Anything Goes

He liked Prinney well enough, but knew the old boy was as closemouthed as a clam.
    Major Jonathan Winslow had been a little bit more forthcoming. After a proper remark of grief about losing a long-time friend, next-door neighbor and occasional business partner, he said that he’d been surprised to learn that Mr. Brewster had not been aboard the small boat that had been hastily lowered into the river. He had observed Brewster releasing the boat and helping guests aboard and assumed he had gone with them. Major Winslow, an excellent swimmer, had preferred, as had Mr. Eggers, to take his chances in the water rather than in another watercraft.
    Mr. Fred Eggers said he was too upset about the incident to make any comment at this time and Mr. Charles Winningham of New York City had returned to the City and couldn’t be reached. Neither could Mr. Claude Cooke.
    No hint of foul play. But then, Kessler had was a cousin by marriage to the chief of police, who was a bumbler, a boozer and a bully. Maybe Kessler had been asked to keep quiet about the nature of the death. That would be in keeping with his stodgy outlook.
    Sitting on a great story and not saying, or hinting, anything without permission.
    Jack read on. Mr. Kessler, as participant and writer of the article, limited himself to saying merely that it was a very sad tragedy.
    Jack grinned as he ran a pencil through the words ‘very sad’ and wrote in the margin ‘tautology.’ He hadn’t taken all those grammar classes for nothing. Sooner or later, he’d get a chance to mention that to Kessler.
     
    “I think the Duesenberg might be able to work if I get gas for it,“ Robert was saying to Lily. “One of the workmen with a truck agreed to drive me to town to get some.“
    “Who’s paying for it?“ Lily asked.
    Robert looked surprised. “Why, Mr. Prune, out of the trust, I assume.“
    “Don’t assume. Take along a dollar,“ Lily said. “And please stop calling him Mr. Prune.”
    Robert got a hangdog look and muttered, “I don’t have a dollar.”
    Lily dug around in her handbag and came up with eighty cents. “That’ll have to do.“ She saw no reason to mention the ten-dollar bill she also had in her bag. She’d hidden the rest of their pitiful savings in the little silk packet where she kept her hosiery.
    “If you can actually get it running, I think we should go back to town and have a talk with Mr. Prinney. And I’ll have a chat with Mrs. Prinney about dinner while you’re gone.”
    As Lily approached the kitchen door, she could hear voices raised. One, a man’s, coarse and belligerent, and the other Mimi’s, soft and whiny. She couldn’t distinguish the words. Opening the door, she found herself nearly eyeball to eyeball with a revolting individual.
    Mimi, looking upset, said, “This is Billy Smith, Miss Brewster.“
    “Mimi’s husband, I am,“ Billy said. He was short and wiry, and sallow of complexion as if he were seldom out in daylight. His dark hair was too long, too greasy. He was missing several teeth and the remainder of them looked pointy and ominous and disgustingly gray. He had a heavy-lidded look that was probably meant to be sexually attractive and merely made him look stupid.
    “What are you doing here, Mr. Smith?“ Lily said coldly, bringing many generations of haughty elegance into her voice.
    “Just having a word with my wife, lady.“
    “I’m Miss Brewster, not ‘lady,’ “ Lily said. She couldn’t remember ever having taken such an instant and bone-deep dislike to anyone.
    “And you ain’t my husband,“ Mimi put in. “Except by law.“
    “The law’s all it takes, honey,“ Billy sneered.
    “It doesn’t appear that Mimi wants to have a word with you,“ Lily said. “It would be best if you leave here. Now.“
    “Throwing me out of your house, huh?”
    Lily went cold. What did he mean by that? Had Mimi told him that Grace and Favor Cottage wouldn’t be theirs unless they stayed there ten years? No, Mimi couldn’t know that. She and Robert certainly hadn’t mentioned it around her. And Mr. Prinney seemed to be very closemouthed about his clients’ affairs.
    The only other person who might know was Mrs. Prinney and Mr. Prinney must have made clear to her long since that anything she knew about clients was confidential. At least, Lily devoutly hoped so.
    “No, I’m not throwing you out, but I’ll telephone the police and have them do it if you’re not gone in ten seconds,“ Lily said.
    He