THE COUNTRY PLACE WAS A GOOD DEAL LIVELIER THAT weekend with Leslie there. Every day she did a ballet dancer’s limbering exercises at the porch rail. She was still weak, but already sunburned, and determined.
“I’ll dance the role of the Silver Princess again before little H.J. has his first tooth!”
The baby was blooming in the country air, like one of the garden roses. He completely won over Gwen, Bertha, and Josie—so did the rest of the Young menage, including elderly Mrs. Faunce. She was delighted to act as chaperone to helpers who showed up for the weekend. Mrs. Faunce saw to it that every girl was accommodated in the house, and the boys were made comfortable in the nearly fixed-up barn. Everyone worked, played, swam. All ate hugely.
Henry J. went off to his new job in New York at the Stage Door. Little Joey Peters came over and announced it was his birthday, so the nurses gave an impromptu party, inviting the neighbors, too. Joey’s mother was embarrassed but amused. Joey’s father was busy with Grey and Spud, repairing stuck windows and doors. It was a happy weekend.
And yet Cherry felt as if she were watching from the sidelines, a detached observer, because her deepest attention remained fixed on something else altogether. During the next week she continued to feel the same way, moving smoothly and dreamlike through her duties, while her thoughts furiously pursued the unanswered question:
Was something going on undercover in this office? She could see bits and pieces of a situation …
Toward the end of the week Cherry found the note. It was one of those unbelievably busy days when all three doctors were in the office, seeing patients. A large part of New York seemed to be pouring into the brownstone all day. Cherry, Irene Wick, Rhoda Jackson, and even Dottie had all they could do to maintain a reasonably orderly flow of patients, supplies, charts, medications—to answer telephones, cope with three emergencies, soothe and reassure sick people—and prevent confusion and errors. Late in the afternoon she found evidence of somebody’s slip-up.
Only this was a personal matter. Or was it?
The note was not definitely identifiable. Cherry had reached into a wastebasket at the appointment desk for a piece of scrap paper, and pulled out a nearly blank, folded, white letter, folded like an advertising letter. All that it said, in hand printing, was:
“What in the world does that mean?” Cherry muttered to herself. “Dinosaur—a prehistoric animal—enormous—extinct. Is this a code?” She tried to think of equivalents or references for dinosaur, but no useful ideas emerged.
Then it occurred to Cherry that perhaps “dinosaur” in this note meant just plain old dinosaur—at the Museum of Natural History here in New York. That’s it! The meeting place! Could be. And three could be the time of the meeting.
To whom was the message addressed? Who had sent it? The note gave no clue. Cherry thought of examining the envelopes in the wastebasket, to see which would fit the letter in her hand. But dozens of envelopes would fit, since business stationery was of standard size.
Try another tack. This letter had come out of the wastebasket beside Mrs. Wick’s desk. Presumably the letter was for her. However, since the medical secretary opened and sifted all incoming mail for the three physicians, it was possible the note was meant for one of them. It was even possible that a patient in the waiting room had thrown away the note.
Possible, but not likely, Cherry thought.
Suppose, then, that this note making an appointment was for Irene Wick. At three o’clock on Monday through Friday she was working. At three o’clock on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon she would be free to go to the Museum of Natural History. Therefore, Cherry decided, the appointment was for either Saturday or Sunday.
“The Museum of Natural History is a big place,” Cherry reflected. “I could go there to see who keeps this appointment, and never be noticed myself, if I’m cautious. I could go Saturday and if no meeting takes place that makes sense to me, I could try again on Sunday.”
Cherry decided to disguise herself a little—just in case Mrs. Wick would be at the museum. So Cherry borrowed Gwen’s reversible, thin silk rain-and-shine coat, which was navy blue on one side and beige on the other. Cherry also bought an inexpensive navy-blue silk cap, to conceal most of her hair. Irene Wick had never seen Gwen’s coat and this cap.
Early Saturday afternoon at home Cherry powdered over her rosy cheeks, tucked her hair up under the cap, then put on the silk coat with the navy side out. She added a white pearl necklace and white gloves, and dark sunglasses. “I certainly don’t look like my usual self,” she thought. “Am I inconspicuous?” If the other nurses had not been out on Long Island, she could have checked with them.
Cherry arrived a little before three at the Museum of Natural History. She passed the bronze equestrian statue of an explorer President, climbed the great flight of stone steps, and, entering the museum, consulted a guard. He directed Cherry upstairs. In a vast hall, brimming with daylight, she found the enormous skeleton of a dinosaur. It towered over and dwarfed the hall’s other exhibits, some of which were in rows and rows of glass cases. These cases afforded Cherry a fairly good hiding place and vantage point. She stationed herself near the dinosaur, head bent, pretending to read one of the several museum pamphlets she had picked up on entering.
No sign of Irene Wick! Cherry saw mostly parents and children strolling past, a few foreign visitors in native dress—no one familiar. Wait—yes, she did see someone! That red-haired man and his two young children. Wasn’t he Bally, the salesman? The three were gazing up awestruck at the dinosaur.
Along came a group of Boy Scouts, and then a pretty, rather plump and bouncy, youngish woman in a flowered summer dress. She wore shoes with very high, thin heels, too thin to support her weight, so that she teetered. She stopped before the huge dinosaur and gave a pretend shudder.
“I declare, that thing gave me a turn,” she said softly to no one in particular.
Bally smiled his anxious smile and mumbled something that Cherry could not hear. The woman smiled back easily and said:
“Why, yes. I’m Bunny. Are these your youngsters? Aren’t they darlings!”
Bally stiffly said, “Thank you. I hope your kids are fine? Oh—er—by the way—” He swallowed hard. “Have you seen the museum pamphlet for this summer’s special exhibits? I bought it because it looks so interesting.”
He handed it to the pretty woman—who was only about thirty and still girlish looking. Bunny accepted the pamphlet and opened her expensive handbag. As she tucked it into the handbag, Cherry thought she saw a large white envelope extending from the pamphlet.
“I’ll read it when I get home,” Bunny said in a bright, artificial voice that could not have fooled anyone. “Er—do you think this hazy sky means we’ll have rain?”
They discussed weather—a display of two acquaintances innocently chatting—but with such strain that they gave themselves away as strangers, Cherry thought. When they said goodbye and separated, one of the children blurted out:
“Daddy, I never saw that lady before. Not anywheres, Daddy.”
That settled it. Cherry sprinted for the stairs. By the time Bunny stepped off the elevator, Cherry was waiting for her. Bunny headed for an exit, with Cherry right behind her but at a discreet distance.
Out on the street Bunny, on her stiltlike heels, clambered into a taxi. It started off through Central Park. Cherry hailed another taxi, and followed her. She had no idea who Bunny was—she did not resemble Mrs. Wick, and was about ten years younger. But she was connected with Bally, and Bally was a doubtful figure in Cherry’s mind. She remembered another plain white unaddressed envelope that the messenger had delivered to Mrs. Wick one morning. Did such an envelope contain money—a payoff? Bunny seemed to be a go-between.
The taxi ahead left Central Park and went down Fifth Avenue. Just in case Bunny had noticed her, Cherry reversed the silk coat to its beige side, removed her sunglasses and her cap. She met the taxi driver’s baffled eyes in the rear-vision mirror.
Now the taxi ahead was pulling up in front of a shop. Cherry called, “Let me out here,” paid her fare in haste, and jumped out.
The taxi driver said, “You aren’t the same girl who got in—”
But Cherry was already following Bunny into a shop whose windows displayed gloves, handbags, and luggage.
Fortunately the shop was large. Bunny went to the section displaying purses. Cherry took one sweeping look around, and realized that if she sat down at the glove counter, she could keep her back to Bunny and still be near enough to hear. She could recognize Bunny’s voice asking a saleswoman:
“Have you a handbag in red alligator? Or red lizard? Something not too bulky, please.”
“Yes, madam. We have some really beautiful imports. One moment, I will bring them to you.”
Meanwhile, another salesclerk had approached Cherry, who said very softly that she was waiting for someone, and did not wish to see any gloves. The salesclerk withdrew. Then Cherry noticed a mirror reflecting another mirror that gave her a view of Bunny and the red lizard handbag she was considering buying. It was shaped like a miniature of a doctor’s satchel. The red purse pleased Bunny. Cherry heard her say, “It’s lovely. I’ll take it.”
“I know you’ll enjoy using it,” said Bunny’s saleswoman. “This is a one-of-a-kind design, so you won’t find any other woman carrying your handbag. Is this to be charged, madam?”
“I’ll pay for it now. How much is it?”
The saleswoman named the price, nearly a hundred dollars. It left Cherry staggered. The plump, pretty woman called Bunny looked affluent but not rich. What extravagance!
Bunny, seen in the mirror, was not surprised nor appalled by the price. The saleswoman offered a pen, as if she expected the customer to pay by check. Instead, Bunny opened her handbag, took out a plain white envelope, and extracted several bills. Cherry had to tell herself Don’t stare. Was it the same envelope Bally had slipped to her? If Bunny were only a go-between, Cherry thought, would she be spending the money from Bally? Or was Bunny a principal? Who was she in relation to Irene Wick?
“And shall we send the handbag, madam?” the saleswoman asked.
Bunny hesitated. “I would like to have it nicely wrapped in its own box.”
“Yes, certainly. Your name and address, madam?” The saleswoman held her pencil over her salesbook.
Cherry grew tense, listening, waiting. Bunny fussed with the red handbag, making up her mind.
“I think I’ll take it with me,” Bunny said.
Cherry was disappointed. She had hoped to find out Bunny’s last name and where she lived. Well, she’d have to keep following her. Bunny was indiscreet, she thought, to display in public this much money. A wad of money …
Cherry remembered finding the hidden money at the Youngs’ the morning after Mrs. Wick had complained of holdups and robberies in her street. Was she afraid to carry home a big sum of money? Money from her uniform pocket, patients’ fees, which she had never turned over to the doctors? Afraid she, too, would be held up, or robbed?
Was this why Irene Wick used a go-between?
Suddenly, with a flutter of skirts and too-high heels, Bunny was leaving the shop. Cherry hurried out after her. Bunny, now carrying a box, was vaguely looking around as if debating where to go next. Her random gaze fell on Cherry. Did a frown of recognition—of doubt—cross the woman’s face? Cherry averted her own face.
Clumsily Bunny got herself and her box into the taxi just ahead. Cherry took the next taxi and followed to Grand Central railroad station. She trailed the woman across the huge waiting room.
“I hope she goes to a ticket window,” Cherry thought, “so I can stand in line behind her and hear what town she buys a ticket for.”
But Bunny trotted past the ticket windows and went directly to the train gates. She went through Gate 12 and vanished down a ramp to where a train stood waiting.
Cherry could follow no farther. She did not have much money left, for one thing. More important, she wanted to complete some reports at Dr. Fairall’s. Grey was to meet her there late that afternoon.
Reluctantly Cherry turned to leave. Still, she could do one thing: read the list of towns where the train departing from Gate 12 would stop. Cherry murmured the names of nearby upstate and Connecticut towns: Tarrytown, Ossining, Croton-on-Hudson, then Greenhill, Peekskill, and others.
“Too bad! A wild-goose chase.” Cherry sighed, and recrossed the vast terminal. “Space enough in here for a dozen dinosaurs to roam,” she thought, trying to cheer herself up.
She walked across Forty-second Street, west toward Broadway where she’d take a bus to Dr. Fairall’s. Passing the stately Fifth Avenue Library Building in Bryant Park, Cherry remembered the open shelves of telephone directories from all over the United States—from all over the world. She’d bet Bunny’s name and address were in there, if she only knew them!
Who was Bunny?
For that matter, who was Mrs. Irene Wick? Cherry knew nothing about her training or her record on previous jobs. She hoped Dr. Fairall knew.
On the bus she wondered what references Irene Wick had given him. Well, Irene Wick’s references must have been satisfactory for Dr. Fairall to entrust his patients, the management of his office, and his financial affairs to her.