Chapter 10
The old Victorian had fallen into serious disrepair since the day Perry Mason had moved out with all his worldly possessions in two suitcases and a beat-up wooden box. The white paint was now grey with age, flaking and peeling everywhere but on the front porch where the sun did not directly shine on it. Evergreen bushes flanking the steps that had once been neatly trimmed to the height of the porch railing now narrowed egress up the rotting wooden stairs to the stately front door and brushed the roof of the porch.
Perry held Della's elbow firmly in his hand as he assisted her up the mushy steps, and turned her sideways to pass through the overgrown evergreens.
"What a shame," Della whispered. "The house must have been lovely at one time." It was dank and cool on the porch, the floorboards nearly as rotted as the steps. Two ratty wicker chairs lay haphazardly discarded in a corner, partially covered by a moldy canvas tarp. Several window panes were cracked, and an attempt had been made to seal them with a sticky brown substance.
Perry nodded. "It was. Wade was very handy and kept the place in topnotch shape." The degree of disrepair was astounding. What had been happening since he'd left? Why would Wade allow the house to literally disintegrate around him?
Della's foot landed on something squishy and slimy and she let out a small yelp at the fetid odor that was released. Refusing to look down, she shook her foot and scraped the unseen gunk from the bottom of her sandal on a warped floor plank. "Please tell me that isn't what I think it is," she hissed.
Despite his own disgust at the condition of the house, Perry smiled. Blood and dead bodies she could handle, but the smell of dog poop could bring her to her knees. His hand tightened on her elbow as she tottered a bit. "Rub your shoe over the door mat," he instructed, nodding his head downward.
Della finally looked down. "Is that what that is?" She asked skeptically taking in the square of carpet so black with age and dirt as to be almost unrecognizable. "Whatever is growing on the mat may be worse than what I stepped in."
Perry stifled a laugh as he reached for the doorbell and pressed the raised black button. "I think it's the same one that was here seventeen years ago." Della furiously rubbed her shoe over the mat several times before the door suddenly swung back.
A short, stocky man with abundant silver hair stood in the doorway. Dressed in an immaculate grey business suit and silk bowtie, his dapper appearance only exacerbated the deplorable condition of the porch. Dark grey eyes stared suspiciously out at them from under bushy silver eyebrows.
"Bert," Perry blurted in surprise.
The older man's grey eyes looked blank, then reflected the surprise in Perry's voice. "Perry. What in God's green earth are you doing here?"
"I might ask you the same question," Perry replied, surprise replaced with sudden wariness. He had prepared himself for Maryann to open the door, maybe her daughter or a housekeeper, but never in his wildest imaginings would he have thought Lambert Keating would be standing in front of him.
"Maryann is having a difficult time right now, as you can imagine. I came by to see if there was anything I could do." Lambert Keating was not a tall man, but was broad of shoulder and filled the doorway with his presence. He made no move to invite them in. "Maryann didn't mention you would be stopping by. I was under the impression you haven't been in contact with either Maryann or Wade since you moved to Los Angeles."
Della glanced up at Perry's blank expression and rubbed her shoe surreptitiously on the carpet mat one more time. Perry was rarely speechless, but he didn't seem to be able to move the conversation forward with the man in the doorway. Impulsively she held out her hand. "I'm Della Street, Mr. Mason's confidential secretary. We've heard about Miss Baynum's…difficulty, which we believe is connected to a matter Mr. Mason is working on. Might we come in and speak with Miss Baynum? I'm afraid we weren't able to call ahead," she finished apologetically.
Perry heaved an inward sigh. Leave it to Della to bail him out.
Lambert Keating swung his eyes to Della, appreciatively surveying her from head to toe and then back again, finally stopping to meet her frank, friendly gaze. "It's a pleasure, Miss Street. It is Miss Street, isn't it? I believe I've seen your picture in the paper in reference to some of Perry's more high profile cases. I must say the camera does not do you justice."
She treated him to a brilliant smile. "Why, thank you. I didn't realize Los Angeles crime news was reported in the Sacramento papers."
"When the news is as sensational as one of Perry Mason's trials, I daresay it's reported nationwide." Lambert Keating bowed deferentially in Perry's direction, but did not move his eyes from Della.
Della laughed. "I would say "notorious" instead of "sensational", Mr…I'm sorry, but I didn't catch your name."
Again he bowed. "Keating. Lambert Keating. I was once your notorious Mr. Mason's boss."
Perry recovered his voice at that moment. "I've mentioned Bert to you, Della," he entered the conversation smoothly. "I was an associate in his office for a short time many years ago."
"A very short time," Lambert Keating confirmed flatly. "You left rather abruptly."
"That is something better discussed at another time, Bert. We would like to speak with Maryann, if we could."
Lambert Keating stood stock still in the doorway, steely eyes suspicious again. "I will ask her if she would be agreeable to seeing you," he said at length.
"Of course I'm agreeable to seeing them! Don't be so priggish, Bert." A female voice boomed from the interior of the house, and the largest woman Della had ever seen suddenly appeared behind the dapper lawyer. She stood a head above the older man, and was every bit as broad shouldered. Her size rivaled that of Perry Mason's, but she was most decidedly a woman, with eye-popping voluptuous curves and lustrous long black hair that fell in perfect waves around her shoulders. Her eyes were large, wide-spaced, and brilliantly blue. She was overpoweringly female, and she was very drunk.
She waved a bottle of beer in the air in an expansive gesture of welcome. "C'mon in, the beer is fine."
Della was accustomed to confidently carrying an attractive figure, but she felt almost pre-pubescent when confronted with Maryann Baynum's punch-you-in-the-face pulchritude. Perry certainly had not prepared her for the reality of Maryann Baynum.
And neither was she prepared for what lay on the other side of the moldy and rotting porch.
Gleaming wooden floors, brilliant oriental rugs, and stunningly beautiful silk-covered couches nearly made Della gasp. Iridescent pale gold silk draperies hung from ornate metal work rods over tall, narrow windows, and everywhere were glass lamps of varying sizes with dangling prisms of every describable shape. The room danced with tiny rainbows as the afternoon sun was refracted through each prism.
"It's beautiful," Della whispered in awe. Perry stood behind her, his hand resting on the small of her back, piloting her from the foyer through the partially closed pocket doors of the front room.
"Come into my parlor," Maryann Baynum invited gleefully. She entered the room and threw herself onto a couch covered in blue and gold silk. The couch creaked under her weight as she heaved her legs up to lay supine, propped up with a multitude of brocaded and fringed pillows, still clutching the brown beer bottle. Her blouse, already stretched to its limit, nearly screamed with the effort of containing her ample bosom.
There was a moment of awkward silence as Perry and Della moved toward the settee opposite where Maryann Baynum was sprawled. Lambert Keating adopted a stance behind Maryann, one hand resting on the slick blue silk upholstery, the other shoved into his trouser pocket. Maryann took several pulls from the beer bottle and studied Perry and Della with alcoholic seriousness.
"My, my, my," she said as they seated themselves, "Perry Mason returns! You are the last person I expected to see."
Perry was surprised at how little Maryann had changed in seventeen years. Her hair was still naturally glossy and black, with no evidence of grey or of processed coloring. Her face was virtually unlined and she wore almost no make-up aside from thickly applied raspberry lipstick. "We're on our way back to Los Angeles from up north. There are a few things we'd like to talk to you about."
"Aren't you going to introduce me to the precious little doll sitting next to you?"
Della blinked rapidly and opened her mouth to answer. Perry beat her to a reply. "Della Street, my confidential secretary."
Maryann sat upright suddenly and with extreme concentration set the beer bottle down on a glass coaster that protected the unmarred surface of the cherry coffee table. "Well, Della Street, his confidential secretary, I'm very pleased to meet you."
"Equally charmed, I'm sure," Della murmured. Perry nudged her knee with his.
"Bert!" Maryann swung her head around to face the silver-haired lawyer. "Get Perry and Della Street, his confidential secretary, a beer."
It was abundantly apparent to Perry that talking with Maryann Baynum in her current condition would do no good. He and Della had discussed calling Maryann beforehand, but ultimately decided that a surprise visit would yield better results. However, that decision had been based on confronting a sober woman, not one who had obviously had more than a couple beers.
"No thank you, Maryann," Perry declined as Bert Keating took two steps toward the doorway and halted. "It's very gracious of you to offer us a drink, but I think maybe we should come back tomorrow. If it's all right with you," he added hastily.
Maryann leaned forward, grasped the beer bottle with both hands and raised it carefully to her lips. "I think that's a smashing idea, Perry." She gulped what remained in the bottle and again concentrated all her attention on setting it down on the glass coaster. She sprung her hands from around the bottle and grinned with inebriated pride at her accomplishment. "Pick a time, any time."
Before Perry could suggest a time the doorbell rang. Maryann frowned. "Now who could that be? Ex-lovers are all accounted for…Bert! I need another beer."
Bert Keating had been standing stiffly behind Maryann, two paces away where he had halted earlier. "I'll get the door first Maryann, then I'll bring you more beer."
Maryann shook her head violently, glossy tresses whipping around her face and sticking to her lipstick. She didn't seem to notice. "No! You get the beer and Perry will answer the door. Won't you, Perry?"
Perry silently stood and walked past Bert into the foyer. Bert followed, veering to his right as Perry turned left toward the front door.
Della experienced a moment of panic at being left alone with Maryann, but needn't have. The older woman ignored her, reached up under her skirt and pulled off a half-slip. She made an attempt to fold it, pushed it beneath the pile of pillows on the couch, then wriggled her hips happily, delighted to be free of the obviously offending garment.
"Hate underwear," she explained to Della, as if removing undergarments in front of perfect strangers was perfectly normal behavior.
Della couldn't believe what she'd just seen. She said nothing, simply nodded slightly.
Maryann had been shifting on the couch until she managed a pose that mirrored Della's, legs together and tucked to the side, hands folded in her lap. "So tell me, Della Street, his confidential secretary. Can Perry still make a woman scream all night long?"
Della couldn't help it. She burst out laughing.
Perry realized how uncomfortable Della was in this house, how odd she must think his behavior to be. But when Maryann was drinking, it was best to remain polite, otherwise all hell could break loose. He disliked leaving Della alone with Maryann in the parlor, but Bert obviously knew Maryann well enough to cater to her immediate demands and would have let the doorbell ring continuously as he fetched the much-desired beer.
The doorbell rang for a third time before Perry opened it.
Standing on the rotting porch was Lieutenant Arthur Tragg.
Both men took steps back in surprise. "You!" Tragg recovered his voice first.
Perry shrugged. "We ran out of wine," he deadpanned.
Tragg looked searchingly at Perry Mason. "And I suppose the nearest liquor store was in Sacramento so you decided to pay a visit to Maryann Baynum."
Perry shrugged again. "What's your explanation for showing up on the Baynum's doorstep?"
Tragg's searching look intensified. "You don't know?"
"Know what? I'm afraid Maryann is a bit tipsy. Our conversation hasn't been particularly enlightening up to this point."
"I can imagine. So you really don't know?"
Perry waved his hand impatiently. "Tragg, I've been driving for hours and I'm not really in the mood for guessing games."
"You might cut Miss Baynum some slack for her inebriated state, Perry. Her brother's body was found this morning in Los Angeles."