Cold Steal, стр. 44
Five minutes later, Margie scrambled into the sedan.
“Better start it up, Cuffy. That bunch is on my heels asking questions. My God, what a crowd. Here, Bill.” She presented him with an envelope. “Maybe these’ll do you some good. And say, some dame phoned that Winthrop and this companion of hers was staying in the village for dinner, for that League meeting. Why’d they phone, and say that, if the Winthrop dame’s been bumped off?”
“I think,” Leonidas said, “that was a rather clever move, Margie, to eliminate any questions that might have arisen in the household concerning Miss Winthrop’s continued absence. M’yes. Now, Cuff, if you’ll stop by some convenient street light, so that I may read these papers. Why d’you feel they matter, Margie?”
“Winthrop left ’em for her lawyer, see?” Margie said. “That’s what I was waiting up in the front hall for, see, to give ’em to the lawyer if he come while the butler and the rest was eating. Say, are they pigs! They just stuff like pigs. I never washed so damn many dishes in my life. All they did was eat, and all I did was work. I figured if she wanted these papers to go to a lawyer, maybe they might help you, Bill. Snap on some light, Cuff, so he can read.”
Cuff pressed a button, and the interior of the sedan glowed.
“Rutherford says that Simeon’s got everything but running water,” Cassie said with pride. “Isn’t that a marvelous light? Bill, what are the papers— Why, it’s a will! A will, and copies of it! What a short will!”
“Short, simple, and to the point,” Leonidas said. “An admirable will, I should say, in every respect.” ‘‘To Leslie! She left everything to Leslie!”
“Well, as she points out,” Leonidas said, “Leslie Horn was one person who appeared to appreciate her without knowing of her wealth. Asked no favors, and so on and so forth. M’yes. That’s substantially the same impression that Dow got. And I must say, I’m delighted that Medora picked Leslie Horn, and not Estelle, or Elsa Otis, for example.”
“But, Bill,” Cassie said, “Leslie doesn’t know anything about this!”
“No,” Leonidas agreed, “I don’t think Leslie suspected such a thing. Or expected it. But it’s all rather obvious, isn’t it? Medora is charmed by the girl’s letters, she remembers dandling Leslie on her knee, she has happy thoughts of the girl’s mother—why not leave Leslie the money?”
“It would explain her asking Leslie here to Dalton, wouldn’t it?” Cassie said. “And why she was so upset at Leslie’s leaving that way, in such a rush. Perhaps she realized that she hadn’t made a good impression on Leslie, what with throwing the clocks at the butler, and all. But, Bill, Chard would have known—no, no, I don’t mean about the clocks! Chard would have known about this will—that’s it! Chard hoped that Medora would leave everything to her, and when she discovered that Leslie was going to get it all, Chard rose in wrath and killed Medora.”
Leonidas pointed out that, under the circumstances, Leslie was the person for Miss Chard to kill. “Not Medora. Snap out the light, will you, Cuff? No, Cassie, Miss Chard would derive no personal benefit from Medora’s death. This will seems to be in order. Medora has signed it. So have flocks of witnesses. Medora didn’t bother to put it in an envelope, and I’ve no doubt that the servants have all read it through with cafe. Killing Medora Winthrop wouldn’t benefit Miss Chard. It would only benefit Leslie.”
“Does her death have to benefit anyone?” Cassie demanded. “Couldn’t she just have been killed, simply because someone wanted to kill her?”
“M’yes,” Leonidas said. “But that comes under the heading of homicidal mania, and the average maniac bent on homicide does not usually lure his victim into the garage of a strange house, there to commit his murder with a pickax belonging to the local Chief of Police. A homicidal maniac would be inclined to kill the nearest person with the nearest implement. He would not make elaborate plans which involved my red refrigerator, and the Tuesday Club, and all the rest. In this particular case, considering Medora’s wealth, I think it might reasonably be concluded that her murderer anticipated monetary benefit.”
“But Leslie didn’t even know about this will!” Cassie said. “She didn’t know she’d benefit. You just admitted that. Money can’t be a motive! And if Medora wasn’t just killed—oh, dear, I’ve never been more confused. Cuff, what d’you think is the motive?”
“Huh?”
“Motive, motive, motive!” Margie said impatiently. “Why do people kill people? You ought to know!”
“Me? Why, Margie, I never killed nobody! That lug in Camavon looked dead, but it was only his skull got fractured. But if he ever makes another pass at you, Sugar, I’ll blot him out. Say, maybe this woman got killed had a boy friend, and maybe she double-crossed him. And—”
“Cuff,” Cassie said, “bear in mind that Medora Winthrop was older than I am.”
“Oh, was she, huh? Well,” Cuff said, “maybe someone didn’t want her to talk, then. The cousin of a guy I know got the chair on account of bumping off four people so as they wouldn’t talk. Lots of people get bumped off so as they won’t talk. Maybe the old dame knew too much, huh, Bill? Maybe that was it.”
“That is an opinion,” Leonidas said, “which I personally favor. Medora Winthrop knew too much, and she also had money. Cuff, about this garage on Arthur Street. Is it a bona fide establishment? Or is it on the shady side? Is it a—er—joint? I suppose there is a proper term, but I don’t know it. Is this a garage where stolen cars are taken?”
Cuff laughed.
“Aw, no, Bill! Didn’t I tell you? It’s run by a cousin of Rossi’s. It’s