Dance with the Dead (The Shell Scott Mysteries)

by Richard S. Prather

  Yeah.

  Raven looked from Desmond to me. What in the world are you two talking about?

  Desmond said abruptly, Anything else, Scott?

  It was one of the nicest ways he could have said, Why in hell don’t you blow, bud?

  I said, Guess that’s all for now. Thanks a lot for the info.

  Raven said to me, Would you like a swim?

  I grinned. Well . . . I didn’t bring my suit, I said slyly.

  Oh, that’s too bad.

  I got up. Desmond shook my hand and said to call on him if there was anything else he could do. Raven stood up gracefully, walked to the edge of the pool and leaned forward. Then she gave a little jump, and dived in.

  When she leaned forward, I, too, gave a little jump. I would have given much at that moment if she hadn’t been wearing the swimsuit. And its not what you think. At least, not entirely. Hell, maybe Desmond was lying.

  I walked to the patio and out through the house and down to the Cad, thinking that at least I was making a little progress. Now whenever I thought of Raven McKenna, of December, I would see black hair and dark eyes, a black jersey swimsuit and so on. That was progress?

  Five

  By seven oclock that night I had covered a lot of ground but seemed no closer to finding my girl.

  I’d located nobody at L.A. International Airport who remembered Webley Alden and his bride. I had managed to talk with the stewardess who’d been on the flight Webb and his new wife had taken from Honolulu to L.A.; she vaguely recalled Webb and a woman, but had only the haziest memory of the woman and couldn’t describe her. I’d satisfied myself that there was as yet no trace of the girl at the morgue or in local hospitals. Then, in my apartment, I tried to reach the Wow! girls by phone.

  Of the twelve, the only one who lived in the Islands was Loana Kaleoha, so my first call was to her home in Honolulu. I got no answer there; but I did manage to talk with several of the girls. One, Evelyn Jans, had been married for two years, which let her out. I checked further to be certain, and shed definitely been in Michigan for the last month and a half. She couldn’t possibly have been in Hawaii to marry Webb, so on my list I drew a line through the name of Eve, or November.

  Junes Candice Candy Small was working as a model in a womens clothing store on Hollywood Boulevard and had been present each working day for the last three weeks, so a line went through her name.

  Sue Mayfair, September, lived in Hollywood. I gave her a call and she was home. She sounded very pleasant, said that she disliked the name Sue and asked me to call her Blackie. I didn’t argue; nor did I tell her why I’d called, just that I wanted to talk to her. She asked me to come by and see her. About eight? Fine, I said, about eight.

  I’d learned that Miss October, Jeannette Duré, was starting an engagement tonight, Saturday, at the Club Parisienne, a small and intimate spot on Highland Avenue featuring dancing ecdysiasts — strippers — the club being only about a mile from Blackies address. The first show would start at nine p. m., so I could see Blackie and then have time to catch Jeannettes act right afterwards. Little by little, I figured, I’d get there; just keep plugging away, nose to the old grindstone.

  There had been no reply to my call to Pagan Page, Miss July, so I phoned the Algiers again and asked for The Wow Girl, which was the title each girl carried for the month during which she appeared at the hotel.

  After two or three minutes a soft voice said, hello?

  Miss Page?

  No, this is Charlie. Whos this?

  Shell Scott. But . . . Charlie?

  That’s just a nickname. Its Charlene. Charlene Lavel.

  I thought you sounded more like a chick than a Chuck. But I understood Pagan Page was appearing at the Algiers this month.

  She was, but I had to take over for her.

  I frowned at the phone. What happened to Pagan?

  All I know is that I wasn’t supposed to start here until the first of September, but Ed called me and asked if I’d come up a couple weeks early.

  Ed Grey?

  Yes. The boss.

  I know. How long ago was this, Charlie?

  Last night.

  It was like getting a small electric shock. Last night, huh? I said. Wheres Pagan now?

  I don’t know. Nobody told me anything, just that I was to start work.

  That was very odd. Each of the girls, I knew, put in a month for five grand, which isnt hay. I wondered what had happened to Pagan, why shed suddenly dropped out of the show.

  I said to Charlie, Ill be in Vegas soon, probably tomorrow night. If you hear any more about Pagan, I’d much appreciate your passing it on to me then.

  I guess I could. But probably I wont hear anything. Want me to ask somebody?

  No. Don’t stick your neck out. It might — and Im serious — be very dangerous. Ill talk to you when I get up there. Okay?

  All right. Bye.

  We hung up. I thought for a while about Ed Grey. He was a hood. But a respectable hood now, his days of personally muscling citizens largely behind him. Today he was tuxedoed, affluent, beaming. He owned — or at least fronted for — the Algiers, and I knew he made a mint from the place. And again I thought of Grey’s club in Hawaii.

  I filed it all away to play with later, and got ready to call on Sue Mayfair — Blackie. Before leaving I glanced at the photos of Blackie in the September issues of Wow! Issues, plural, because Blackie had been the first Wow girl, a year ago, and consequently -- in line with the policy Webb had inaugurated before his death -- had started out the second year, again as September. A year ago shed been phographed in a green and bosky glade, facing a small silver stream which trickled down a gentle slope. One leg had been outstretched, the toes dipping into the cool-looking stream, her body bent slightly to the side as though to help her keep her balance.

  Now, a year later, she graced the three-page foldout in Wow! in the same pose, at the same stream. The picture had been shot from the opposite side of the stream this time, and the front view of Blackie Mayfair was almost enough to get the magazine confiscated by everybody from the local police to the Washington Senators. A strategically placed limb, bearing a few green leaves, barely forestalled official action.

  Blackie was a doll. Gorgeously contoured, of course; but also with a cute gamin face showing the start of a merry smile, and fluffy brown hair loosely waved. She looked fresh and healthy, happy and free, as if she belonged in that glade, with Natures green around her and the silver stream to bathe in.

  I glanced at my watch, then put my four-by-five print into my coat pocket and went down to the Spartans lobby. I took my time reaching the Cad, looking around carefully and casing the area. Nobody shot at me this time either. I tromped on the gas and headed for Blackie.

  She lived in an apartment building a couple blocks off Sunset Boulevard. I took the elevator to her floor and pressed the buzzer before her apartment. It was just eight p.m.

  She opened the door and smiled. Hi. You must be Shell.

  That’s me. I appreciate your agreeing to see me.

  Its a pleasure. Gee, you’re a big one, arent you? She looked me up and down, then said, Come on in, Shell.

  Blackie was a little shorter than I’d expected her to be, but she looked — and acted — warm and wonderful. She wore faded blue jeans and a heavy old cotton sweater that had shrunk enough from repeated washings, and was tight against her large breasts and little waist. She looked clean and sparkling, as if from repeated washings, too — but she hadn’t shrunk. Her hair was black, not brown as it had been in the photos I’d seen, cut fairly short but still gently waved. It was a sweet, mischievous face, with plump lips and blue eyes bright as tears.

  I went inside. Soft dance music was playing from a hi-fi outfit somewhere, and there was a faintly perfumed scent to the air. Not cloying, but delicate and pleasant. Like the scented air, th
e living room in which we stood was soft and feminine, a comfortable blue divan with thick cushions, soft-looking chairs, a deep-piled pale blue carpet. Pastel paintings were on two of the walls. In front of the couch was a walnut coffee table, low and narrow.

  We sat on the divan and talked for a few minutes, just getting-acquainted conversation. She told me that she was a model, posed for photographs sometimes, often modeled clothing, had worked part-time as a cocktail waitress and had done a little TV. She was waiting for the break, the job that would really get her started. Blackie was easy to talk to, relaxed as the jeans and sweater she wore.

  How was the month at Vegas? I asked her.

  Algiers? Oh, that was grand. I loved it. The bright blue eyes danced. I’ve had a lot of offers since then. One good TV thing may come from it. You ever see the Algiers acts?

  Strangely enough, no. Not yet.

  Well, each of the girls who goes there from Wow! has three bits, you know, during the show. Like one of mine was, I was on stage in a beautiful evening gown. Just fabulous! Only it didn’t have anything except the front half to it. And when I turned around and walked off — well, some of the customers just squealed!

  I was becoming infected by her enthusiasm. Ill bet they did! I said enthusiastically.

  But then I got a grip on myself and said, Ah, but the reason I came up here, Blackie, is because of Webley Alden.

  What about Webb?

  You didn’t marry him a couple of days ago, did you?

  Marry him? She laughed delightedly. I didn’t many anyone a couple days ago. Why?

  Somebody shot him twice in the back last night.

  I threw it at her purposely. And as far as I could tell, her shock was genuine. She hadn’t read the newspapers, hadn’t heard about it.

  Gee, Webb, she said finally. He was such a nice guy.

  That he was.

  She shook her head. I’ve got to have a drink after that. How about you, Shell?

  It was okay by me. She fixed me a bourbon-and-water, a gin-and-tonic for herself. Then she sat down next to me again and said, I only saw him twice, when he took the pictures for the magazine. But I sure liked him.

  The last time you saw him then was when he took the latest September shot?

  Uh-huh. She grinned. You’ve seen them?

  Oh, yes. That first shot was one reason I subscribed to Wow!

  Oh, you’re sweet!

  It was hard to carry one line of conversation on to its logical conclusion with this gal, but I said, When did Webb take the September shot? The last one.

  Two or three months ago. Quite a while.

  And you’re sure you havent seen him since then?

  Sure Im sure. Does it make any difference?

  Ill be frank, Blackie. I want to know if theres any chance you could have met Webb in Hawaii during the last week or so. If you could have married him there, come back with him day before yesterday, and been in his house last night. It did sound a little peculiar at this moment, but I knew it had happened. Somebody had met him and married him, come back to California with him.

  Blackie looked at me. Have you lost your marbles?

  No.

  Are you kidding?

  Nope.

  So she told me what she could. But the upshot of it was that she couldn’t prove anything. It was just silly, that was all. No, she hadn’t been working for the last couple weeks or so, just taking it easy, lolling around the apartment reading and resting. Waiting for a call.

  Its been kind of dead, she said. Then she brightened and smiled. That’s why I thought I might be glad for you to come up, when you called. I am glad.

  I grinned at her. So am I.

  Then I took the four-by-five color shot from my coat pocket and put it on the coffee table before her. Just about the time Webb was shot, Blackie, he took this photo — of somebody. The girl was there when it happened. Whoever killed Webb has been trying to put a few bullets into me, too, so you can guess how important it is for me to find the girl. That one. I pointed to the picture.

  Trying to shoot you?

  Yeah.

  After a long pause she took the color print in her hand, looked at it. Who is it?

  That’s what Im trying to find out. Im pretty sure shes one of the Wow girls.

  Well, I sure don’t know which one. After a moment she said, Gee, shes pretty, isnt she?

  Then she laughed. It struck me as funny, too, and we laughed together. I pointed out the freckles. Blackie didn’t know anybody with freckles. In a moment she shook her head, passed the photo back to me and I returned it to my coat pocket.

  Wed finished our drinks, so without any comment she made a couple more and came back. She was frowning. Shell, those — freckles. I know how you could find them.

  You do?

  Sure. Next Saturdays the Anniversary Party, you know.

  Uh-huh.

  Well, one of the reasons for the party is that all twelve of us girls are to be there. And theyre going to take a big picture of all of us at once — for the magazine. And all sorts of people are going to be guests.

  Like who?

  Well, us girls. Mr. Whittaker — he has money in the magazine and the partys to be at his home. Orlando Desmond, naturally. Some reporters, lots of people from the magazine, editors and all. And Mr. Grey and people from the Algiers.

  Why Grey?

  Well, the girls always go there after their month in the magazine, you know. Besides, he wants to come.

  Uh-huh. That figures. Who else?

  You.

  Me?

  Sure. That’s how you find the freckles.

  Do that again.

  Well, this picture. She grinned. You know what Wow! is famous for.

  Yeah. Yeah.

  Saturday night, all twelve girls are to be ready and pose for this fabulous picture. We all twelve line up in a row and sort of bend forward — just a little, you know. Away from the camera. Can you imagine?

  I can see it.

  And well all be wearing turtleneck sweaters and high-heeled shoes. I almost forgot that.

  And that’s the best part. I blinked. Wait! Say that again.

  Well all twelve be wearing turtleneck sweaters and high-heeled shoes. That’s all. Then they take the picture for the magazine.

  You . . . itll never be printed.

  Maybe it will. Even if it isnt, it ought to make a nice picture.

  Blackie had a pretty good gift for understatement, herself.

  Slowly it seeped in. I went over what shed just said, and over it once again. When the vista finally solidified in my noodle, my senses reeled. Ill be truthful about it. I could see them there, gleaming in rosy light. Twelve of them spun around in my brain like lemons on a slot machine — only, of course, there were no lemons in this bunch. No, this was a massive jackpot, an unbelievable vista of . . . I shook my head and it went away. I shook my head again, but it wouldnt come back.

  Blackie . . . I said. Blackie . . .

  Yes?

  Blackie . . .

  What is it, Shell?

  Blackie . . .

  You need another drink, maybe.

  That’s it. Boy, do I need a drink.

  She brought me a dark bourbon-and-water and I said to her, Blackie . . . Ah, this is really going to happen? I mean — well — you know — all the —

  Yes. I’ve got my costume ready already.

  Ready already?

  Yes. In the bedroom.

  Did I detect something sly in the tone she used? I looked at Blackie. She wrinkled her nose — and you can bet that was the only part of her that wrinkled — and smiled mischievously. I had detected something.

  Well, I said, that’s swell. Yes, that’s . . . swell.

  I really don’t know about it, she said. I mean, I said
I’d do it — all the girls said they’d do it — dear old Wow! and all, you know, don’t let the magazine down.

  Well, hardly.

  But, gee, I get all — you know, when I think about it. Just in front of a camera isnt so bad, it seems like . . . like . . .

  Like Wow!

  Yes, but at the party with all those people around — maybe I chewed off more than I can bite.

  Oh, I don’t — what?

  Its something a girl has to get used to. So during the day I try it on a couple times and walk around. Just to get the feel of it.

  I drank some bourbon-and-water which went down like water-and-water. The turtleneck sweater, you mean? And high-heeled shoes?

  Uh-huh. I figure if I do it a little at a time then I wont be so embarrassed Saturday night.

  That makes sense. Sort of try it out alone first?

  Yes. Than maybe with just one person looking. Then a couple, if I can find them.

  Oh, you can find them!

  Then Ill be ready for the party.

  That’s very dear thinking, Blackie. Like wading into the water instead of splashing in all in a frenzy, like. Might keep you from getting all jazzed up and drowning, or is that . . .?

  That’s exactly what I thought. So far I’ve just walked around here alone. Now Im ready to try it with somebody.

  Blackie . . .

  You wouldnt mind, would you, Shell?

  Mind?

  Helping me? I’ve just got to do something to — to overcome my shyness. Get ready for the party, and the — the big push Saturday night.

  Ill do anything I can, dear. You can get ready for the — the big push with me, if you’d like. I know what it is to be shy . . . I think. Why, its just like meeting the kids in school, kid, and then you maybe even like school. . . .

  I had to stop, my mind had gone gooey on me. I didn’t know what I was saying.

  Oh, thanks, Shell, Blackie said. You’re a real friend. And with that she jumped up and trotted off into the bedroom.