"Not phone business," I said. "I'm trying to locate a girl who used to teach here in town, and I understand you'd know her if anybody would. Have you got time for a cup of coffee?"

"Why, I think so," she said. She said something into the telephone at the corner of her desk, gathered up her purse, and we went out. There was an air-conditioned cafe just around the corner on the square. We went back to a table and ordered the coffee. I offered her a cigarette, but she refused with an apologetic smile.

"The girl's name was Cynthia Sprague," I said. "And if she taught here it would probably be three or four years ago."

She frowned thoughtfully, "You don't know whether she usually taught in high school or junior high? Or is the elementary grades?

"No," I said. "But she would have probably been pretty young. Not over twenty-four or twenty-five, so I'd imagine in grade school. She was married, but I don't know her husband's first name."

"Oh, well, sure, I know who you mean." she said quickly. "She wasn't a teacher, though; at least, not the last two years she was here. She was married to a teacher. Her husband was princ.i.p.al of the junior high school. Robert Sprague. I remember quite well now; her maiden name was Cynthia Forrest."

"Did she live around here long?" I asked.

"Well, yes. I think she and her mother came here from Georgia about the time she was in high school. When she got her certificate she started teaching in the third grade in-let's see-that would be about 1950. It seems to me she and Robert Sprague were married in 1952, in the spring, and that she quit teaching. But she did do part-time clerical work in his office. That is, up until the time he was killed-"

I glanced up quickly. "Killed?"

She nodded. "It was an accident. One of those awful bathroom things people are always being warned about, and that you just can't believe really happen. I mean, that people would do the things they do. You see, a lot of the older houses here don't have central heating, and they had a portable electric heater in the bathroom. Mrs. Sprague heard him fall, and rushed in, and the heater was right in the water with him. He must have tried to turn it off, or on, while he was sitting in the tub."

So? No grown man could be that stupid or careless, I thought. Then I knew I was reaching for it; it not only could happen, it did. All the time. And the police and insurance company-if any-would have taken a long, slow look.

"When was this?" I asked. "Do you recall?"

"Hmm. They'd been married less than two years, so it must have been early in 1954. January or February. I went to the funeral, of course, and I remember it was quite cold, with a north-wester blowing. She was very broken up about it."

"She didn't go back to teaching?"

"No. Mr. Snell told her she could have all the part-time work she wanted until the next term started and then have her job back in the third grade, but she said she was going away. Her mother had died the previous year, as I remember, so there was really nothing to keep her here. She must have left shortly after the funeral. Maybe the latter part of February."

"You don't know where she went?"

She shook her head. "No. If she wrote to anyone here, I don't remember hearing about it. I'm sorry; I do wish I could help you."

"You have," I said. So she'd left here in February, and started teaching in Galicia in September. Where was she and what was she doing for six months?

"I suppose there was some insurance?" I asked.

"Not very much, I'm afraid." She smiled gently. "Teachers don't make a great deal, you know. It seems to me there was a policy for about five thousand."

Ten, with a double indemnity clause, I thought. "Would there be anybody else in town who might know where she went?" I asked. "Any of his family, perhaps?"

"No," she said. "He came from Orlando. There are some Spragues here, but no kin."

She finished her coffee. I thanked her, and walked back to the office with her. Apparently I was up against a dead end now. There was nothing in any of this to link her with Strader, and I had no lead at all on where she could have spent that six months. I was in the station wagon and just turning on the ignition when it hit me. How fat-headed could you get? I reached for my wallet and s.n.a.t.c.hed out the sheet of paper on which I'd scribbled the dope Lane had given me. The dates jibed, all right. Eager now, and very excited, I strode back into the drugstore and headed for the phone booth.

I couldn't pull it on her, because she'd recognize my voice. But I could start with her. I dialed the business office of the phone company and asked for Ellen Beasley.

"This is that quiz man again," I said. "If you'll answer just one more for me I'll quit bothering you."

"Why certainly," she replied.

"Who is the present princ.i.p.al of the junior high?"

"Mr. Edson. Joel Edson. And I believe he's in town now. He just came back from some summer work he was doing at Gainesville."

"Thanks a million," I said.

I looked up Edson's number and dialed. I was in luck.

"Yes, speaking," he said. "Who is it?"

"My name's Carter, Mr. Edson," I said heartily. "And you're just the man I was hoping to get hold of. I'm with Bell and Howell, and I wanted to see if I couldn't work out a little demonstration for you and some of the School Board members-"

"For what kind of equipment?" he asked.

"Sound-motion picture projectors. You've got to see these to-"

He laughed. "You people ought to keep records. We've already got one of your projectors. And it's working fine."

I could feel excitement running along my nerves. That's odd," I said, mystified. "I wonder how the office fell down on that. You're sure it's one of ours?"

"Sure," he replied. "We've had it about-hmm, four years, or something like that."

"You didn't buy it second-hand?"

"No. We got it direct from you people. I remember now, exactly when it was. It was October of 'fifty-three, just a few months before Bob died. Bob Sprague, that is-he was the princ.i.p.al here before me. I was teaching physics and chemistry in the high school, and got in on the demonstration when Bob and his wife and your man were trying to wear down the Superintendent and School Board. Your man was here for several days, and as a matter of fact he sold the Board on buying one for the elementary school too."

"Well, that's one on us, Mr. Edson. Somebody just goofed in the office. I'm sorry I troubled you."

"No trouble at all."

"You don't remember who the salesman was, do you?"

"No-o. I don't recall anything about him except that he was a pretty big guy, and he talked a good game of football."

"Well, thank you very much."

My luck was really running. I was hot, and I knew it. I went back to the soda fountain and talked the clerk out of a handful of change and put in a call to Lane's office in Miami.

"He's not in," his girl said. "But, wait a minute. He called in a little while ago on his way to see somebody in Miami Beach, and he gave me a number. Give me yours, and he should call you back in a few minutes at the outside."

I gave her the number and sat down at one of the tables to wait. I had to be right; the hunch was too strong and the pieces were going together so beautifully I couldn't miss. I gazed out through the window at the sun-blasted square, thinking about it, and then I was thinking of Georgia Langston. Goofing off, I thought. But it was pleasant.

The phone rang in the booth. I waved off the soda clerk and ducked in.

I have a long-distance call for a Mr. Chatham," the operator intoned mechanically.

"This is Chatham," I said. I accepted the charges and pushed in quarters until she was satisfied. "h.e.l.lo. Lane?

He came on. "Yeah. My girl just got hold of me. I'm glad you called; I was just about to buzz you."

"Good," I said. "But first I've got a question. In 'fifty-three, Strader was selling sound gear and motion picture projectors to schools and churches and so on. Whose projectors?"

"Bell and Howell."

It was perfect, right down the line. "Well, look. Did he have an exclusive territory?"

"No-o. Not exactly, as I get it. The distributor's territory, the one I gave you, was exclusive, but I think there were two salesmen working it for him."

That wasn't quite so good. But the odds were still much better than the mathematical fifty-fifty would indicate. "What's new there?"

"Couple of things. I still haven't come up with a girl friend with any Galicia angle to her, but I haven't much more than scratched the surface. G.o.d, that guy-I wish he'd written an instruction manual before he kicked off, and let some of the rest of us in on his M.O. But to get back. I've filled in a couple of soft spots in the employment record. Remember I told you I thought he'd been in New Orleans for a while?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I nailed down that lead. I may have racked you up for a little additional expense-couple of toll calls and a bill for twenty-five dollars for a boy I do business with there once in a while-but I figured you'd want the dope."

"Sure," I said. "That's all right. What did he find out?"

"Strader was there in 'fifty-four. Spring and summer, from March until about the end of July. Shacked up, of course. This one was a smooth job with hair about the color of a good grade of burgundy, and he called her Sin. I don't know whether he had a sense of humor, or whether it was just short for Cynthia. Still no line on anything criminal. But this time he wasn't working for somebody else. He had a bar, on Decatur Street. Or at least, he did till he went broke. I don't know where he got the money to buy it-"

"From an insurance company," I said. "Sin's husband tried to take a bath while holding onto a light circuit."

"G.o.d, do they still get away with that up there?"

"There's a chance it could have been the McCoy," I said. "There was only five involved-ten if it carried double Indemnity."

"Yeah. Either that, or she was just smart enough not to take out any more. That's where they usually goof."

"Well, they'll never prove it one way or the other. But we've got our own headaches. You come up with anything else?"

"Just one other item. I found out what he was doing with this Electronic Enterprises Outfit in Orlando. It was burglar alarms. New patent of some kind."

"Oh?" That was an odd one.

"Yeah. He had a good background for that kind of sales job, because of the Navy training. Anyway, he was selling them, and supervising installation. Georgia, Alabama, and Florida. Jewelry stores, mostly. Now, is there anything else you want me to run down? I gather you've already found the girl?"

"Yeah," I said. "I've found her. I may never prove it, but I know who she is." I paused, frowning thoughtfully at the blank wall of the booth. "There is one other thing you could do. What's your big newspaper there, with the best State-wide and Southern coverage?"

"The Herald." Herald."

"If you can get hold of back copies. I'd like November eight of last year. The same day the Langston story broke. Airmail it to me."

"Langston story'd be in the ninth. It's a morning paper and it wouldn't have made the deadline."

"Sure. Be faster, though, if I looked up whatever you want and called you."

"That's the h.e.l.l of it," I said. "I don't know what I am looking for. Maybe nothing. Anyway, shoot your bill along and I'll send you a check."

"Sure thing. It was a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Chatham."

"You did a good job. If I get down to Miami I'll look in on you and we'll have a drink."

"Do that."

I went back out and got in the station wagon. I knew now who Strader's girl friend was, for what it was worth. I couldn't prove it. If I even said it aloud, I'd have my head blown off. She still didn't have anything to do with Langston. And she still wasn't the girl who'd tried to get me killed.

Not yet, anyway.

12

It was a quarter to five when I turned in at the Magnolia Lodge and stopped in front of the office. Georgia Langston, dressed in slacks, was on a step-ladder painting the trim and supporting pillars along the porch.

"I give up," I said.

She smiled and came down. She was wearing a Cuban or Mexican straw hat with an unfinished brim. "You can stop the fragile business as from now," she said. "I went to Dr. Graham for the balance of that check-up this afternoon, and there's nothing wrong with me at all. I needed about two days' rest and I've had that."

"Wonderful," I said. "We'll celebrate by going out for dinner. But come on inside; I've got something to tell you."

Josie had gone home. I stirred a pair of Martinis and we sat down in the living-room. "Hold onto your hat," I said. "Cynthia Redfield was an old flame of Strader's. She lived with him in New Orleans for about six months in 1954. After her first husband was killed in an accident that might not have been as accidental as it looked." I told her the whole story.

She put down her drink with a look of horror. "But-it seems so impossible. And why hasn't anybody found it out before?"

I lit a cigarette. "For a lot of reasons. The first being just what you said-it's impossible. She's not the type. Why should anybody even suspect it? The only thing she actually had to hide was the fact she knew Strader while she was there. The rest of it would be common knowledge-and harmless. The police here and in Miami checked Strader out, but this happened in another state. If it'd been an F.B.I, case, they'd have found it out, but it wasn't. The only F.B.I, angle was whether he had a previous criminal record, which he didn't. And, then, she's married to Redfield. Who was going to raise the question?"

"Do you think she was-the one that night?"

"I don't think there's any doubt of it."

"But how can we prove it?"

"We can't," I said.

"Not ever? It's horrible. It's unbelievable-"

"I know. But, look--We could bring witnesses here from New Orleans-which isn't easy, believe me-and all we'd prove was that she'd once known Strader. If I went to the District Attorney with a flimsy thing like that, he'd laugh in my face. And if I went to Redfield, he'd kill me."

She gestured helplessly. "What can we do?"

"Nothing, on the basis of what we have now. There has to be more."