“Check the other two rooms,” Grady told him.
When the rest of the cottage had been checked without turning anyone else up, Grady said to the uniformed officer, “Guess everything’s under control.” He nodded toward the wounded Joey. “Better take him out to the car and put a temporary bandage on that wound. And tell Major Walsh he can come in.”
Taking Joey by his good arm, the officer drew him to his feet and led him outdoors. A few moments later Colonel Bob opened the screen door and came in.
“Well, well, looks like the beachhead has been secured,” he said, beaming at Grady. Then he gave Belle an apologetic smile. “When I found your note, I thought it best to bring in the police. Only good tactics to call for reinforcements when you face a superior force. Hope I didn’t make a strategical error.”
Belle said, “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Jim.”
Horton said, “It’s just as well. Save going to them. Lieutenant, you want Quincy’s murderer?”
Grady looked him up and down. “Thought I had him. You.”
“Afraid not,” Horton said. “And I can prove it, if you give me a chance.”
“Go ahead,” the lieutenant said agreeably.
“That gun you took out of my belt,” Horton said. “That’s the murder weapon. The colonel—I mean the major—already has had you check a slug from it.”
“And you had it on you,” Grady said. “That makes you innocent?”
“You’ll find it’s registered to Quincy,” Horton told him. “I couldn’t possibly have had access to it. It disappeared from Quincy’s house a few days before the murder, and was put back again yesterday. In an attempt to frame Quincy’s wife. But that was an after-thought. I think it was taken originally simply because the killer didn’t know where else to get a gun. The plan was to frame Manzetti by sending that threatening note just before the murder. But the killer was kind of fond of me. When I got accused of the murder, the plan was changed to frame Velda.”
“Sounds complicated,” Grady said. “Can you prove it?”
Horton turned to Belle. In a heavy voice he said, “Why didn’t you tell me you visited Quincy’s home last Wednesday night, Belle?”
Belle’s eyes widened. “Because I didn’t.”
“Velda says you did.”
Belle glanced at Velda. “She’s mistaken. The col— the major and I did have an appointment to see him, but we broke it. I told you why.”
Horton glanced at Velda. She shrugged. “John told me they were coming. I assumed they kept the engagement.”
“You mean you weren’t there?”
“I went out that night. These people meant nothing to me. It was just a business meeting.”
Horton’s mind staggered under a sudden mixture of emotions. The surge of joy he felt that neither the colonel nor Belle were killers was followed by consternation as his case abruptly crashed about his ears. Through a mental fog he heard Belle saying, “What are you getting at, Jim?”
“Nothing,” he managed to say, trying to re-organize his thoughts. Doggedly he went on, “Someone stole the gun with the deliberate idea of killing Quincy.”
“Who?” Grady asked.
Horton was silent. So was everyone else, waiting for him to speak.
Helen broke the silence. “It was Velda!”
Everyone looked at Velda.
“That’s a lie!” Velda said loudly. “Until today I didn’t even know John was killed by his own gun.”
“Fiddlesticks,” Helen said scornfully. “You’re overdoing the dumb act. Even if you were innocent, you knew the gun was missing. And you knew he’d been killed by a forty-five. Are you trying to pretend you can’t put two and two together?”
Grady asked curiously, “How would she know it was a forty-five?”
“It was in the papers,” Helen said.
Grady shook his head. “We didn’t release any information about the weapon. All the papers said was that he was shot.”
A tingle went along Horton’s spine. He stared at Helen as a monstrous thought formed in his mind.
“Helen,” he said slowly. “It was you who suggested that Quincy’s gun might have been the murder weapon. I knew it was a forty-five because Major Walsh told me. And he got the information from the police. But how did you know?”
“Don’t be silly,” she said, coloring. “You’re mistaken. I never said what it was.”
“Yes, you did,” Horton said, taking a step toward her. “I remember your exact words. ‘Wasn’t the murder gun a forty-five automatic?’ You even knew it was an automatic. I remember telling you it was a forty-five, but there was no way to tell whether it was an automatic or a revolver from the slug.”
“You’re wrong,” she said, staring at him white-faced. “You’re not remembering it right.”
Horton took another step toward her. “Yes, I am. And you had access to the gun. You still had your keys to the house. You only gave me the front door key, and kept the back door key to put back the gun. It was you who left by the back door just as I came in the front. You were away from the hotel when your step-father was killed, too. I met you coming back right after the murder. You hadn’t been to lunch. You’d been down to Quincy’s Used-Car Lot.”
Helen pressed her hands to her cheeks. “Don’t say that!” she said breathlessly. “Don’t I mean anything to you?”
Horton closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he said in a dead voice, “Not if you’re a killer.”
Her face crumpled. “It was for you,” she said. “Don’t you see? I could just have thrown the gun away, and nobody would ever have suspected. I put it back to protect you. I even risked my life to save you out here. How can you do this to me?”
He looked at her for a moment with deep pain in his eyes. Then he sighed and turned away.
“Is that enough for you, Lieutenant?” he asked dully. “Am I still charged with anything?”
Helen had collapsed into the chair vacated by Joey and had dropped her face into her hands. The lieutenant glanced at her and then, a little uncomfortably, at Manzetti.
“I guess you’re cleared, Horton,” he said. “But there’s still the matter of what was happening out here. I haven’t had an explanation of that yet.”
“I don’t want to press any charges,” Horton said. “Call it a wild party that got out of hand.” He looked steadily at Manzetti. “Mr. Manzetti will explain it to you.”
Grady said in a tone of relief, “Well, if everybody concerned is satisfied, I don’t see any point—”
“I didn’t say I was satisfied,” Horton interrupted. “I just said I didn’t want to press charges. There’s one small item to clean up.”
Walking over to Manzetti, he said, “I got two bumps on the head on account of you, Tony-boy.” He touched the clotted gash on his forehead. “One here, one around back. You figure we’re even?”
“Sure, Jimmy-boy,” Manzetti said heartily.
“I don’t,” Horton told him. “I figure I still owe you something.”
“Yeah?” Manzetti said less heartily. “What?”
“This,” Horton said, uncorking a fast right cross that lifted the racketeer’s feet six inches from the floor and laid him full-length on the sofa.
“Let’s go back to town,” Horton said to Belle.
CHAPTER XXX
BY NOON the next day Horton had obtained his impounded Mercury from the Police Department, his suitcase from the Palais Royal, and had closed out his account at the Rice City National Bank. After settling his delinquent bill at the Hotel Lawford, he checked back in. He asked for and got the room adjoining Belle’s.
Belle accompanied him while he attended to all this business. If she suspected that at one point of the proceedings Horton had been on the verge of accusing her of the murder, she tactfully didn’t mention it. Horton didn’t mention it either. They had too many more important things to talk about.
Brooding about the emotions he had felt during the period he thought
he was falling in love with Helen, Horton came to the conclusion that his uncomfortable feeling about Belle had deeper significance than mere guilt. Since he’d never before felt guilty about breaking off with a woman, he decided Belle must be more important to him than he’d suspected, and his temporary infatuation for Helen had simply blinded him to the fact.
He was considerably surprised when after explaining this self-analysis to Belle, she didn’t immediately swoon into his arms.
After contemplating him moodily, she said, “It’s just rebound, my love. Let’s sit it out for a while.”
“What do you mean, rebound?” he asked.
“You wouldn’t understand,” she told him. “You’ve never been in love before. Any teen-age boy could tell you that after a disappointment in love, you’re ripe to fall again for the nearest available female. You’ve just never had the experience.”
“I thought you said you loved me,” he said a little sulkily.
“Oh, I do,” she assured him. “But I don’t want to spend the rest of my life thinking I trapped you when your defenses were down. Come around again when you’re sure you’re over Helen.”
“I am over Helen,” he insisted. “And what do you mean, ‘Come around?’ I’m not planning to let you out of my sight.”
She gave him a gentle smile. “You’ll have to, I’m afraid. As soon as the colonel and I finish our business with Mr. Tyrell, we’ll be leaving town.”
“Let him leave alone,” Horton said. “At least we could be business partners.”
“And break your rule about always working alone?” she asked with raised brows.
“Come off it, Belle,” he said impatiently. “You’ve put me in my place. You don’t have to drive it into the ground. What do you want? To be begged?”
“Of course not.” She considered the idea with growing enthusiasm. “We would make quite a team. I’m really more your type of woman than Helen was. Aside from a propensity for homicide, she was much too moral for you.”
“How will the colonel take your leaving him?” Horton asked.
“In stride. He’s quite self-sufficient, you know. He’ll probably be breaking in a new assistant within twenty-four hours.”
By prearrangement they met the colonel for lunch at the Rafferty House. Colonel Bob examined Belle’s glowing face with an air of resignation as they approached the table he had reserved.
Rising, he said, “I detect a certain air about you people. Is there something you want to ask me, young man?”
Horton held a chair for Belle, waited until he and the colonel were both seated, then cocked an eyebrow at Colonel Bob. “Like what?” he asked.
Belle said, “The colonel thinks he’s my father. He wants to know your intentions.”
“Oh,” Horton said. He glanced sidewise at Belle.
“I don’t think he has any intentions,” Belle said. “He’s still recovering from a broken heart.” She turned to Horton. “I was just being a gracious loser, Jim. But now I can tell you the truth. She really does dye her hair.”
A waiter interrupted the conversation to take their orders.
When they had all ordered and the waiter had moved away again, Colonel Bob said, “Something I still don’t get. I understand Helen’s motive. She resented being chucked out of Quincy’s house and having her allowance cut off because of her objection to his second marriage. And she rightly figured she was still in his will, so she’d get at least something when he died. But if she hated Velda so, why didn’t she try to frame her from the beginning instead of Manzetti?”
“She didn’t know Velda had any motive for wanting him dead,” Horton said. “The gossip about Velda had never reached her. As far as she knew, Quincy was living a life of marital bliss. The minute she found out from me that Velda did have a motive, she tried fast enough to frame her.”
“Then it wasn’t just regard for you that made her switch her plan?”
Horton looked uncomfortable. Belle came to his rescue by saying, “Partly, I think. She was concerned enough about him when I told her Manzetti’s men had him captive.” She smiled at Horton. “She really wasn’t your type, though, even if she hadn’t been a murderess, darling. She wanted to reform you.”
Colonel Bob raised one eyebrow. “Darling, is it? Sure you don’t wish to speak to me, young man?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact,” Horton said with mock seriousness. He looked at Belle. “We may as well break it now.”
Belle said, “Nothing as serious as marriage, Colonel. He wants my hand in business partnership. Will you mind losing me?”
Colonel Bob fingered his ragged mustache. “Hmm. I thought you always played lone wolf, Jim.”
“Belle put it badly,” Horton said. “She means we’re not planning immediate marriage. She thinks I need a recovery period from Helen. It’s her idea, not mine.”
“Oh. So pending recovery, you’re planning to work as a business team?”
Belle said, “We thought we’d try the game Jim started to pull here in a place or two. See how we get along before we take the final step.”
“Hmm,” the colonel said again. “I hate to lose you, Belle. But if I have to, I’d rather it would be Jim’s way. Why don’t you marry the man?”
“Not until I’m sure he’s over his redhead,” Belle said firmly.
“Well, that’s your business, of course,” the colonel said. “How about our pending deal?”
“Tyrell? Why don’t we line him up for tomorrow night and finish it off?”
Colonel Bob nodded. “We’ll all be wanting to leave town rather suddenly afterward. And I’d like to offer you young people a farewell party. Will you meet me for dinner here again tonight? Say about eight?”
Horton glanced at Belle and she nodded agreement.
“Suits us,” Horton said. “Nice of you to want to.”
Promptly at eight, Horton and Belle re-entered the Rafferty House dining room. Looking around, they failed to spot the colonel. They waited until the headwaiter came forward.
“Major Walsh’s table, please,” Horton said.
“Oh, yes,” the headwaiter said politely. “You’re Mr. Horton and Mrs. Whitney?”
“Yes.”
The headwaiter brought a sealed envelope from his breast pocket. “The major asked me to express his apologies and give you this.”
Horton and Belle retreated to the lobby to tear open the envelope. It contained a note in the colonel’s flowing handwriting. The note read:
Dear children:
I leave you a parting present—a good-luck sendoff gift for your new business venture, or a wedding gift, whichever the case may be. My gift is a bit of advice for your future guidance. To wit: Never trust anyone.
As compensation for losing my partner in crime, I felt it only fair that I should have some financial gain. Mr. Tyrell parted with ten thousand dollars this afternoon. It, and I, are now on a train headed far from Rice City.
I would advise similar hasty departure on your part, Belle, as by morning it may occur to Mr. Tyrell to show his stock certificates to a broker. Jim, of course, is entirely in the clear on this, but I assume he will be concerned with your welfare.
My blessings on you both.
Robert Desmond
Colonel
U.S. Army (Ret.)
Horton and Belle looked at each other. Belle was the first to laugh.
“Why, the old crook,” she said. “After all our years of partnership. He’d cheat his own mother.”
Horton said, “I don’t think we’d better stop for dinner. We’d better get back to the Lawford and check out. We can be three hundred miles from here by morning, if we drive all night.”
Hand in hand they hurried toward the door.
If you liked Fall Girl check out:
Edge of the Law
CHAPTER I
WHEN HE started to run from Miami, Judson Sands had a stake of thirty-two hundred dollars. Six weeks later, when he arrived by bus in the city of Ridgeford, he had t
wenty-four dollars left. Some had gone for living expenses, but most of it had gone for expensive hide-outs and plane tickets from one part of the country to another each time his pursuers got close.
It cost a lot of money just to stay alive when you were fingered by Big Mark Fallon.
Ridgeford was the end of the line, he told himself. If they tracked him there, he’d go out with his back to the wall, taking along with him as many as he could. But he wouldn’t run another foot.
As he carried his bag through the gate from the bus barn into the depot waiting room, his eyes moved over the room in a single comprehensive glance resembling the lazy flick of a whip. Though it seemed the most casual of glances, it momentarily touched every face in the room. None of them were familiar.
At least they weren’t ahead of him, he thought wryly. Maybe he should have started riding buses six weeks ago. Not only would it have been cheaper, but they wouldn’t expect high-living Jud Sands to travel any way except first-class.
Pushing through the main door to the street, he again flicked his gaze over the surrounding area, instantly noting every pedestrian and parked car in sight. Momentarily his eyes narrowed at a car at the curb a half block away with two men in its front seat. But apparently the car had just backed into a parking place, for one man got out either side of the car as he watched. They entered a tavern together without a glance his way.
Jumpy, he thought. Six weeks of running would make anyone jumpy.
Shaking his head at a cabby who gave him an inquiring look, Sands lugged his bag up the street in search of a hotel. An overdressed blonde emerging from a tavern ahead of him paused to eye him with interest as he neared. She held herself with the exaggerated erectness of the slightly drunk.
Women usually noticed Jud Sands, though normally not with such open interest as the blonde displayed. About thirty, he was a trim, leanly muscled man nearly six feet tall with a springy grace to his movements that suggested perfect muscular coördination. His sharply defined features weren’t handsome, but the alert glint in his oddly green eyes gave an impression of subdued recklessness, and there was the barest suggestion of cruelty tempered by a sense of humor about his straight, hard lips. Most women decided on first sight that he was interesting, and possibly dangerous.
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