Lay Her Among The Lilies

LAY HER AMONG THE LILIES

“I wouldn’t mind.”

She stood aside.

“How did you find my address?” she asked, leading me into a small living-room. “This is a

surprise.”

“Yeah, isn’t it?” I said, dropping my hat on a chair. “You look knocked for a loop.”

She giggled.

“I happened to look out of the window and saw you coming. So I’ve had time to recover.

How did you know I lived here?”

“Phoned the Nurses’ Association. Were you going to bed?”

“Uh-huh, but don’t let that drive you away.”

“You get into bed and I’ll sit beside you and hold your hand.”

She shook her head.

“That sounds dull. Let’s have a drink. Was there anything special or is this just a social

call?”

I lowered myself into an armchair.

“Fifty-fifty, although the accent’s on the social side. Don’t ask me to fix the drinks. I’m

feeling a little under the weather. I didn’t sleep good last night.”

“Who were you out with? “

“Nothing like that.” I reached gratefully for the highball and saluted her with it.

She came over and flopped on the divan. Her housecoat fell back. My eyes had time to pop

before she adjusted it.

“You know I never expected to see you again.” she said, holding the tumbler of whisky and

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ice so her chin could rest on the rim. “I thought you were one of those hit-and-run artists.”

“Me? Hit-and-run? Oh, no, you’ve got me dead wrong. I’m one of those steady, faithful,

clinging types.”

“I bet—wait until the novelty wears off.” she said a little bitterly. “Is that drink all right?”

“It’s fine.” I stretched out my legs and yawned I certainly felt low enough to creep in a

gopher’s hole and pull the hole in after me. “How long do you expect to go on nursing the

Crosby girl?”

I said it casually, but she immediately gave me a sharp, surprised look.

“Nurses never talk about their cases,” she said primly, and drank a little of the highball.

“Unless they have a good reason to,” I said. “Seriously, would you like a change of jobs? I

might fix you up.”

“Would I not! I’m bored stiff with my present work: it’s cock-eyed to call it work, seeing I

don’t have a thing to do.”

“Well, surely. There must be something to do.”

She shook her head, began to say something, then changed her mind.

I waited.

“What’s this job of yours?” she asked. “Do you want nursing? “

“Nothing would please me more. No. it’s not me. A friend of mine. He’s an iron-lung case,

and wants a pretty nurse to cheer him up. He has plenty of money. I could put in a word for

you if you like.”

She considered this, frowning, then shook her head.

“I can’t do it. I’d like to, but there are difficulties.”

“I shouldn’t have thought there would be any difficulty. The Nurses’ Association will fix

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it.”

“I’m not employed by the Nurses’ Association.”

“That makes it easier still, doesn’t it? If you’re a freelance …”

“I’m under contract to Dr. Salzer. He runs the Salzer Sanatorium up on Foothill Boulevard.

Maybe you’ve heard of it.”

I nodded.

“Is Salzer Maureen’s doctor?”

“Yes. At least I suppose he is. He never comes near her.”

“What’s he got, then—an assistant?”

“No one comes near her.”

“That’s odd, isn’t it?”

“You’re asking a lot of questions, aren’t you?”

I grinned at her.

“I’m a curious guy. Isn’t she bad enough to have a doctor?”

She looked at me.

“Between you and me, I don’t know. I’ve never seen her.”

I sat up, spilling some of my whisky.

“You’ve never seen her? What do you mean? You nurse her, don’t you?”

“I shouldn’t be telling you this, but it worries me, and I have to tell someone. Promise you

won’t pass it on?”

“Who would I pass it on to? Do you mean you’ve never even seen Maureen Crosby?”

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“That’s right. Nurse Flemming won’t let me into the sick-room. My job is to fob off

visitors, and now no one ever visits, I haven’t a thing to do.”

“What do you do, then, at night?”

“Nothing. I sleep at the house. If the telephone rings I’m supposed to answer it. But it never

rings.”

“You’ve looked in Maureen’s room when Nurse Flemming isn’t around, surely?”

“I haven’t, because they keep the door locked. It’s my bet she isn’t even in the house.”

“Where else would she be?” I asked, sitting forward and not bothering to conceal my

excitement.

“If what Flemming says is right, she could be in the sanatorium.”

“And what does Nurse Flemming say?”

“I told you: she’s sweating out a drug jag.”

“If she’s in the sanatorium, then why the deception? Why not say right out she’s there?

Why put in a couple of nurses and fake a sick-room?”

“Brother, if I knew I’d tell you,” Nurse Gurney said, and finished her drink. “It’s a damned

funny thing, but whenever you and I get together we have to talk about Maureen Crosby.”

“Not all the time,” I said, getting up and crossing to the divan. I sat by her side. “Is there

any reason why you can’t leave Salzer?”

“I’m under contract to him for another two years. I can’t leave him.”

I let my fingers stroke her knee.

“What kind of guy is Salzer? I’ve heard he’s a quack.”

She slapped my hand.

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“He’s all right. Maybe he is a quack, but the people he treats are just over-fed. He starves