Suicide, Inc

CHAPTER 24

A lizardman on a bicycle went rattling by Saint on the morning road, splashing dust on him. “Sorry, gov,” called the lizard, taking a hand off the handlebars to tip his strawhat.

“Think nothing of it, old chap.” Tugging out a plyochief, Saint brushed at his face and then the front of his three-piece cazsuit. He smiled, continuing to act the part of an amiable tourist.

The Horizon House grounds covered twenty acres and were fenced in by high hedges and stretches of woodland. The main entrance was usually guarded by a massive black wrought iron gate, but that had been thrown open wide this morning. Seated on either side of the gate, at folding plaz tables, were humanoid ladies in flowered dresses and widebrimmed hats. At least a dozen customers for the charity fete were lined up at each table to purchase tickets.

“My, ain’t it grand,” remarked the catwoman Saint took a place behind. “All them lovely towers and all.”

“Have you never seen Horizon House before, Madam?”

Shaking her furry head, she replied, “Not so much as a squint, sir. I live over in the next territory and I’ve not visited hereabouts before.”

The house was imposing, a complex of towers and wings, built of pale rose brix and topped with slanting neotile roofs. There was much wrought iron, considerable clinging ivy of a faded seablue shade. There were many striped tents and multicolored stands set up on the vast lawns, along with a merry-go-round, complete with calliope, and a makeshift track for field events. On a floating dais near the main entrance of the house a string quartet, consisting of two tuxsuited toadmen, a humanoid blonde woman in a sequinsuit and a catman draped in an opera cloak, was tuning up.

“Five trudollars is a bit dear,” observed the cat-woman as she bought her ticket. “But the day’ll be well worth it, I fancy.”

“And the money, dear lady, goes to a good cause.” Although Saint had forgotten exactly what charity was to benefit, he assumed it must be a worthwhile one.

“Yes, that’s certainly true.” She rubbed her paws together. “Well, me for the jumble sale. And you, sir?”

“I shall stroll about for a bit.” Giving her a slight bow, he moved off along a pathway paved with yellow gravel.

Three small catgirls, each in a crisp pink frock, came running at him across the grass. “Please, sir,” said one meekly, “where do you suppose the Children’s Mixed Chorus has gotten to?”

Saint leaned down closer to the trio. “Would you little ladies be strayed members of that organization?”

“Yes, and we’re supposed to start singing right now and it’s not in the tent where we rehearsed yesterday or the day before either.”

Straightening, Saint took a careful look around the front acres. “I fancy I see what looks to be the makings of a mixed chorus flocking into that orange-and-blue tent up yonder.”

“Where, where?” The fuzzy little singer stretched up on tiptoe.

Saint lifted her up to his shoulder. “Next to the lemonade stand, do you see?”

“Oh, yes, and that’s Mrs. Dubay, the Assistant Leader, standing out in front of the tent and looking like she doesn’t know where to set that plate of watercress sandwiches someone’s handed her.”

Lowering the little catgirl to the grass, Saint said, “You’re no longer lost, ladies.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He strolled on.

The calliope was slightly off key, but the merry-go-round was a handsome thing. There were gilded neowood horses, grouts, giant snergs, wolos, unicorns, bears.

“Jove, that must be the woman in the case,” Saint told himself, slowing.

Coming down the brix steps of Horizon House was a young woman who was, judging by photos he’d seen, Jennifer Westerland Arloff. She wore a simple suitdress and did not appear to be especially happy.

Saint paused at a display of homebaked pies and cakes, still watching Jennifer as she made her way onto the grounds. “Not a bad looking creature, although on the slender side,” he decided. “Yet hardly the type, one would think, to drive a man to ruin and despair. Yet she did just that to Smith…or rather Smith did that to Smith and blamed this young lady. Seriously doubt she’d have that effect on me, though, of course, I’m a bit more hardhearted than is Smith.”

“…hooglyberries,” the plumpish lizardwoman behind the bake table was saying to him.

“Beg pardon?”

“The pie you’re admiring is made from fresh hooglyberries.”

“Ah, indeed? One’s mouth commences watering,” he informed her. “Ere I depart, I’ll purchase it.”

“Best do it now, since hooglyberry pies sell exceptionally well.”

“Reluctantly I must take my chances, since I don’t wish to be burdened with it as yet.”

“I could put it aside, sir, with your name on-”

“What you could do for me, my dear,” confided Smith, “is answer a rather personal question.”

She blinked. “Well, I suppose if it’s-”

“Can you tell me where to find the restrooms?”

She pointed toward the big house. “They’ve been set up on the north side of the mansion.”

“Thank you so much.” He smiled, bowed and moved on.

On the north side of the house, according to the map Smith had drawn for him, there was an entry to a part of the house Saint very much wanted to see.

Saint paused in the silent shadowy hallway to admire the thick patterned carpeting he was treading on. “Quite charming,” he murmured.

From his breast pocket he took Smith’s drawing of the Horizon House floorplan for this section of the sprawling mansion. The first room he wanted to get a look at ought to be just around the next turning.

“Oh, I say, this will never do,” said a thin, rattling voice behind him. “No, no, dear me, not at all.”

Executing a slow about face, the green man found himself confronting a large chromeplated robot butler “Were you addressing me, my man?”

“These fetes, these fetes. Such low types come flocking,” sighed the butler. “And when one of them actually intrudes upon-”

“There appears to be some misunderstanding,” said Saint with a smile. “I happen to be, and I’m rather puzzled at your not recognizing me, Beemis, Count Japhet Seagate. I am a longtime chum of dear old Mrs. Westerland and-”

“No, you aren’t. You’re nothing more nor less than a seedy gatecrasher, no doubt intent on making off with the plates after tracking up the runners.”

Saint gave a resigned little smile. “Well, you’ve certainly seen through me.”

“Now then, march your squatty form out of here at once,” ordered Beemis. “Or I’ll be forced to…um…that’s…odd…”

“Eh?”

“I seem to be…yes…having…trouble remembering…”

“Don’t fret about that, old thing,” advised Saint. “I’m simply using my telek powers to diddle with your brain. The idea being that you’ll forget all about my visit.”

“You…shan’t…”

“It’s not difficult at all to manipulate the components of your thinking system,” Saint explained. “You’ll remember my hasty visit not at all. And you’ll remain here, glued to the spot as it were, with that barmy expression on your moon face for exactly one-half hour. Understand?”

“Yes…understand…”

Saint resumed his prowl.