"Does Tommy know for a fact that he's being eased out of the estate?" I asked.
"Not for a fact, no. But I don't see how he could miss it. I've refused to see him alone. In fact, even in front of others, I've had nothing to do with him."
"But that would hardly be enough to convince him that he had to resort to murder," I said. "If you're keeping this under wraps, and if you're going to be signing the new will early tomorrow morning—well, after that it would be senseless of him to try anything anyway."
"Exactly," he nodded vigorously. "And that's why I'm tossing this little party. And also why I'm glad you're here, although I hadn't planned on that. You see, I intend to keep things going until late into the evening here and, with plenty of people around, I don't plan to give Tommy or Zucco or any of Zucco's men even the chance to get me!"
I couldn't help cracking a smile.
"Smart," I said.
"It's Friday," he reminded me, "so I should possibly be able to keep things going until as late as five or six in the morning. Then, at six-thirty or seven, I'm driving directly to the golf course to shoot eighteen holes. They wouldn't dare try anything in broad daylight! That will give Bishop a chance to put the finishing touches on the papers. After that it's straight to Bishop's office where, bleary-eyed but loyal, he'll have the new will ready for me to sign."
"Looks like you've got yourself covered," I agreed. "And then Tommy should be out of business."
"He should be," he echoed, "but sometimes things don't work out the way they're supposed to. You see, when I cut Tommy out I'll be cutting him out for good, I'm not about to put Susan in the same jeopardy I'm in. Under the provisions of the new will, if Susan should die the money is to be dispersed to various charities. You see what I'm getting at? If Tommy or his friends are going to try anything, it's got to be tonight."
''But you've got nothing to worry about, Mr. Court—"
"You're right, I don't think I do," he snapped. "But I'm an architect, Dugan. I'm used to taking everything into account when I work out a design. And that's why you're here. You're my failsafe."
"I'd hoped to be," I told him. "But if you're thinking about hiring me, that's not necessary. I'm already working for your daughter."
"I realize that," he said. "But you're also working for her only in a specific capacity. To generally look after me, but primarily to see what you can do about my son and Zucco. To possibly come up with something you could nail them with, or at least Zucco, to get them out of our hair."
"That's about it," I nodded.
He leaned forward, his eyes burning intently. "Well, I do want to hire you, but only in the event of my death tonight. In that case you would no longer be accountable to Susan, as I understand your agreement. Now, if I'm murdered tonight I want to pay you twenty thousand dollars to locate the people behind it. To locate them and to see that they're put away until the day they die, and then some!" I started to say something, but he kept on going. "You may think that's a lot of money. And it is, to someone who can use it. But if you're paid I'll be dead, and it won't mean a damn to me. I respect my daughter's assessment of people, Dugan. Consequently I respect you, and your ability to pull it off."
He reached into his middle desk drawer, came out with a check and slid it across to me. I reached over, picked it up and looked at it. It was made out to me, and the old man was right. It was for twenty thousand dollars.
"The earliest you could cash that would be Monday morning," he said. "If I'm alive tomorrow and have signed the new will and the danger is past, the check will be cancelled. If something does happen, the money will be yours and you'll know what to do."
I hadn't been in the detective business that long but I'd venture to say that most guys in the game, no matter how long they'd been around, don't get offered retainers like that too often. Jesus Christ—twenty thousand bucks! Deep down I guess I'm as greedy as the next one because, as much as I liked the old guy, it never occurred to me to offer it back.
"I think the crime of a son turning against his father is even worse than murder," he said. "And this could be an instance where the two are one. I don't think that's too much to pay to see that Tommy is taught a very serious lesson, if he should decide to try anything rash. And of course if I do, uh, survive this weekend, I shall certainly see to it that you are mailed a token of my gratitude for having agreed to accept the assignment. Well, what do you say?"
I was glad he'd done some more talking after handing me the check. It gave me a chance to clear my throat and get my voice back.
"You've got yourself a boy, Mr. Court," I said, slipping the check into my pocket. Then I added truthfully, "I just hope this twenty thou is money I don't have to earn."
He stood up cheerily and extended a hand.
"Great, Dugan! Wonderful. It's a pleasure to have you aboard. By the way, I've got a little surprise lined up a bit later to—"
We were interrupted in midsentence, and midhandshake, by the opening of the study door. The narrow guy in the blue jeans stood there with a hand on the knob, looking like he had something to say.
Court broke our grasp. "Yes, Jinx, what is it?"
"It's Mrs. Bishop," the jockey began. "She—"
That was as far as he got. A flurry of red-haired Amazonian beauty whizzed past him into the room, heading straight for Carlander Court. She looked a little different from the last time I'd seen her, a few minutes ago. She wasn't very happy now, and there was a red imprint of a hand across her right cheek.
And she was crying.
"Mr. Court—" she choked out. "I'd like to...to talk with you, please..."
The plea came out between sobs and the dabbing at her eyes with a Kleenex. But they weren't heart-wrenching, agonized sobs. They were the sobs of someone a little drunko who wanted someone else to tell their troubles to.
At least, that's the impression I got, and Court must have read it the same way. She came over to him and he put a hand on each arm, not clinching or hugging her, but giving her some of the comfort he must have felt she needed. He looked across her shoulders at me as he spoke.
"There, there, it's all right, Helen," he said. "Let's hear all about it."
I turned quietly and started for the door. The look he'd given me had told me all I needed to know. I'm safe for now, the look had said. But stick around. I might need you later...
I caught just the beginning of the redhead's troubles a moment before I closed the door behind me.
"It's George," she was saying, still between sobs. ''Sometimes he's just so unreasonable..."
I stepped outside and found the jockey waiting for me in the hallway.
"Mr. Dugan," he said pleasantly, "my name is Jinx Moran. I'm Mr. Court's," he gave a small grin, "well, sort of the butler, chauffeur and handyman, I guess you could say. Just thought I'd introduce myself."
We shook hands, something I seemed to be doing a lot of that day.
"Glad to meet you, Jinx," I said. "Must be a nice job you have."
He gave a shrug. "It's all right," he nodded affably. "I've been with Mr. Court three years now, and I can't really complain."
"Uh, do you know why I'm here?"
"I know you're a private detective," he said. "Susan told me that. But that's all I know, if it matters. I imagine it's got something to do with Tommy."
His tone seemed to suggest that it was all he knew, and all he cared to know. Which was fine by me. I decided to change the subject and do a little professional snooping.
"Any idea what that was all about?" I asked with a nod toward the study.
He gave his shrug again. "Seemed like trouble between Mr. and Mrs. Bishop," he opined. Then, to clarify matters, "A lot of people who know Mr. Court like to...like to tell their troubles to him. He's a good listener; real easy to talk to, know what I mean? I guess...maybe it comes from having suffered so much himself?"
"It probably does," I agreed softly. "Nice meeting you, Jinx."
And I made my way back down the hallway and down
the curved stairs, leaving him there.
Like I've said, I'm a mystery fan and that, combined with my own profession, tends to lead my mind into some pretty strange patterns at times.
Like now.
Because as I descended those stairs and recrossed the living room I thought of Philip Marlowe, the private eye in Raymond Chandler's novel The Big Sleep, and I thought about Marlowe's meeting with General Sternwood in the hothouse in the beginning of the book, and I think I realized then just how Marlowe had felt afterwards.
The General had been the kind of hard-as-nails guy who'd fought and lived hard all his life, but now—an old, crippled, physically useless man seeing out the last of his days in a wheelchair—he'd sent for help.
Yeah, I thought, Carlander Court was my General Sternwood and I was definitely his shamus Marlowe, and I felt the same things for him that I remembered Chandler's dick feeling for his client; I felt sorry for the old guy, but my respect far overshadowed any sympathy. I respected him for what he'd done, but also for having the guts to accept my help when his whole being was probably screaming for him to go it alone, to handle the fight himself, one last time...
I stepped back out onto the patio into the sunshine. There was no sign of Tommy Court and of course I'd left Jinx and the Amazon upstairs, so that left Susan, Dr. Hanley and the man I'd almost had my second tangle of the day with.
He was back at his spot where I'd first seen him, against the east wall, keeping busy with another highball. He looked up at me, and the look was sullen, unfriendly, but that was all.
It was enough for me, though.
Susan stood at the portable bar with the doctor, refreshing her own drink. I walked over and she smiled as I approached.
As gently as I could I lifted the glass from her hand and set it down.
"Let's go for a walk," I suggested fervently. "I need a breather!"
CHAPTER FIVE
I had things I wanted to say.
We stepped over the wall, the way Tommy had earlier, and strolled down the short grassy incline into the woods. There was no sign of the junior Court, which was just as well.
"I don't like it," I began. "I think this is heavier than either of us thought. Your father seems to believe there's a real danger of Tommy pulling something, and pulling it tonight," and I relayed my conversation with the old man, finishing off with the bit about the twenty grand check.
We had come to a point where the ground rose somewhat. At the summit of a small knoll a fallen oak made a perfect natural bench for two people with something on their minds. We sat facing west, and through the break of trees you could still barely make put the house. Directly before us a fat squirrel was gathering leaves and twigs for its winter nest, but Susan wasn't paying attention. Her mind was on something else.
Her face was tight, drawn, on edge.
"It is bad," she admitted. "How did you find Dad? What were your impressions of him?"
"Just about what you had me prepared for," I said. "I liked him."
"What do you plan to do tonight?"
"Stick as close to him as I can, once he joins the party. He's with Mrs. Bishop now." And that made me think of something else. "What happened down there after I left? I was almost getting ready to waltz a number with the character against the wall. I take it he's Mr. Bishop."
She nodded. "He sure is. He's been Dad's attorney for about eight years now and I imagine he's a damn good one, or Dad wouldn't have kept him on this long. And he's not a bad guy once you get to know him. But, from what I gather, he does leave something to be desired in the husband department."
"He runs around?"
She thought a moment. Then, "No, not that I've ever heard, and the word does spread about things like that in a town this size."
"What then?"
"I don't know. I guess it's just that he's...that they're not happy. I'm afraid...well, as much as I like her, I'm afraid Helen isn't the brightest person in town. And George is an achiever. He's still relatively young, with plenty of ideas and drive and ambition. I guess it just doesn't make for a very happy combination."
"Do they have any children?"
"Two. And that's what's holding it all together. Helen tries to better herself intellectually, I know she's taken a number of night school classes, but...I just don't know. And at times like tonight, when they've both got a head on, sometimes it gets ugly."
"She looked like she'd been pushed around when she came in to see your dad."
"She had. That was George. He thought he saw Helen flirting with you."
I sighed. "He did," I had to admit, and I reached over and gave the clasped hands in her lap a little pat and a squeeze. "That's quite a bunch. Your father sure knows how to throw a party."
"Don't be too hard on him," she asked. "When you get to that age, and your life's work is done, it's sometimes hard to get people to come around calling anymore. These people—his attorney, his doctor, his children—are the people he knows best. And besides, you and I know the real reason for the party. He just wants people...witnesses."
"Susan, I want to say something. Nothing is going to happen to your father. I guess he told you all about the arrangements to have Bishop ready with the will early tomorrow morning.
"He told me."
"Okay. Tomorrow morning is going to be here faster than you or I could imagine. Your dad'll sign the new will and everything will be fine. Then this whole mess will be behind us."
"Rock—"
"And I'll tell you why tomorrow will be here so fast. It'll come fast because they tell me time flies when you're having fun. I'm here on a Friday night at a party with a beautiful girl, and if that isn't fun I don't know what is." I still had a hand over hers. I gave it another squeeze. "All right?"
The squeeze was returned; a warm, intimate, pulsating return of affection that held the promise of more to come. More, when there was time.
When tonight was over...
"All right, Rock," she smiled back. "I'm...I'm glad you're here."
I started to say that that made two of us, but we were cut off then by a voice calling her name from the patio outside the house. It was her dad's voice and it sounded booming and healthy as it echoed around us.
"Susan!"
She stood up. "Over here, Dad," she called back.
I stood up with her and we returned through the trees to the clearing and up the incline to the patio. Along the way we held hands, like a pair of school kids. When we got there the first thing I noticed was that Tommy had returned. He was standing over by Dr. Hanley again but the doctor seemed to be ignoring him this time. George and Helen Bishop were back together again too and they both held drinks. She looked uptight and quiet. He just stood there, as if gazing right through me, when we approached. I didn't know if Mr. Court had had a word with him or not, or if it was just because the old man was out there with them now. But, like the others, he was on his best behavior.
Apparently the elder Court had been waiting for the two of us. He clasped and rubbed his hands together in obvious anticipation of something as we approached. There were a few new additions to the sportsmanlike outfit he'd worn earlier in the study. He had on a baseball-type cap and leather gloves.
"All right, everybody," he said enthusiastically. "The time has come to unwrap that little surprise I've been telling you about. Onto the field, everyone!"
From across the way Tommy made a face. "Aw, Dad. It's still hot out there in the sun, for crying out loud! Why can't we just wait until after supper?"
Carlander Court avoided a direct reply. He moved toward the low wall, epitomizing energy itself, and lifted a leg and was over on the other side without breaking stride.
"A little exercise will do us all some good," he said. "It helps to hone the appetite. Come on, it's not far. Just beyond the treeline."
There weren't any other complaints that I could hear, and it was obvious that the old guy wasn't going to sit around waiting for anyone who didn't want to come. So he went. Alex Hanley
caught up with him and they led the pack together, carrying on a conversation in what seemed to be a light, bantering, familiar manner.
The trek led back down the way Susan and I had come, into the woods. The rest of us fell in behind in a formless, straggling lot. At first, at least. But by the time we had covered a few yards into the foliage something of a pattern began to form. Tommy was at the far rear, hating every step. A little before him Susan and Helen seemed to be striking up an idle conversation. And a ways before that I was finally accosted by George Bishop, who adopted my pace and continued on with me.
"I'm sorry about what happened back there," he said after we'd gone a yard or two together.
I just kept my eyes in front of me, on the backs of the two older men up ahead. "That was between you and your wife. It's none of my business."
"I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about what happened—what almost happened—just before Jinx came down to get you."
"That was between you and your wife, too."
He paused for a moment. There was a strung out moment of quiet, then he cleared his throat and tried again.
"What I'm trying to say, Dugan, is that there are enough bad feelings around here today the way it is, what with Tommy and...well, between Helen and me. So I was a little under the weather before and I almost did something stupid. But I'd like us to forget that, if we could. I'm saying I'm sorry. Okay?"
Some Die Hard Page 4
