Inspector Queen’s Own Case

“Yes.” Jessie hoped fiercely that the guard from the Bridgeport detective agency would have the decency to remain behind his bush and keep his finger off the flashlight button. “You were saying, Mr. Queen?”

“It wasn’t anything.”

There was a silence.

“Well,” Jessie said. “I must say you’ve relieved my mind, Inspector. And thanks for walking me back.”

“It was my pleasure.” But from the way he said it, it sounded more like a sadness. “Well, good night, Miss Sherwood.”

“Good night,” Jessie said emptily.

She was standing there in the dark, listening to his footfalls retreat and wondering if she would ever see him again, when the light suddenly blinded her.

“Who was that with you, Miss Sherwood?” the private detective said.

“Oh, go away, you — you beagle!” Nurse Sherwood said, and she ran up the driveway as if someone were after her.

So that seemed the end of a promising friendship. The weeks went by, and although during little Michael’s nap times on the Humffrey beach Jessie kept glancing up at passing small craft, or on her Thursdays off found herself scanning the crowds on Front Street or the Taugus public beach, she did not catch even a glimpse of that wiry figure again.

What children men are! she thought angrily.

If not for the baby, she would have given notice and quit Nair Island. She was desperately lonely. But little Michael needed her, she kept telling herself, trying not to feel the old jealous twinge when Mrs. Humffrey took him from her arms and exercised her proprietary rights.

Sometimes Jessie thought she ought to leave for the baby’s sake, before he became too attached to her. But she kept putting it off. In the gloom that had suddenly set in, he was the only sunny thing. Besides, she told herself, there was always that disturbing incident of the night of July 4th. Suppose the attempt should be repeated and she weren’t there to protect him?

So the weeks passed, and July drew to a close, and nothing happened. On the 31st, almost four weeks to the day from the date of the nursery incident, Alton Humffrey dismissed the three private detectives.

The following Thursday morning Jessie bathed and dressed the baby, fed him his gruel and bottle, and turned him over to Sarah Humffrey.

“You’re sure you’re up to it?” Jessie asked her anxiously. Mrs. Humffrey was sniffling with a slight summer cold. “I’ll gladly forgo my day off. I can make it up some other time.”

“Oh, no.” Mrs. Humffrey peered at Michael through her white mask. Jessie privately wished she wouldn’t insist on wearing a mask at the least provocation; the baby didn’t like it. Besides, Jessie held the unprofessional view that the more an infant was shielded from common germ and virus infections in his early months, when he still had certain immunities, the more susceptible he became later. But Mrs. Humffrey went by the book, or rather by the books; she had a shelf full of them over her bed. “It’s not the least bit necessary, Miss Sherwood. It’s just a little head cold. We’ll be fine without Nursey, love, won’t we?”

“Maybe I’d better plan on coming back tonight, though,” Jessie said, setting herself for squalls. Michael was staring up at the white mask with apprehension, and his little mouth was beginning to droop at the corners.

“I won’t hear of it.” Mrs. Humffrey took this moment to tickle his abdomen. “Kitchy-kitchy! Come on, darling, laugh.”

“I really wouldn’t mind,” Jessie said, choking back a sharp command to stop. Michael solved the problem by throwing up and howling. Mrs. Humffrey guiltily backed off. “It’s nothing,” Jessie said, taking him. “It’s just not a very good idea to tickle an infant, especially on a full stomach.” She burped him, cleaned him up, and handed him back.

“Oh, dear,” Sarah Humffrey said. “There’s so much I have to learn.”

“Not so much,” Jessie couldn’t help saying. “It’s really only a matter of common sense, Mrs. Humffrey. I do think I’ll come back tonight.”

“I absolutely forbid you. I know how you’ve looked forward to a night in town...”

In the end Jessie was persuaded. Driving her sturdy little 1949 Dodge coupé, she told herself all the way to the railroad station that she really must stop being so possessive. It would do Mrs. Humffrey good to have to care for her baby around the clock. Women had no business turning their children over to someone else. But if they were that kind — and it seemed to Jessie that she rarely encountered any other kind — the more responsibility that was forced on them the better off they and the children were.

Still, Jessie was uneasy all day. It rather spoiled the good time she had planned. She met an old friend, Belle Berman, a supervisor of nurses at a New York hospital; and although they shopped at Saks’s, had lunch in a winy-smelling restaurant on 45th Street with French travel posters on the walls, and took in a matinée, Jessie found her thoughts going back to Nair Island and the unhappy little face on the bathinette.