“He was a big fraud. He couldn't create a fire by rubbing matches together. He was all front, an act, a phony, but he got so he put on the act twenty-four hours a day. He ran around piping, ‘I am a genius,’ and ‘Oh, I'm so sweet,’ until stomachs rebelled for a hundred yards around. The idea that he needed absolute silence to create the junk he threw together was just part of the act. That's my opinion. Lieutenant.”
“Even so, why would he shoo them all out back?”
“You've got me.”
A plainclothes officer handed him a yellow rectangle of paper. Carter read it, then said, “Where'd you get this?”
I moved around behind Carter and looked over his shoulder. The paper was a Western Union telegram addressed to Horatio Adair, and it read, “Subject convicted extortion eight years ago and served two years Tehachapi. Flying down tonight with photostatic proof and other evidence. Lester.” There was just time for me to note that the wire had been sent from San Francisco on the 18th, at 8:00 p.m. The plainclothes officer was saying, “Found it between blotters on his desk. Lieutenant.”
I hung around a couple minutes more, but there seemed little left except routine. Besides which, my brain was beginning to percolate.
I went out of the Tower Room and down the stairs to the phone, dialed the Police Building again. In a minute I had Captain Samson on the other end of the line. After the hellos I said, “Sam, yesterday morning when I was talking to you about Zoe Avilla, you told me she'd done time. I want to be sure I've got that straight.”
“She did a couple years on a one-to-ten for five-eighteen at Tehachapi.”
“That's what I thought. And how long did she get hit with that sentence?”
“Eight years back. Got out six years ago.”
Samson might just as well have quoted the telegram I'd read over Carter's shoulders; “Subject convicted extortion eight years ago and served two years Tehachapi.”
A lot of my questions were answered now, and I was starting to see a little light in the darkness I'd been in for so long. But at the same time I'd been presented with another question to which I didn't have even a piece of an answer: Why would Horatio Adair have been checking up on Zoe Avilla? It seemed significant, too, that the telegram had been sent on Thursday the eighteenth, which was three nights ago—or the night before Zoe Avilla had been murdered.
I said, “How about Dan Bryce and Roy Toby, Sam?”
“They've holed up somewhere. We've brought in a few of Toby's boys for questioning, but they haven't helped. No sign of Bryce at all. What's going on where you are?”
I gave him a rundown on the situation and we hung up. I went back out by the pool, found Lita and told her we were ready to go.
In the Cad, driving out the winding tree-shaded road, Lita sat motionless for a while, as if she had been drained of all her strength. Finally she spoke, “I'm going to take your advice, Shell.”
“What's that?”
“Get another hotel. Go into hiding, I guess.”
“Wouldn't be a bad idea.”
“There's no point in trying to go on.” It sounded melodramatic, but I knew she was serious. “After ... after Randolph, and then that horrible man coming toward us with a gun there, at my apartment ... I still thought it would work out, and we could go ahead with the party...” She let it trail off.
After nearly a minute she spoke again, “I was willing to keep on trying, but it's just turned out to be too much now, Shell. I quit. I give up.”
“Wait a minute, Lita. That doesn't sound like you.”
“Maybe it's because I've changed. A person can change in a week. In a day. It doesn't take a lifetime.” She paused. “Maybe someone is trying to kill everybody connected with Mamzel's.”
“Now you're striking out, honey. Unwind a little.”
“It just doesn't make sense. None of it does. And Horatio, of all people! What does it mean?”
I didn't answer her; I didn't know what it meant—but I was going to learn. I was going out amongst ’em, and if I could find Dan Bryce or Roy Toby, there would be some talking—perhaps intermingled with yelps of great discomfort, but talking.
First though, there was the matter of getting Lita settled in a safe place—and I had to be sure she was safe before I'd feel right leaving her. I started by making sure we weren't being tailed by anybody. Absolutely, completely, one-hundred-percent sure. Then I drove to the Lassiter, a place which Lita suggested herself. It was a swank, expensive-looking building on a quiet street on the Hollywood side of L.A.
I said to Lita, “There it is. Why'd you choose this one?”
“Just because I've never stayed here, never have known anybody who stayed here, and there's no earthly reason why anybody would expect me to be here. Now, give me a new name. A name to register under.” She hesitated. “I'm scared.”
I kept the conversation light. “A name, huh? Well ... why not Wild? That has a nice, cozy sound.”
“All right. And for contrast, Elmer. Elmer Wild. That's completely improbable. I like it.”
“Elmer? Honey, you may be planning to hide out, but nobody is ever going to believe you're Elmer. Or even Elmira. I'd suggest —”
“You're Elmer.”
“Huh? Frankly, it's doubtful that anybody would believe I'm an Elmer. Why don't —” I broke it off as the implications of her remark hit me. “I ... me?”
“If we register as a married couple, that should make the deception complete, shouldn't it? Anybody looking for me would expect me to be registered alone.” She paused. “Do you mind registering for us both?”
“Mind? Lita my love, put your fears at rest. I do not mind. I not only do not mind —”
“I understand.” She gave me the first nice smile I'd had in quite a spell. “Well, come on then. Elmer.”
I grinned at her. “Elmer, huh? O.K. Wull hit's good to git away fum the farm, hain't it. Asoefitida? Come along, let's git into that big barn over yonder acrost the hard road.”
She shook her head at me, then we got out and headed for the Lassiter. I detoured on the way long enough to pick up a bottle of bourbon, and some mix for Lita. Both of us felt that a highball or two would help us unwind. Ten minutes later we were alone in a lavish suite of rooms on the fourth floor of the Lassiter.
We had finished a tour of the suite and Lita was in the living room again. I stood a few feet from her in the kitchenette, complete with bar-and-lunch counter, mixing a bourbon and soda for Lita, and a bourbon and water for me. The kitchenette was just off the living room and in the wall opposite the entrance door was the door into the bedroom. A small half-bath adjoined the living room, and a big gleaming bathroom opened off the bedroom. There was even a small dining room—and the rate for the suite was almost enough to cover an installment on a small house.
I walked over to Lita and handed her the bourbon and soda, raised my glass and we had a couple glugs of the liquor.
“Here we are,” Lita said. “Mr. and Mrs. Elmer.”
“No, Wild.”
“That's right. I forgot—it was so sudden.”
“I don't really feel so Elmerish, but I can be pretty Wild if I —”
“Never mind. Shell.” She grinned at me and added, “But I'll bet you can.” Then she looked around. “I think I'll be able to relax here. Finally. Forget about all the trouble, the ... killings, the job, everything. Just one thing I have to do.”
“What's that?”
“I'll have to call Lawrance. No telling where he is now, though.”
“Do you think that's wise?”
“Why, Shell. Don't be silly. I have to call Lawrance. Somebody has to know I'm not going to be in for a few days, keep things going.” She paused, “I can't just close up the shops, you know.”
“Yes, I know, but we've gone to some trouble to get you stashed away as Mrs. Elmer Wild, reasonably safe and secure. I'm going to have to leave you alone, and I would much prefer that nobody else know you're here.”
She smiled at me. “There c
an't possibly be any harm in just talking to Lawrance. Anyway, I've got to call him.”
“Don't tell him where you are, huh?”
She gave me a surprised look, but finally she said, “All right. Well, I see you're going to be difficult. Make yourself useful instead.”
“O.K. Where'll I start?”
“I saw a big beautiful tub in that gorgeous tiled bathroom on our quick tour. Before you leave you can fill it up for me. Just a little over body temperature, so I can relax ... relax ... relax.”
She sounded actually dreamy. I said, “Consider it accomplished. Water coming up, at about two hundred and ten degrees Fahrenheit.”
She blinked. “Isn't normal body temperature about ninety-eight-point-six?”
“Yes, but I wasn't figuring it for a normal body.” I leered at her.
She laughed. “Get on with you.”
I walked through the bedroom into the big bathroom and turned on the hot and cold water taps. The tub was big and square, a light shade of blue to contrast softly with the darker blue tile of the floor and walls. The bathroom was cool and pleasant, and it seemed nearly as big as my whole apartment.
As the tub filled, I finished off my bourbon and water. It tasted good, and I could almost feel the liquor oozing into my bloodstream. I was empty, and tired, and just the one stiff slug of bourbon in the drink gave me a nice lift. I tested the water temperature and the thought crept into my mind that here was a tub big enough for two people—and only then did it dawn on me exactly what I was doing. Only then did the whole significance of this hit me.
I was filling the tub for Lita Korrel. For Mamzel. In another minute or two she was going to come in here and take off her clothes. All of them. All off. And then she was going to step daintily into the tub and slide slowly, languorously, deliciously deep into the warmth of the water. Probably she would sigh with pleasure, arch her back, run her hands over the water-slick surface of her skin, squirming in voluptuous pleasure beneath the water's soothing touch. Man, I was only thinking, but I am a hell of a thinker. There she was, wiggling about in the water.
And I was going to be way off somewhere looking for hoods? It just didn't seem right. Can this be Shell Scott? I thought. I felt like stripping off my suit and climbing into the tub and calling, “Come on in, Lita, the water's fine.” I turned off the taps and scampered back into the living room. Lita was, just hanging up the phone.
I quickly made two more drinks and handed one to Lita.
“Tub full?” she asked me.
“Well, not exactly,” I said slyly. “There's some water in it.”
She stood up. “I suppose you're eager to get on your way.”
“Well, not exactly,” I said again. “I mean, what's the rush? After all—ah—I —” I was sort of staggering verbally, so I stopped and started over in a more conversational vein. My last remarks had been more in the artery, so to speak. “How about Lawrance? What did he have to say?”
“I didn't get him. I rather doubted that I would, but he's sure to return to Mamzel's before closing time or at least be there first thing in the morning. I left word for him to call me here, at this number.”
I winced. “That's ... nice.”
She smiled. “I know what you're thinking. But I didn't give my name.”
“Who'd you talk to?”
“Didi, of course. She usually answers the phone.”
“Wouldn't she be likely to recognize your voice?”
“Perhaps. But what harm could there be in that?”
None, I thought. Not from Didi—lovely, luscious Didi. And probably not from anybody else in Mamzel's either, including Lawrance, even supposing that any of them could figure out who had called, and from where. I shrugged; I was acting like an old maid. Sure didn't feel like an old maid.
And that, of course reminded me. I said, “Lita.”
“Yes?”
“When I was filling the tub for you I made a tantalizing discovery.”
“Tantalizing?” She smiled. “What was it?”
“That tub is actually big enough for two people.”
“It is a big thing, isn't it?” She laughed. “But what would two people do in a tub? Even a big tub?”
“Well,” I said casually, “it would, of course, depend on the two people. A couple of old men, for example, would probably leap out crackling and race to the phone and call the manager and yelp, ‘Good gracious, there's a man in my tub!’ Something like that.”
“I see. You meant, then, that the tub was big enough for two old men.”
“No, no. Not at all. You're really off the beam there.”
“What do you mean, Shell?”
She knew exactly what I meant. She was just leading me on. I said, “You force me to be brutally frank. I meant there was room for us in the tub. And by ‘us’ I meant you and me. Us two people.”
She finished her drink and put the glass down, a smile still playing around her lips. I wouldn't have minded playing around her lips myself. As I drained my highball she said, “Oh, Shell. The crazy things you say. What would we do in the tub?”
“What would we do? Hell, we could scrub each other's backs, or ... I'd think of something.”
“I'll bet you would.” She grinned. “I'll bet you've already thought of something.” Then she stood up and walked to the bedroom door. “You wait here,” she said. “I'll check the water temperature. Two hundred ten degrees, indeed.”
She went inside, and shut the door behind her.
She was gone only a few minutes. But it seemed much, much longer. If it had been hours or even days, though, waiting would have been more than worthwhile. Because when the door opened again, Lita was framed in it. And that was all Lita was framed in. We had been kidding around before, but the jokes were over. She stood there in almost the same pose as the statue of Mamzel, with her hands at her sides, head back slightly, stomach sucked in and breasts thrusting brazenly forward. She wasn't Mamzel, nude; she was Lita Korrel, naked, wild-looking, beautiful.
I had been tantalized and tempted by almost everything except this actuality in the last day or so. By pictures of Lita, statues of her, by Lita in a leotard, a bikini, negligee, by the touch of Lita and by her kiss and caress. I had known she was beautiful, desirable, sexy and sensual.
But seeing her like this, she was more than that. She was incredible, literally stunning. It was as if all the sexually attractive attributes of woman had, in Lita, been accentuated, emphasized, made more obvious—almost to the point of excess. Almost, but not quite. It was as if every inch, every minute particle of her throbbed with life, as if the blood close beneath the surface of her naked skin pulsed more hotly and fiercely than in other women.
She stepped forward. She didn't say anything; her eyes were on mine, and a soft smile curved her red lips as she walked toward me.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Lita walked toward me slowly, deliberately, hands at her sides, the big, heavy breasts erect but trembling, their thrusting points tracing tight patterns in the air, the thighs gliding whitely, smoothly. She came into my arms easily and lifted her face to mine, lips parting redly over her teeth, like blood on bone.
Our mouths met like a blow. My hands pressed against her back, fingers sinking into the soft flesh. And her hands touched my chest, my back, my cheeks and hair and neck, they fluttered over me as my hands glided on her skin. Then, smiling, she took my hands in hers. Facing me, she pulled me easily after her into the bedroom. As she moved backward I looked at her, let my eyes burn into every bit of her as we walked slowly into the room, ran my eyes over her like light caresses.
Inside the door of the bedroom she stopped momentarily, and let go of my hands. I pulled off my coat and dropped it to the floor. Her fingers went to my chest, plucked at the buttons on my shirt.
She raised her mouth again. I crushed her to me, her body hot against mine, moistness between our pressing, moving, sliding lips. Then she leaned away from me, her eyes open and burning into mine, her whole
body moving and undulating with an almost unbearable slowness, her back arching. Then she swayed forward, her tautly pointed breasts caressing my bare chest before she took my hands in hers, backed away from me again. I could see the bed over her shoulder. Her legs touched the bed and she sank down upon it, leaned backward, still holding onto my hands, pulling me with her, against her....
It was just a couple of minutes before five p.m. I was dressed, but Lita lay in bed, only a sheet over that sensational body. I was filling the tub again for her. The water I'd drawn an hour before had cooled off more than a little, certainly more than I had. I went back into the bedroom. “All set,” I said. “Get in there.”
“Thank you.” She smiled. “You can wait for me in the living room.”
“Sure.”
“I'm serious.”
“But ... it seems like such a waste. Waste of you, I mean.”
“No. Go on, Shell. I mean it.” She smiled. “You just don't understand women.”
“Not even women understand women.”
“Out you go.”
And out I went. I shut the door and heard her trot barefooted across the floor, heard the splash of water as she climbed into the tub. I sat down in one of the living-room chairs, but I had no more than settled myself comfortably and lighted a cigarette when the door chimes sounded.
Because I was still so engrossed with thoughts of Lita, my brain was not functioning with machinelike precision. For the first few seconds after the chimes sounded, it didn't even occur to me to wonder who might be at the door, or why anybody would be there. I got up and walked across the carpet, and actually had my hand on the doorknob before the thought popped into my mind that this was strange indeed.
I took out my .38 and cocked it, opened the door part way, A man stood in the hall. He bobbed his head in pleasant fashion and smiled impersonally. He wore a dark suit and carried a light brown, zippered briefcase. He looked harmless enough, a medium-sized egg with a moon face and pink cheeks.
Take a Murder, Darling (The Shell Scott Mysteries) Page 13
