Chapter 8

Perry dialed the number of the Drake Detective Agency and reversed the charges. He was surprised moments later when a male voice answered.

"What are you doing answering the phone, Faulkner?"

Paul Drake's crack senior operative snorted. "Ruth said she had a quick errand to run. That was two hours ago."

"Where's Paul?"

Faulkner snorted again. "Have no idea. Licking his wounds somewhere."

"How's that?"

"Let's just say that wherever he is, he's crapping little red jelly beans right about now."

"And why would he be so afflicted?" Perry fought to keep amusement from his voice, knowing full well why.

"Because Mrs. Wyman pulled a walk-out powder on him that the greenest operative would have seen right through."

Perry rubbed his jaw. "Ladies room? Out the window?"

"Bingo," Faulkner said gleefully. "I tell you, Mr. Mason, if I didn't like my job so much, I would be laughing so hard."

Perry did laugh. "So Paul's been covering every plane, train, bus, and rental car that left L.A. since she gave him the slip."

"I imagine so. When they climb out a window they're usually smart enough not to travel under their own name. Even if she used one of her previous married names and not a wholly fictitious name she'll be difficult to locate."

"Well, next time he calls in, you can tell Paul that Mrs. Wyman is here."

"She's there? Wherever there is," he added casually.

Perry laughed again. "If you didn't know where I was, Faulkner, I wouldn't pay your employer's ridiculously inflated fees. Tell you what: have a little fun and let Paul stew as long as you can before telling him where she is."

Perry could literally hear Faulkner's huge grin over the telephone wire. "Oh, I'm having a ball with this, Mr. Mason. This makes my week. Hell, this makes my whole year."

"You may as well tell me what you've found out about the slippery Mrs. Wyman."

Faulkner hesitated. "Just how blunt would you like me to be?"

"As blunt as necessary."

"You know I have the utmost respect for Miss Street –"

"Faulkner," Perry Mason interrupted, "I assure you that Miss Street wants to know the truth about her mother as much as I do. Fire away."

"The woman is a menace," Faulkner blurted. "Not only has she been married three times, so far we've located three ex-fiancés and a string of former boyfriends as well."

"Maybe I should introduce her to Harvey," Perry mused, referring to his oft-married and oft-engaged friend.

"How's that?"

"Nothing. I was making a bad personal joke."

"I've spoken with two of the ex-husbands, all three of the ex-fiancés and two former boyfriends, and not one of them had a bad word to say about her. She took all of them for considerable sums of money, but to a man they just wanted to know that she was okay. The only ex-husband I haven't been able to speak with is Miss Street's father. He's been understandably unavailable."

"I'll take it from here with Miss Street's father, Faulkner. Mrs. Wyman was waiting for us at the house when we arrived from the hospital. Initially Mr. Street was shocked and angry to see his ex-wife, but she put on quite a little show and the outcome of it was her luggage is now in one of the guest bedrooms."

"She uses people, Mr. Mason," Faulkner warned. "She gets a guy to feel all protective about her, has a few sessions with a psychiatrist, fakes a breakdown that requires a week or two in a hospital, and then takes what she can get and disappears. She's broken up marriages, alienated children from their fathers, and left the men bleeding from the heart, but they still want to protect her."

"Some men like a helpless woman," Perry remarked, all his senses on alert about Mrs. Wyman's hospital stays. "It makes them seem all that more masculine."

"It makes them seem foolish," Faulkner said in disgust. "She's spent quite a little bit of time in booby hatches around the country, including the one just down the road from you right before she disappeared. Tell me, Mr. Mason, would you be some unbalanced woman's fourth husband or fiancé? "

"Probably not," Perry admitted. "But I might have a bit more self-esteem than the men Eve Wyman generally targets." He rubbed his forehead. How could he ever tell Della her mother was a nut case?

"The poor saps," Faulkner said bitterly. "They never knew what hit them. We can't get our hands on her psychological records, but we did locate a talkative former nurse of one deceased psychologist who remembered her well. She described her as a hystrionic, a borderline narcissist, depressive, manipulative, emotionally stunted, and prone to destructive behavior. She's incapable of any deep feelings aside from those she has for herself."

"Did the men you talked to know about her psychological history?"

"Yes, and to my thinking that makes them even bigger saps. I'll have my initial report ready for you in the morning. In the meantime, I'd caution you to watch out for her, Mr. Mason. That woman is up to something. Don't you think it's odd she showed up there at this particular time?"

Perry rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "It does seem a tad too coincidental that she decides to reintroduce herself into Della's life just as the family matriarch is on her deathbed." He wondered how deeply this Bitty character was involved with Eve Wyman's reappearance. He remembered Della's expression and made a mental note to ask her about her step-grandmother.

"You do know Miss Street's family is quite wealthy."

"Yes, I do." Faulkner didn't need to know that he had only discovered this fact an hour ago. "Does Mrs. Wyman need money?"

"Put it this way: she's never worked a day in her life due to her um…illness, and even though her ex-husbands have been very generous in their settlements, and she's taken money from any man who offers, it takes a lot to live the way Mrs. Wyman lives."

"She's broke?"

"According to prospective husband number four, Elliott Nowak, she's destitute. He's been paying her bills for several months now. He's beside himself worrying about her. Sap."

"Well, maybe you could cut the sap a break and tell him where his wandering fiancée is."

"I wouldn't dream of doing that. Cutting him a break would be to play dumb about her whereabouts. He's better off without her."

"Keep on the phones, Faulkner," he instructed the operative. "I'll call tomorrow morning for your report. Break the news gently to Paul."

"I'll be gentle as a machine gun," Faulkner promised.

Perry cradled the receiver, took two steps, then turned and snatched up the receiver again. He dialed another California telephone number, this time without reversing the charges. Let Jameson Street pay for this call.

Mae Kirby answered after several rings and Perry very nearly hung up at hearing her voice over the wire, but Della's aunt needed to know about Katherine Street, and he needed to know a few things himself. "Mae, Perry Mason."

"Perry! Is anything wrong? Is Della all right?"

"I don't know, Mae, you tell me. Her grandmother died earlier this evening." When Mae met his announcement with silence, he continued. "But you already knew that, didn't you, because your stepmother called you."

Mae hesitated before answering. "Yes, Bitty called earlier. How did you know that?"

Perry ignored her question. "How did Bitty know about Mrs. Street?"

"My stepbrother is an orderly at the hospital and was working on the floor when Katherine passed away."

"What else do you know, Mae?"

"I'll tell you what I know," Mae parroted indignantly. "I know you and Della flew out of L.A. this morning without telling me."

"And did you know your sister flew out as well?"

Perry thought her gasp of surprise was well executed. "Evie is there with you? She's met Della?"

"She showed up at Della's apartment last night. She claimed she saw a picture of Della with me in the newspaper and suddenly after all these years wanted to meet her. Carter called this morning about Mrs. Street, so I manhandled Della onto a plane and we flew out here. Imagine our surprise when we discovered Eve waiting for us at the house. What's going on, Mae? Why would your sister reappear now?"

Mae hesitated just long enough and answered with just a bit too much innocence for Perry to believe her. "I'm sure I don't know, Perry. I haven't spoken with my sister since two days before she disappeared over twenty-five years ago. Why didn't you call last night?"

"Mae," Perry's voice hardened, "we've established the fact that Bitty Sherwood has maintained contact with both you and your sister over the years. She must have told you things about her."

"No!" Mae denied sharply. "I didn't want to hear anything about Evie, not after she…not after she abandoned Della. Bitty would try to tell me about her, but I wouldn't listen. I daresay you know more about my sister than I, presuming of course that you've had Paul Drake investigating her and he's uncovered Evie's troubled past. It was best for Della that I didn't keep in contact with Evie."

"It was best for Maeve, you mean."

"Oh, that silly name," Mae replied in disgust, and Perry could imagine her eyes rolling. "Evie thought she was so clever to recognize Mae and Eve combined into the name Maeve, and so proud to triumph over Katherine. In all honesty, I don't know how Evie lasted as long as she did before completely breaking down. There was always something a bit off about her."

"We're going to talk more, Mae," Perry said hurriedly as raised voices from the kitchen reached his ears. He wished he could explore Mae's comment about her sister's breakdown in reference to what Faulkner had told him, but he feared Della might need him. "Think very carefully about what you're going to say to your niece, Mae, because I suspect you and the cast of characters I met today haven't been very honest with her."

"I did what I thought was best for her," Mae repeated, her voice low and tearful. "You didn't know Katherine or Evie or what it was like living there."

"That's becoming a recurring theme." Perry was quiet for a moment as he listened to Mae try to hide her weeping from him. His day certainly was complete. Making the two women he loved most cry was a grand achievement. "I expected more of you, Mae."

Not very proud of what he had said to Della's aunt, Perry hung up the phone without saying good-bye.

Whatever the ruckus had been was contained by the time Perry hung up with Mae and made his way to the kitchen, where everyone was seated around the table silently chewing on sandwiches and drinking tall glasses of iced tea. He took the only remaining empty seat and reached toward the food platter for a sandwich. Wordlessly, Henny Vander Velde slid a plate toward him as Della pushed a deli container of macaroni salad across the table without so much as glancing at him.

"Don't let my presence put a damper on the festivities," he said, taking a huge bite from his sandwich, ham on rye with thick slices of Swiss cheese and a generous application of mustard. "Did I miss anything?"

Carter abruptly pushed back his chair and tossed his napkin onto the table. "Henny, I'll see you to your car now. I'm tired. I've been up for almost forty-eight hours."

Henrietta Vander Velde hurriedly drained the last of her iced tea, daintily wiped her small mouth with a napkin, and stood when Carter nearly jerked the chair out from under her. She bade everyone a hasty good night, apologized for not staying to help with putting away the leftovers, and followed Carter from the kitchen.

Jameson Street glanced at the departing couple briefly, a slight frown furrowing his forehead. "I still say Carter should drive Henny home himself," he said reprovingly, which clued Perry in to the raised voices he'd heard. "It's much too late for a young woman to be out driving alone."

"As Henny said, she's quite capable of taking care of herself," Della assured him. "This town practically rolls up the sidewalks at eight o'clock. She probably won't encounter one car on the way home. Would you rather Carter fell asleep at the wheel and crashed into a telephone pole?"

"She lives all the way across town."

Della pushed her plate away from her and leaned back in the chair. "On this side of the railroad tracks or the other side?"

Two splotches of color appeared on Jameson Street's cheeks. "She has a very nice little house on Orleans Street."

"On this side of the tracks by the skin of her teeth." Della picked up the sweating glass of tea in front of her and rolled it across her forehead. "I'll bet it's cooler at her house, being so close to the river. I had forgotten how hot it can get here."

"It's actually unusually hot for this time of year," her father commented contrarily.

"It was hot like this the year Della was born. Do you remember, Jameson? You were so worried about her." Eve Wyman sat forward and covered her former husband's hand with her own.

Jameson Street stared dispassionately at her hand clasping his. "Let's not reminisce about that time, Evie," he said heavily. "It can't lead anywhere but to where we are now."

Eve Wyman's smooth forehead puckered. "What a strange thing to say, Jameson."

"On the contrary," Della disagreed. "I understand perfectly what he meant."

Della's mother eyed her with glittering green eyes. "Pretty and smart, are you?" she asked archly.

Perry finished his sandwich and reached for another. "The smartest, prettiest woman I've ever known," he said conversationally, choosing not to pursue why no one responded to his earlier question.

Eve Wyman withdrew her hand. "While I admire your loyalty toward your employee, Perry, I was speaking with my husband and my daughter."

"Ex-husband," Jameson Street reminded her.

She waved her hand dismissively. "The point is, despite the fact that Della is involved personally with Perry doesn't give him the right to butt in where he isn't wanted."

Della's eyes were wide with feigned innocence. "I thought I was only his employee. And I thought you wanted him."

Eve Wyman pushed back her chair and threw her napkin on the table. "I'm not going to sit here and be treated like this."

"Just so you know, Mrs. Wyman," Della called after her, "we'll be discussing you at length behind your back."

"Della Katherine," her father reprimanded.

"Now you're standing up for her?"

Jameson Street dragged himself wearily to his feet. "No, I'm chastising the very unladylike behavior of my daughter."

"You ain't seen nothin' yet," Della promised.

"Della Katherine," Perry said in mock shock.

Della pinned him with a scathing look. He met her look with an expression of exaggerated innocence.

"Would you mind cleaning up? I'm afraid in my current fatigued condition I'd make a bigger mess than there is already." Jameson Street made a little bow and turned away from the table.

"I've got it," Della grumbled, slumping against the chair back and crossing her arms over her chest, aware that her father was really quite helpless in a kitchen.

Perry turned to Della after her father had exited the room. "Are we having fun yet?"

"I'm not in the mood for you to be a smart aleck right now," she told him.

"Lighten up, will you? You're spoiling the party."

Della began stacking plates and gathering miscellaneous pieces of silverware. "Stop trying to kid me out of a really decent pout. I'd like to savor it a bit longer."

Perry reached into his pocket and pulled out his cigarette case and lighter. "I think someone needs a drink. You're so tight you squeak."

"Don't smoke!" Della commanded.

Perry blinked at her in surprise, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips.

"Grandmother doesn't allow anyone to smoke in the house," Della explained.

"And that fact is salient because…?"

Della flushed slightly as she sank back into a chair. "I –I'm sorry. I guess it really hasn't sunk in yet that she's gone. I keep expecting her to walk up behind me and tell me to stand up straight or to change my clothes, or that my hair style is an abomination."

Perry defiantly lit the cigarette and blew a perfect smoke ring. "What else would tick her off?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"What have you always wanted to do behind your grandmother's back that would drive her up a wall?"

A slow smile softened Della's sour expression. "Play Heart and Soul on the piano."

Perry grinned impishly and blew another smoke ring. "Anything else? I've gotten the impression that the kitchen was her pride and joy." He stubbed the cigarette out on one of the dirty plates, stood, and made his way around the table to where Della sat. He knelt and ran his hand up her leg, stopping just short of plunging beneath her skirt. "What would she think if her granddaughter committed a lewd act on the kitchen table?"

Della laughed and draped her arms around his neck. "She certainly had pride, but I doubt she experienced much joy." She gasped as his hand crept up her inner thigh. "Maybe the counter would be better," she suggested raggedly. "It would accommodate your height and – "

Perry leaned forward and kissed her deeply, possessively, until she was trembling with need. "That's the Della I know," he whispered, his lips leaving hers and traveling across her cheek to nuzzle the silken skin of her slender neck. He stood abruptly and she whimpered. He cupped her chin in his hand and tilted her face upward. "Sweet dreams, baby," he whispered.

And walked out of the kitchen.