Lay Her Among The Lilies

“I saw Joan Parrnetta,” Kerman said, and rolled his eyes. “Very nice; very lush.” He made

curves in the air with his hands. “If it hadn’t been for the butler who kept popping in and out,

a beautiful friendship might have developed.” He sighed. “I wonder what it is about me

women find so attractive?”

“Your lack of intelligence,” Paula said promptly. “It’s a change for women to talk down to

men.”

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“All right, break it up!” I said sharply, as Kerman began to rise slowly from his chair, his

hand reaching for the whisky bottle. “Never mind what she looks like. What did she say

about Janet?”

Kerman resumed his seat, glaring at Paula.

“She said she was the most surprised person on earth to hear Janet had died of heart failure.

Two days before she died, she played tennis with the Parmetta girl, and wiped the floor with

her. Does that sound like heart trouble?”

“Anything else?”

“I asked her about this guy Sherrill. He’s out of town, by the way. I didn’t see him. Joan

Parmetta said Janet was madly in love with Sherrill. They saw a lot of each other. Then a

week before Macdonald Crosby’s death Sherrill stopped going to the house, and the

engagement was broken off. There was no reason given, and even Joan, who was intimate

with Janet, didn’t get the lowdown, although she fished for it. Janet said they had a

disagreement, and she didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Did she say what kind of a guy this Sherrill was?” Kerman shrugged.

“She only met him a few times. She said he was handsome, has no idea what his job is,

whether he has money or not. He has a house on Rossmore Avenue. Small, but nice. A

Chinese girl looks after the place.” He blew a kiss to the ceiling. “She’s nice, too. I didn’t get

much out of her, though. She had no idea when Sherrill would be back. The guy lives well

and must be making money. There was a Cadillac the size of a battleship in the garage, and

the garden looked as if plenty of dough had been spent on it. There was a swimming-pool,

too, and the usual lush trappings; all on the small side, but very, very nice.”

“That the lot?” Kerman nodded.

Briefly I told him of my call on Eudora Drew, how Big Boy had arrived, of the murder and

my interview with Brandon. He sat listening, his eyes growing rounder and rounder, his drink

forgotten.

“For the love of Pete!” he exploded when I had finished. “Some evening! So what

happens? Do we quit?”

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“I don’t know,” I said, pouring myself another drink. “We’ll have to return the money. To

do that we’ll have to find out who takes care of the estate. It’s a certain bet Maureen doesn’t.

She must have lawyers or some representative who takes care of her affairs. Maybe we can

find that out from Crosby’s will. I want to have a look at Janet’s will, too. I want to find out if

she left Eudora any money. If she didn’t, where was Eudora’s money coming from? I’m not

saying we’re not going on with this; I’m not saying we are. We’ll get a few more facts, and

then decide. We’ll have to be very careful how we step. Brandon could make things

difficult.”

“If we return the money the case should be closed,” Paula said. “There’s no point in

working for nothing.”

“I know,” I said. “All the same this set-up interests me. And, besides, I don’t like taking

orders from Brandon.’’ I finished my drink and pushed back my chair. “Well, I guess we’d

better break this up. I could do with some sleep.”

Kerman stretched, yawned and stood up.

“I’ve just remembered I have to take the Hofflin kids to Hollywood tomorrow morning,”

he said, grimacing. “A personally-conducted tour of Paramount Studios. If it wasn’t for the

chance of seeing Dot Lamour I’d be fit to climb a tree. Those three brats terrify me.”

“Okay,” he said. “You’ll be back the day after tomorrow?”

“Yeah. If I’m still in one piece.”

“I’ll have made up my mind by then what we’re going to do. If we do go ahead, we’ll have

to put in some fast, smooth work. Hang on a moment. I want a word with Mike.”

I went over to the bar where Finnegan was lazily polishing glasses. An old roué and his

blonde were just leaving. The blonde looked at me from under spiked eyelashes and winked. I

winked back.

When they were out of ear-shot, I said, “There’s a guy who’s been tailing me, Mike. Big,

built like a boxer; squashed ear and nose, wears a fawn-coloured hat with a cord around it.

Smokes a cheroot and looks tough enough to eat rusty nails. Ever seen him?”

Mike rubbed the tumbler he was holding, raised it to the light and squinted at it. Then he

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placed it carefully on the shelf.

“Sounds like Benny Dwan. It’s a cinch it’s Benny if his breath smells of garlic.”

“I never got that close. Who’s Benny Dwan?”

Mike picked up another glass, rinsed it under the tap and began to polish it. He could be

annoyingly deliberate when answering questions. He didn’t mean anything by it; it was just

his way.

“He’s a tough torpedo,” he said, squinted at the glass and polished some more. “Got a job