Fifty Best Mysteries by Eleanor Sullivan

Author:Eleanor Sullivan [Sullivan, Eleanor]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 0881848190
Publisher: Carroll & Graf
Published: 2000-12-31T21:00:00+00:00

A NEAT AND TIDY JOB

by GEORGE HARMON COXE

Her name was Mary Heath and she stood five-foot-three in the medium heels she wore when she was on duty. She weighed one hundred and eight, her hair was shiny black, her eyes were deep blue, and her firmly rounded chin suggested she had been endowed with a full quota of spunk.

Her domain during working hours was the first car in the three-bank elevator system of the Caswell Building; and because she was young—just past nineteen—and friendly, she was a favorite with most of the tenants. They liked her cheerfulness and their kidding was basically well mannered and gentle. The fresh ones saved their more suggestive comments for Ethel and Loretta in the adjoining cars, for though they were not much older than Mary they were married and somewhat more experienced in parrying conversational liberties.

In the months she had been running the first car her passion for neatness had become well-known to the regulars. She could not control the transients but the others avoided spilling ashes on the carpet of her car. If they lit a cigarette they carried the paper match outside before discarding it, and if they forgot and opened a pack in her car they remembered not to drop the cellophane top.

This passion for tidiness was simply a facet of her personality, as much a part of her as her honesty and friendliness. She was fastidious about her appearance and somehow looked a little smarter in her gray-blue uniform than Ethel with her full-blown figure or Loretta with her tinted blond hair. Since Mary always kept her tiny apartment spic and span she saw no reason why this cage, which was actually her business office five days a week, should not be equally neat and tidy. At least, that was how she explained it when Ethel discovered that Mary kept a small whisk broom tucked behind the collapsible seat in her car. If she wanted to stop the empty car between floors on occasion and sweep the carpet, why should anyone object?

Mary’s insistence on neatness came up for the umpteenth time at exactly five minutes after three one Friday afternoon in June when Harry Gilmore came into the foyer of the Caswell Building and headed for her empty car.

Harry was a maintenance man and had the title of Assistant Engineer. He wore his customary soiled coveralls and had a handful of tools in his left fist, a cigarette in his mouth.

“How about a ride, baby?” he said. “I’ve got some plumbing to do on the fourth.”

Mary cocked one eye at the wall clock and saw that she had four minutes before she had to go up to the eighth floor and pick up Stan Norton; she cocked the other at the half-inch ash that hung from Gilmore’s dangling cigarette.

“Sure, Harry,” she said. “Just knock that ash off first, please.”

Harry grinned. He removed the cigarette, studied it, then flicked off the ash with an elaborate gesture.

“Okay, Grandma,” he said, still grinning.

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