Suspicious Circumstances by Patrick Quentin Page B

I had listened to his tirade, a thought more ominous than any of my thoughts to date had swooped down on me. Until then, there had always been Ronnie. In those unfortunate moments when I knew Norma had been pushed, there had always been Pam’s theory to fall back on. But now — if Ronnie had been telling the truth, if he’d been on the phone with Sylvia all through those crucial twenty minutes — then he was out as a pusher. And Uncle Hans and Gino had been together at the pool house. And Pam and Tray had been running all over the grounds. Who then did that leave definitively, once and for all, as the only possible pusher? Who?
    I made myself glance at Mother. No one had ever looked more composed.
    ‘So later Sylvia came to you, Ronnie dear?’ A faint ripple of distaste furrowed her brow. ‘And she threatened you? Either she played Ninon — or she told the police about me?’
    ‘It was two days ago,’ said Ronnie. ‘She just showed up at the house in the morning, all lovely dimpled contrition and apologies. She knew it was frightful to thrust herself on me at such an unhappy time, but the absurdest thing! She happened to have lent Norma her divine diet book, Eat Away Calories , weeks ago at a party, and — how embarrassing! — it was signed by the author and the author was corning to lunch. Of course, it was a preposterous ruse and I knew it. But I let her go upstairs to look for the book. She was gone for hours and I thought, My God, what is she up to? I rushed upstairs and there she was with the book in her hand. And then, right there in Norma’s bedroom, that’s where the squeeze came. But I didn’t give in. Maybe I should have, but blackmail is something that makes me snap and I snapped again and I screamed, ‘You play Ninon and turn her into a terrible Memsahib from Poona? Are you out of your mind? Anny plays Ninon and, if you don’t like it, raise all the stink in the world. Who cares? It’s only the uncorroborated word of one spiteful, ageing, bankrupt, ex-English motion-picture actress. Get out. Get out of here.’ And I literally hurled her out of the house and, as I was hurling, all the cobra came out in her and she screamed, ‘You wait. Anny murdered Norma to get that part. You know it and I know it. And I’ll tell the police. I’ll …’
    ‘She did,’ I broke in because, of course, the lovely shell-pink anonymous letter had fallen into place.
    Ronnie spun around to me and I told them everything about Inspector Robinson.
    For a moment Ronnie looked aghast. ‘But it’s all right? I mean, everything’s okay now with Inspector Robinson?’
    ‘Yes,’ I said.
    He gave a huge sigh and then fury started jumping around in his eyes. ‘But to think of it! How low can a woman sink? Writing anonymous letters to the police. I never dreamed …’
    ‘But, Ronnie,’ I said, ‘what happened then? What’s the other thing Sylvia knows?’
    ‘Oh, God,’ he said. ‘Oh, God. That happened today. I wasn’t worrying. I was sure I’d called her bluff, that it would all be okay, that there’d be a little peace. That’s why I hadn’t even told you, Anny. And then — then, this afternoon just about twenty minutes before you all arrived, the phone rang and it was Sylvia. You should have heard her. Little merry bells were tinkling all over her voice. “Ronnie, darling, I was thinking of going down to see Paul Denker this afternoon.” Paul Denker, you know, is that frightful crooked lawyer of hers on the Strip. “Yes, darling,” she said, “and I was wondering whether dear Mr Denker mightn’t be interested in your little secret merger with …” ’
    The undebonair pink flush was back. ‘And she mentioned the name of the company. I can’t tell you what it is, Anny not even you. But it’s a deal. Not a bit crooked, of course, not a bit. But it isn’t settled and there are millions of dollars involved and if at the moment the slightest hint of it was to break, worst of all to that appalling