Lay Her Among The Lilies

woman in grey-green slacks and a white silk blouse, her dark hair piled to the top of her head,

looked me over with suspicious and slightly bloodshot eyes. She wasn’t what you’d call a

beauty, but there was an animal something about her that would make any man look at her

twice, and some even three times.

Before I could open my mouth:

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LAY HER AMONG THE LILIES

“Spare your breath if you’re selling anything,” she said in a voice a little more musical than

a tin can being thrown downstairs, but not much. “I never buy at the door.”

“You should have that put on the gate,” I said cheerfully, “look at the time it would save.

Are you Miss Drew?”

“What’s it to you who I am?”

“I have business with Miss Drew,” I said patiently. “Important business.”

“Who are you?”

“The name’s Vic Malloy. I’m an old friend of Janet Crosby.”

A muscle in her upper lip suddenly twitched, but otherwise there was no reaction.

“So what?”

“Does that make you Miss Drew or doesn’t it?”

“Yes. What is it?”

“I was hoping you might help me,” I said, resting one hand on the wall and leaning on it.

“The fact is I’m not entirely satisfied about Miss Crosby’s death.”

This time a wary expression came into her eyes.

“Excavating ancient history, aren’t you? She’s been dead long enough. Anyway, I don’t

know anything about it.”

“Were you there when she died?”

She took hold of the front door and drew it against her side.

“I tell you I don’t know anything about it, and I haven’t the time to waste on something that

doesn’t concern me.”

I studied the hard, suspicious face.

“Miss Drew, do you know what makes scarcely any noise but can be heard a mile away?” I

asked, and smiled knowingly at her.

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LAY HER AMONG THE LILIES

“You screwy or something?”

“Some people can hear it two miles away. Have a guess?”

She lifted her solid shoulders impatiently.

“Okay, I’ll buy it—what?”

“A hundred-dollar bill, folded in two and rustled gently between finger and thumb.”

The sullen look went from her face. Her eyes opened a trifle wider.

“Do I look as if a hundred-dollar bill would be of any use to me?” she said scornfully.

“Even Pierpoint Morgan could use a hundred dollars,” I said. “Still, I might raise the ante if

you have anything worth buying.”

I could see her brain at work. At least now we were talking the same language. She stared

past me, down the path into a world of dollar signs and secrets. She smiled suddenly, a half

smirk, not directed at me, but at a thought that had come into her mind.

“What makes you think there’s anything wrong about her death?” she asked abruptly, her

eyes shifting back to me.

“I didn’t say I thought there was something wrong. I said I wasn’t entirely satisfied. I have

an open mind about it until I have talked to people who were with her about the time she

died. Did you notice if she suffered from heart trouble?”

“It’s a long time ago, mister,” she said, and smirked. “I have a lousy memory for things like

that. Maybe if you come back at nine tonight I’ll have had time to remember, and it’s no use

coming back with a hundred dollars. I’m a big girl now and I have big ideas.”

“How big?” I asked politely.

“More like five. It would be worth my while to shake up my memory for five, but not for a

nickle less.”

I made believe to consider this.

“Nine o’clock tonight?” I said.

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LAY HER AMONG THE LILIES

“About then.”

“I wouldn’t want to spend all that money unless I was sure the information was of value.”

“If I can get my memory working,” she said, “I wouldn’t be surprised if the information

was of value.”

“See you at nine, then.”

“Bring the money with you, mister. It has to be cash on the line.”

“Sure. Let’s hope this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

She gave me a long, thoughtful stare and then closed the door in my face. I walked slowly

back up the path, climbed over the gate and got into the Buick.

Why nine o’clock? I wondered as I trod on the starter. Why not now? Of course the money

had something to do with it, but she wasn’t to know I hadn’t come heeled with five hundred

dollars. She didn’t ask. This was a smooth, bright baby: a baby who knew all the answers,

and could make four and four add up to nine. I sent the Buick down the road so the

speedometer needle flickered up to seventy after the first hundred yards. At the bottom of the

road I crammed on the brakes to make the turn into Beach Road, gave an elderly gentleman

about to cross the street three different kinds of heart disease, straightened out of the skid and

went on until I saw a drug store. I swung to the kerb, ran across the sidewalk into the store

and into a phone booth.

Paula answered the phone after the second ring.

“This is Universal Services,” she said in her gentle, polite voice. “Good evening.”

“And this is your old pal Vic Malloy calling from a drug store in Coral Gables. Grab your

car, bright eyes, and come arunning. You and me are going to hold hands and make love.

How does it sound?”

There was a momentary pause. I’d have given a lot to have seen her expression.