Free A Room to Die In by Jack Vance, Ellery Queen Page B

from sheerest curiosity; it’s no affair of mine—have you learned what
disposition your father made of the Cypriano mortgage?”
    “Not yet. I
haven’t checked things over.”
    “They didn’t
mention the mortgage?”
    “No.”
    “Strange.”
    “There’s probably
some simple explanation,” said Ann. “We spoke of other things.” The thought
came to her, was this the reason she had been invited to lunch? It seemed
unlikely, since the mortgage had not been mentioned. No, it was about the chess
set.
    Maudley said, “I’ll
give you some advice, young woman, and that is—be businesslike! Your father and
the Cyprianos were friends of long standing, but don’t let this fact influence
you. I hope you don’t regard me as meddlesome.”
    “Of course not.”
Edgar Maudley apparently did not like the Cyprianos. Ann wondered why. Because
Jehane had introduced Pearl to Roland Nelson?
    Maudley
reiterated his intention of helping Ann on the coming Saturday. Ann discouraged
him once more, and the conversation ended.
    On Thursday
morning, as she left for work, she found a letter from her mother in the
mailbox. It was postmarked Tuesday, June 4, at Beverly Hills. She read it, went
back to the apartment, telephoned the Marin County Sheriff’s Office, and asked
for Inspector Tarr.
    Tarr was not in,
reported the clerk. Was there any message?
    “No, said Ann,
it was important that she speak to Inspector Tarr personally. She had important
information for him.
    The clerk
promptly gave her a number at which she might be able to reach Inspector Tarr.
    Ann dialed,
listened. Finally, a woman answered. “Hello?”
    Ann spoke in the
most formal of voices. “May I speak to Inspector Tarr, please?”
    “Who’s calling?”
The woman’s voice sounded suspicious.
    “Ann Nelson.”
    “Ann Nelson.” The
woman repeated the name, then grudgingly said, “I’ll see if I can wake him up.”
    Several minutes
passed. Ann, with not too much time to spare, was on the point of hanging up
whenTarr’s drowsy voice sounded in her ear. “Tarr speaking.”
    “This is Ann
Nelson,” said Ann, very distinctly. “I’m sorry to disturb you—”
    “Not at all,” said
Tarr. “It’s my day off. I’m at my sister’s house.”
    “Oh?” Ann tried
to convey in a single word the extent of her utter indifference—and disbelief. “I’ve
received a letter from my mother. I thought you ought to know about it as soon
as possible.”
    “A letter from
your mother?” Tarr seemed puzzled and surprised. “Where was it mailed?”
    “The envelope is
postmarked June fourth, Beverly Hills.”
    “Can you read it
to me?” Ann read aloud:
    My dear Baby Ann:
    I
have just learned of your good fortune, so to speak, from a person who chooses
to remain nameless. For some reason he is interested in you, and also me, and
is asking delicate questions about the past.
    As
you know, I am having a tough time financially as well as being miserably unhappy
with my health. I have a practically continuous migraine which gives me hell! I hope that you will see fit to share your
good fortune with me. I really need a stroke of good luck to boost my flagging
spirits.
    I
plan to come north in a day or so and will drop in on you. I am sure we can
come to a mutually happy settlement.
    As ever,
    ELAINE
    After a short
silence Tarr asked, “Do you recognize the handwriting, Miss Nelson?”
    “It’s definitely
her handwriting.”
    “Is the letter
itself dated?”
    “No. She just
starts writing.”
    “What does she
mean: ‘delicate questions about the past’?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “ ‘A person who
chooses to remain nameless’—now who could that be?”
    “I haven’t the
faintest idea.”
    “What about that
‘Baby Ann’ bit? Is that her usual salutation?”
    “It might be
almost anything: ‘Snooks,’ ‘Toodles,’ ‘Brat.’ I’ve seen ‘You miserable little
ingrate!’ on occasion. Anything, in fact, but ‘Dear Ann.’ ”
    “This is
certainly