few items of clothing that I don't want, but the Salvation Army might find a use for them." 

Carson said, bluntly, "Where were you last night, Miss Baker? You weren't home. At least you didn't answer your phone, accordin' to a lady who tried to call you." 

The bluff worked. "Why, if it matters, I took a long walk. I try to do that at least once or twice a week, for the exercise, but I don't see." 

"Did you mebbe happen to walk past Mrs. Ames' house?" 

"No, I went the other way, all the way downtown and back," she said, her voice beginning to fray around the edges. 

I said, "That's strange. We had an idea you might've gone over to wait in front of Mrs. Ames' place for her to come home, and tell you about her talk with Sheila Reynolds at the Seven Oaks Motel." 

Her face went black with shock. "No!" 

"And then you heard voices over at the Henderson house. You were curious enough to go listen under the front windows, and discovered that Lloyd Parmeter was in there." 

"No! It's a lie! How dare you!" 

"What did you hear?" I asked roughly. "You heard enough to know that Parmeter and Noreen Henderson had been having a cozy little affair, I imagine!" 

She seemed to shrink suddenly. Turning blindly, she took a step toward the door but Carson was there. She stopped. 

The sheriff said, "Why don't you tell us about it?" 

"You're crazy! You're both crazy, to think that I!" 

"How would you like to take a ride?" I snapped, pretending an anger I didn't feel. "To the hospital morgue, for a good, long look at Blanche Ames' body. Your best friend's body!" 

"Stop it!" She pressed her hands over her ears, and turned her head violently from side to side. "Stop it, for heaven's sake! You don't understand." 

I bored in. "We understand that you've been carrying a torch for Lloyd Parmeter for years. And last night when you found out, once and for all, that you were never going to get him, it was too much for you. You went inside his house and waited, with a gun in your hand, and when he came in the door you killed him." 

"He deserved to die," she breathed harshly. She let her hands fall to her sides. "Marrying a a!" 

"A barmaid," I said. "A cheap little barmaid, not much more than half his age." 

Agatha Baker's eyes flamed for an instant; then the flame died and in its place was naked fear. 

Carson said, not unkindly, "It's all over, Agatha. It was over when you just now let it slip that you knew Parmeter was married. The only way you could've known was!" 

"All right," she said. She straightened, and looked almost relieved. She even managed a shaky smile. "Yes. You were right, Mr. Gates, it was too much. All these years of waiting, hoping, that Lloyd Parmeter would finally grow up!" 

"Mrs. Ames knew how you felt?" 

"Of course. She wanted Lloyd and me to get together as much as I did. Perhaps even more so." 

I nodded: "That's why she went to see the Reynolds girl last night, and why she was so dead set against the girl." 

"Yes." Agatha Baker scrubbed a palm, hard, over her face. "And I had to do what I did to Blanche, the best friend I ever had. But I couldn't let her find Lloyd." 

Carson and I exchanged puzzled glance. I said, "What?" 

"Don't you see? The shock finding him dead Blanche could not have stood it." 

Carson said slowly, "We'd figured that Mrs. Ames came home before you could get out." 

"Oh, no. She came sooner than I expected, but I was going to wait for her." Agatha Baker frowned. She said patiently, "Can't you understand? I loved Blanche and the split-second she came through the door from the garage into the kitchen, I hit her as hard as I could, with the gun. She never knew about any of it. I carried her into her room and did what I had to do. It was very unpleasant." 

"Yeah," said Carson. "You stripped her body, and made the trail of blood spots in the hallway." 

"I thought that if it looked as if she had you know been assaulted by some criminal, no one would ever think it was anything else." She paused to moisten her pale lips with the tip of her tongue, then said earnestly, "Blanche would have wanted it that way. She wouldn't have wanted me caught, and punished, for Lloyd's death. Or hers." 

I stared at the woman. I wondered how much of this was laying a foundation for an insanity plea, and how much she actually believed to be the truth about her own motives for what she had done. 

Now her gaze met mine and it was like looking into the dark, murky water at the bottom of a long-abandoned well. 

The sheriff was saying, "I expect we'd better be goin'. Miss Baker, you want to take this suitcase?" 

She blinked and turned to him, and suddenly laughed. "Oh, yes, I was going to take those things out into the country and burn them, or bury them somewhere. They're the clothes I had on last night, all stained and!" 

"Is the gun in there, too?" I asked. 

"Yes." Again she gave a childishly mischievous laugh. "I always carry it in my purse, when I go out walking at night like last night alone." 

Carson picked up the pigskin bag and opened the door. "We can talk some more at my office." 

"All right, but you do understand?" she said, the laughter gone, and her face twisting into a mask of anguished pleading. "I had to do it; I had no choice." 

"Sure," I said, and I took her arm and guided her gently toward the door and the waiting sheriff. "Tell me something, Agatha. Why did you spread that quilt over Mrs. Ames?" 

She gave me a shocked glance. "I couldn't leave her lying there completely nude. It wouldn't have been decent."