Body For Sale

by Deming, Richard

  “She doesn’t want a man she can walk on either,” I told her. “Not really, even though she’ll take over the rule of the roost every time if he lets her get away with it. There isn’t a woman living who won’t put her man under her thumb if she has a chance. And be miserable all the time he’s there.”

  “There doesn’t seem to be much danger of my making myself miserable with you that way,” she sniffed.

  “You can bet your girdle there isn’t,” I assured her. “If you want a man you can boss, you picked the wrong guy. I don’t account for my movements to anyone, let alone an undersized blond I could stuff in my hip pocket.”

  “I was just making phone conversation last night,” she protested. “I don’t care where you were.”

  “You were checking,” I said bluntly. “Don’t try it again.”

  She put a pout on her face. “You’re not my boss.”

  “Oh, yes, I am.”

  “I don’t see any ring on my finger.”

  I glanced sidewise at her. “That’s another male prerogative you modern women do your best to usurp. If I ever decide I want to talk about marriage, I’ll bring up the subject myself.”

  She didn’t say anything for a minute. She just sat and pouted. Then, suddenly, she smiled. “You know what, Tom?”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know why we’re arguing. I just realized I like you to dominate me.”

  “Good,” I said. “Then we’re both happy.”

  I took her to Tony Vincinti’s for lunch. As usual, Tony greeted me as his compare and made a big fuss about seating us in a booth. When I introduced him to Esther, he turned on all his Latin charm. I thought for an instant he was going to kiss her hand, but he only pressed it and bowed and said he was honored to have such a lovely guest visit his place.

  Esther ordered a small antipasto and I ordered a big one.

  As Tony moved away, Esther said, “He’s certainly an effusive man.”

  “It’s no act,” I said. “Tony loves everybody. His only drawback is that he gives advice whether you want it or not. Now that he’s met you, he’ll probably heckle me about marrying and settling down every time I come in.”

  “Umm,” she said. “I’m beginning to love him, too.”

  I waited until we were having cigarettes over our coffee before I brought up the real reason I had invited her to lunch.

  “I did some thinking about George Mathews last night,” I said.

  “Oh?” she inquired. “Come up with any ideas?”

  “One. It’s not fully developed yet. I’ll need your help to work it.”

  “You know I’ll do anything I can.”

  “Good. The first thing I want you to do is to keep a record of every time he has Gertie Drake in his office. The dates, times she enters, how long she stays in there.”

  She looked mystified. “Whatever for?”

  “Never mind why. Next, I want you to phone my office every time he leaves the plant. The instant he leaves.”

  She frowned. “That sounds as though you planned to follow him.”

  “I do. For a few days.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “I’m not ready to explain my plan yet. I told you it isn’t fully developed. You’ll have to go along blind for a while.”

  She said dubiously, “I hate to be put in the position of spying on my own boss.”

  “He’s only your employer,” I said. “I’m your boss. Remember?”

  She smiled. “Yes, sir, Mr. Boss. If you say so. Can’t I ask any questions at all?”

  “Not a one.”

  “All right,” she said agreeably. “It’s kind of fun to be ordered around for a change. I wish you’d order me up to your apartment some night soon.”

  “I will when I get some time,” I said. “But don’t count on it before the weekend. I’ll probably be tied up every night.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “You plan to follow him at night also?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What do you hope to accomplish by that?”

  “You’re asking questions again,” I said.

  “Sorry,” she said sarcastically. She glanced at the clock over the bar. “We’d better start back for the plant.”

  She waited by the door when I went to the bar to pay the bill.

  Fat Tony said in a whisper that carried throughout the room, “You got a nice girl there, amico. You maybe considering settling down?”

  I glanced toward Esther. I could tell by the smug smile on her face that she had heard. I said shortly, “I’ll let you know when I do start considering it, Tony.”

  “Take my advice and grab her,” he counseled. “Remember the last time I gave you advice? ‘Go on in the plant and explain things instead of drinking,’ I said. So instead of getting fired, you landed a bigger job.”

  “You were a big help,” I told him. “I reeled out of here with gin and vermouth slopping out of my ears.”

  He looked pained. “So who tried to argue you out of Gibsons? You’re a grown man. Can I cut you off when you insist on drinking against my advice?”

  I grinned at him. “The antipasto was lovely,” I said. “See you around.”

  We got back to the office at one p.m. on the dot.

  8

  INSTEAD OF DRIVING INTO THE PLANT PARKING LOT, WHERE I had a reserved space, I parked on the street near the main gate. Esther gave me an inquiring look.

  “A matter of timing,” I explained. “By the time you phone me that Mathews is leaving the plant, he’ll already be in the elevator. But it’ll take him a while to get his car from the lot and drive to the main gate. I can scoot out the front door and be ready in mine when he drives by.”

  Norma Henstedder was waiting in my office when I got back from lunch. She said, “I talked to Miss Thomilson, Mr. Cavanaugh. She said you could keep me as long as necessary.”

  “Fine,” I said. “Let’s see how much work we can knock out before I have to leave.”

  By steadily plugging, I had all my back correspondence dictated and had made a good start on analyzing the previous week’s sales reports when the phone rang at five minutes of three. I picked it up before Norma could reach for it.

  “Cavanaugh,” I said.

  Esther’s low-toned voice said, “He’s just leaving, Tom.”

  “Check,” I said, and hung up.

  “I have to leave,” I told Norma. “I’ll either be back or phone in as soon as I can.”

  It may seem that I was wasting time by tracking Mathews in the daytime, when it was unlikely that he’d be meeting Gertie Drake because file clerks do have a little more difficulty getting away from the office during business hours than company presidents do. But I had a valid reason for wanting to keep him under surveillance as close to twenty-four hours a day as possible. If he were considering anything as foolish as a divorce, he might visit some lawyer’s office, which would tip off his intention. Even a stop at a jewelry store to buy some bauble that later turned out not to be for his wife would give some indication of the strength of his affection for Gertie. Conversely, if he met some other woman whom he seemed to be having an affair with, too, it would indicate that he wasn’t totally overboard about Gertie.

  I made it to my car just as Mathews drove his red Lincoln convertible from the main gate. He turned right and I let him get a half-block start before I pulled out from the curb.

  My six months’ agency experience as a private detective came in handy because I knew how to tail a man without being spotted. I stayed a half to three-quarters of a block behind in light traffic and closed the gap when it was heavy, always keeping at least two cars between the Lincoln and my car.

  He headed west across town. When he turned down Sheridan Drive I thought he was going home, but he sailed right past his own house. He kept going toward the edge of town and finally turned in between the stone pillars marking the entrance to the Hillbrook Country Club.

  I waited until his car disappeared around a curve of the
driveway before turning in after him. I reached the club’s parking lot just in time to see him enter the clubhouse front door. Parking on the opposite side of the lot from the red Lincoln, I cut the engine and waited. The first tee of the golf course was alongside the clubhouse in full view of where I sat.

  After about fifteen minutes Mathews appeared from the side door of the clubhouse with three male companions. He had doffed his business suit and was now clad in loose slacks, a sport shirt and a peaked cap. All four wheeled golf carts toward the first tee.

  Glancing at my watch, I estimated it would take the foursome until six o’clock to play the eighteen-hole course. Since there was no point in idling away my time just sitting there while Mathews played golf, I drove back to the office and got in another full hour’s work before five.

  It was a good thing I did, because at four thirty Henry Hurlington, the general sales manager, stuck his head in my office to ask how I was doing. While Norma could probably have covered my absence all right, I preferred as few people as possible to know I was spending any time outside the plant during working hours.

  I left on the stroke of five. Esther got on the elevator as I did, and we walked to the parking lot together. Beyond a greeting, she didn’t say anything to me until we were outside and no one else was within hearing.

  Then she asked, “What happened? Did you lose him?”

  “He’s playing golf at Hillbrook,” I said. “I’m going to grab a fast bite somewhere and pick him up again when he leaves the nineteenth hole.”

  “Oh. Then you’ll probably be tied up all evening?” Her voice sounded a little wistful.

  We reached my car and both stopped.

  “Depends on where he goes,” I said. “I won’t sit out in front of his house all night if it looks as though he’s going to spend the evening watching television. Why?”

  “Mother phoned me this afternoon. Tonight is a kind of rare opportunity.”

  “How’s that?”

  “My Aunt Grace in Morganville is sick. Mother caught a four p.m. bus. She won’t be back until late tomorrow.”

  “Oh,” I said. I thought for a minute, then pulled my key chain from my pocket. Detaching one of the keys, I handed it to her. “This is to my back door. You have to go around by the alley and up the rear stairs. The rear doors are numbered just like the front. Two-C, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  “I haven’t forgotten.” She dropped the key into her bag. “Suppose you’re real late?”

  “Just go to bed. I still have the front-door key. You won’t have to wait up.”

  She smiled. “I kind of hope you are late.”

  I hiked my eyebrows. “Why?”

  “So I can demonstrate what an understanding woman I am. Instead of giving you hell for staying out all night, I’ll be sweet and sympathetic that you had to miss your sleep.”

  “Because you know I’ll make it home as fast as I can,” I said dryly. “If we were married, you’d give me hell. Because I’d probably deserve it.”

  “You would? Why?”

  “I’d probably be out catting,” I said with a wicked grin. “Men cheat on their wives. It’s only when they’ve got something relatively new waiting in their beds that they rush home as fast as they can.”

  “Lecher,” she said. “Maybe you won’t find anything waiting in your bed.”

  She put her nose in the air and marched off toward her own car.

  I grabbed a meal at the first diner I saw and got back to the country club at five minutes of six. I drove onto the lot just long enough to make sure the red Lincoln was still there, then swung around and parked down the highway within sight of the stone pillars.

  At six thirty Mathews drove the Lincoln between the pillars. He led me straight to his home, where he turned into the driveway and left the car alongside the house instead of putting it into the garage. I parked a half-block back and waited.

  The tough part of a tailing job is the waiting. It was eight thirty before the Lincoln backed out of the driveway again. By then it was too dark to see who was in it from a half-block away, but I assumed it was Mathews, since he and his wife each drove their own cars.

  The car only went a dozen blocks, then parked on the street before a large home as elaborate as the Mathewses’. It was all lighted up, and its driveway was choked with cars.

  The Lincoln had taken the only remaining parking place on that side of the street. Cutting my lights, I pulled into a dark driveway a few houses back and watched. George Mathews, wearing black trousers and a white evening jacket, rounded the car and opened the other door. Helen Mathews, dressed in an evening gown, got out and they entered the house together.

  It looked as though he were set for the evening at a party with his wife. That day’s tailing had been a waste of time. I backed from the driveway and went home.

  It was nine o’clock when I let myself into my apartment. I was disappointed to find it dark. That crack about new stuff had actually offended her, I thought.

  Switching on a front-room lamp, I moved to the liquor cabinet with the intention of mixing myself a drink. The sight of a pair of women’s shoes lying on the floor in front of the sofa brought me up short.

  Going into the bedroom, I flicked on the overhead light. The bed hadn’t been turned down, but lying on top of the covers was Esther. She was sleeping stark naked.

  The light in her eyes popped her awake. Giving me a sleepy grin, she stretched like a kitten, tightening the skin over her bosom so that her plump breasts thrust provocatively upward.

  “It’s too warm for covers,” she said. “I didn’t have anything to do, so I went to bed. What time is it?”

  “Only nine,” I said. “Be with you as soon as I have a shower.”

  It was the fastest shower I ever took. I was back in the bedroom in less than five minutes.

  “You didn’t dry very thoroughly,” she giggled when I took her in my arms. “Your tummy is all wet. Aren’t you going to turn out the light?”

  “You’re still asking questions,” I growled. “Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to.”

  9

  THE NEXT DAY MATHEWS LEFT THE OFFICE AT TWO thirty. This time he led me to the Raine City Yacht Club, where I watched him and a male friend load fishing gear into a small cabin cruiser and sail off. It was a beautiful day, clear and sunny. The lake was neither calm nor rough but just choppy enough to indicate that fishing would be good. The weather vane on top of the clubhouse showed that the wind was directly from the west and made me think of the old fishermen’s doggerel: “When the wind’s from the west, fishing is best; when the wind’s from the east, fishing is least.”

  With all signs pointing to good fishing, it hardly seemed likely that Mathews and his pal would come in before six. So I went back to the office.

  But I should have realized that fishermen’s standard rules of thumb aren’t infallible, for when I got back to the dock, the harbor was crammed with boats that had come in. And they don’t do that on such a pleasant day when the fish are biting at all. I spotted Mathews’ cabin job anchored among the rest. The red Lincoln convertible was still there, though, so I drove back off the dock and found a parking place on Front Street where I could watch the dock entrance.

  Mathews must have dined at the yacht club because it was eight thirty before the Lincoln appeared, and he headed south toward the factory district. About six blocks from Schyler Tool Company he parked in front of a rooming house and went inside. I parked a quarter-block behind him.

  Directly in front of the house, was a street light which brightly illuminated the scene. Mathews must have maintained a locker with spare clothes in it at the yacht club because he was wearing a different suit than the one in which he had left the office. He was all dolled up as though he expected a romantic evening.

  I recognized the rooming house because I had called there myself a number of times in the past. It was the place where Gertie Drake lived.

  In a few minutes they came out together. Gert
ie wore a gay summer print which left her shoulders bare, and she had her dark hair tied back in a pony tail. A couple of teen-agers driving by let out long wolf whistles. Gertie laughed and Mathews scowled after the car.

  He held the door of the convertible open for her and helped her in as though she were too fragile to manage it by herself.

  The Lincoln headed south out of town on Route 60. Ten miles beyond the city limits it slowed and turned into the parking area surrounding a roadhouse named the Flying Swan. I drove on by, turned around in the first filling station I came to and returned to the Flying Swan. I left my car on the opposite side of the building from where the Lincoln was parked.

  I had been to the Flying Swan before and knew there wasn’t much danger of my being spotted inside by the couple. It was one of those places where the waitresses carry pencil flashlights in case anyone wants to see a menu. This didn’t happen often since people didn’t often go there to dine. They went to satisfy a different appetite. The Flying Swan maintained a number of upstairs rooms for the convenience of patrons who became exhausted from drinking and dancing and wanted to lie down for a time.

  It also offered another convenience. If you didn’t bring your own date, there was a plentiful supply of B-girls who were willing to keep you company and even go upstairs with you for a fee. It was the last place in the world where I would have taken a woman I had any regard for. But I suppose when you’re married and socially prominent, you’re rather restricted in your choice of places to carry on your adulteries.

  Since it was only about a quarter after nine, the place wasn’t very full. I stood just inside the door and looked over the people lined up at the bar. They were hard to see because the only light in the barroom was beneath the bar. You could see the bartender clearly, but the people this side of the bar were all in shadow. Even so, I could make out that all except two of the eight people there were women. When I failed to spot the silhouette of a pony tail, I decided they were probably all B-girls and that Mathews and Gertie must be in what the Flying Swan referred to as its ballroom.

  In the ballroom, booths lined three walls, and centered in the fourth was a low platform on which a five-piece orchestra played muted dance music. Tables ringed a small dance area, but only two of them were occupied this early. About half the booths already seemed to be filled, though.