Bodies in Bedlam (The Shell Scott Mysteries)

by Richard S. Prather

  I said, "Uh-huh. Off. Right where you are."

  She smiled a little. "What is this, Shell? Rape?"

  "Business."

  She laughed deep in her throat. "Some business. I thought you were a private eye." Then she frowned a little. "Golly, when I'm working on the sets with a hundred people standing around, a little nudity doesn't seem so shocking. But with just you. . . " She let her voice trail off. Finally she shrugged and let the robe slip from her shoulders.

  I almost nibbled through my cheek. She slipped her white arms from the robe's sleeves, then pulled the robe clear off her body.

  "Like this, Shell?" she asked softly.

  She was back in the same position, propped on her right elbow, naked. I could see little white streaks where she'd powdered her skin. I even imagined I could smell the scent of the powder. But I couldn't answer her except in squeaks.

  I nodded. "O.K.," I squeaked. "'Nuff."

  She reached for the robe. She didn't put it on, but held it in front of her.

  I said, "That's how you posed for Brane, isn't it? Almost the same position?"

  Her brows furrowed a little. "Why, yes. What in the world—"

  "Be right back," I said. I scooted toward the door.

  "You what?" she yelped. "You're leaving?"

  "Only for a minute, Hallie. Hold tight. I'll be back in a minute."

  You're darn right I was going to be back in a minute. I hurried downstairs, out to the car, and grabbed the newspaper I'd bought in Hollywood. Things were starting to make a little more sense and a couple of things that had been puzzling me weren't quite so baffling any more. There was a lot still baffling me, but every little bit helps.

  Back up in the room I folded the paper so the head in the picture didn't show, and held it in front of Hallie's eyes.

  "That's it, isn't it?" I asked her. "Isn't that the painting you posed for?"

  She looked at it and her mouth dropped open all the way. She completely forgot about holding the robe in front of her and jumped to her feet and grabbed the newspaper out of my hands. The robe dropped to the floor.

  This was sure a pleasant case.

  Finally she gasped, "Why, that's me! That's me! Oh, my goodness, what—" Then her eyes fell on the face of Wandra Price on her own voluptuous body. She snorted, "What is this?"

  "More of Brane's work," I said. "That's why he wanted you to pose for a nude. Probably Wandra commissioned him to do a portrait and he had a sudden bright idea—being the kind of louse he was. He'd put Wandra's head on somebody else's naked body and have Wandra where it could hurt. That's where you came in. He already had you in hot water enough so you'd have to co-operate, and he wanted somebody who wasn't a professional model, and who'd keep her mouth shut. That's the way it looks, and you'd almost have to keep still about it—" I broke off.

  My voice was getting weaker and weaker and I was running out of saliva. "For God's sake," I said. "Get some clothes on."

  She blushed suddenly, turned her back to me, and slipped into the robe. Then she sank down on the edge of the bed and shook her head in amazement. "Well, I'll be darned," she said.

  "Me too. Looks like Brane didn't have any hold on Wandra, but he had an idea how to get it. She was in a bad spot, on her way up and the dough starting to pile in. But it would be a good spot for Brane if he could worm his way in. She wouldn't pose for him nude, but he makes a switch and there she is." I indicated the newspaper. "That's a shot of the painting at Brane's studio. At least I guess it's still out there. And I'll bet Wandra was either paying plenty to get the painting, or about to start paying big chunks."

  I stopped and let that sink into my own brain. Hallie glanced up at me.

  "Maybe. . . " she started.

  "Yeah," I said. "Maybe anything. There are too many angles to this thing. But she was at the party. Honey, looks like there were a lot of people besides you at the party that got plenty upset when Brane was cooled."

  She shuddered. "But I found him, Shell. I—I almost stepped on him." Her beautiful face twisted with distaste. "It just scared me silly."

  "Sure, honey. Relax. It's going to work out all right." They were just words; I didn't know what I was talking about.

  But she looked up at me and blinked the big dreamy eyes slowly. "Thanks, Shell," she said simply.

  I said, "Something else, Hallie."

  "What now?"

  "You said you didn't know for sure why Mace came out to your house the morning after he spotted you at the party, or why he followed you downtown."

  "That's right. I'm still not sure."

  "Look at it this way," I said. "Brane finished the fake nude of Wandra—Mace's sweetie, remember—and he had probably already put a bite on her. Could be he threatened to stick the painting in his studio window or something like that. Naturally Wandra would know it wasn't her body in the painting, but it wouldn't help her much if the painting became public property. Mace, if he'd seen the painting, knew too, undoubtedly.

  "Now. On the night of the murder, Mace was outside waiting for Wandra. He saw you hurry out and away and you didn't stop when he called you. Then he learns Brane is dead. He's a smart boy—and he'd previously walked in on you while you were posing for a nude Brane was doing. Could be that Mace put two and two together and figured correctly that you were the body in the painting. But he also might have gone further and figured you and Brane were in the blackmail business together. That follows naturally enough. Anyway, it makes sense that the next day he'd check to find out where you lived, then go out and call on you."

  I hesitated a minute, then went on, "You might as well know that Mace thinks you not only were in on the blackmail schemes with Brane, but that you also killed the guy."

  She frowned for a moment. "That's just silly," she said violently. Then she sighed, "But it makes sense that way. I guess I couldn't blame Mace for thinking like that. Or—or you either, Shell."

  "Don't worry. I don't think like Mace does."

  There was quiet for a moment or two, both of us thinking. Hallie had dropped the paper on the floor when she put on her robe. I picked it up, went back to my chair, and ran through the article for the first time. Wandra's name wasn't mentioned at all, but the reporter played up the finding of the painting as a new development in the Brane case. Even without names, there was going to be hell to pay. And, somehow, it didn't seem like I was headed for heaven.

  The way it added up so far, I'd already seen two of the pictures Brane had used in his blackmail play. One was the glossy eight-by-ten of Connie; the other was the composite painting wearing the head of Wandra Price. Versatile, this Brane. I hadn't taken the time or got nosy enough to peek at the shot of Barbara Faun, but Hallie had mentioned having a copy of the photo Brane had threatened her with. That I wanted to see, and it's not what you think.

  "Hallie," I said, "hop into some clothes."

  "Do I bother you, Shell?"

  "And how you bother me. But we're going to take a ride and you can't go like that."

  "Lover's Lane?"

  "Uh-uh. Your place."

  "You're a screwy one, Shell. First you tell me to take off my clothes, then you tell me to get dressed. Don't you know what you want?"

  I grinned at her. "I know what I want. Right now I want to see that photograph Brane had of you. It's at your place, isn't it?"

  "Yes, it is. That why we're going to my place?"

  "Uh-huh." I thought about it for a minute. I'd brought Hallie to this hotel so she wouldn't have to stay at her house or even go near it. I didn't want Mace's goons to get their hands on her, and I didn't much like the idea of taking her back there while there was even a chance her house was being watched.

  I said, "Look, Hallie. I want a peek at that photo, but maybe you'd better wait here. Could be trouble for you if you went back."

  "I'm going with you," she said definitely. "You'd never find the picture by yourself. I've got it locked up and the key hidden. And besides, I'm darned tired of sitting around in this tw
o-by-four room."

  I shook my head. "It might be dangerous, Hallie. I—I don't want to get you in more trouble."

  Her face softened, but she said, "No good. I won't tell you where the picture is. You can't get it without me. I'm going along."

  She didn't sound like she was kidding. And actually Mace's thugs, if they had been planted at Hallie's, were most likely not there now. If anything, they were probably chasing around looking for me.

  I said, "I don't like it."

  She smiled. "You'll just have to like it. What time is it?"

  I looked at my watch. "Six o'clock. Why?"

  Her perfect lips twisted as she grinned mischievously. "If you're afraid someone might see us, maybe we'd better wait a while. Till it gets dark."

  "Till"—I cleared my throat—"it gets dark?"

  "Uh-huh. Less chance of someone seeing us. It'll be dark in a couple of hours." She paused and looked at me through half-lowered lids. Then she patted the bed at her side. "Shell, come over here."

  "I, uh, I'd better not."

  "Oh, silly. I won't bite you. Don't you trust me?"

  "Sure. Trust you fine."

  "I'm not going to"—her voice got a little sharper—"cut your throat."

  I swallowed. "O.K., but—" I left it unfinished and walked over and sat beside her. I said, "Maybe the best approach would be the bold one."

  "Wheee!" she squealed.

  I cut her off. "I mean, just barge up to your house in the daylight. Element of surprise. Yes?"

  "No. Shell, you've been awful sweet, helped me a lot. And you're still helping me. But you act. . . Shell, tell me honestly. You don't really think I had anything to do with—with what happened to Brane, do you?"

  I didn't answer with my head. I said and meant it, "No. I don't think you had anything to do with it at all."

  "Thanks." Her voice was just a soft, scented rustle. She reached up as if she were going to pat my cheek, then remembered and grabbed the front of her blue robe.

  It was too late. The damage had been done.

  She spoke again, her voice thick, a little tight, "Kiss me, Shell. Kiss me again. Kiss me like none of this business had ever happened."

  I bent toward her, not touching her with my hands, just leaned forward and pressed my lips against hers. It wasn't anything like the way Constanza had kissed me. Hallie's lips were soft and cool and gentle, and she moved her head easily from side to side.

  We were like that for long moments, then I felt her arms going around me and I pulled her close.

  Son of a gun. I kissed her hello.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I SAID, "Hallie, you look wonderful in black."

  "You should see me in black lace."

  I leered at her reflection. "I should live so long."

  She had on the dark skirt and black sweater that she'd worn when she first ran up to me on the morning after the murder. Same clothes, but she looked like a different girl. She was refreshed from the long sleep she'd had here in the hotel and her skin was pink and fresh and glowing. She'd just finished brushing her almost-blonde hair, and now she sat in front of the wooden dresser and peered into the warped mirror, putting the final touches of lipstick on her curving lips.

  She turned around and smiled at me. "There. Good as new."

  I just looked.

  "Well, say something," she demanded.

  "You're beautiful, Hallie. You're amazing."

  "That's better," she said brightly. "A woman likes compliments. Tell me some more."

  "Get lost. I'm finished."

  She pretended to pout, then turned back to the mirror and brushed at her eyebrows. "Ready to go? It's been dark for a while."

  I glanced out the window at the black sky. "I guess. Sure you won't let me go alone?"

  "Not a chance, Shell. Especially not now."

  I walked over behind her, nuzzled her hair aside, and kissed her on the back of the neck. She moaned a little, wiggling her head. "Shell, damn you. Stop it."

  I stopped it.

  "Beast!" she said.

  I grinned down at her. "Come on. We've wasted enough time already."

  Her violet eyes snapped. "Wasted! Well! I like that. Of all the—"

  "Whoa!" I yelled. "Kidding, kidding."

  She smiled over her shoulder and got up. "You'd better be kidding." Then she pursed her lips. "Or maybe you'd better not be."

  I let that ride and we went downstairs and out to the Cad. I held the door for her, then went around and climbed in under the wheel.

  The expression on Hallie's face stopped me for a minute. Her brows were pulled down and her mouth was partly open.

  "Shell," she gasped, "what's that?"

  She was pointing at the hole in the windshield of the car, her finger shaking a little.

  "Don't worry about it, honey."

  "But what is it? Is it a bullet hole?"

  "It's a bullet hole. Like I told you before, these aren't nice boys. They play for keeps."

  I started the car and pulled away from the curb. Hallie snuggled over close to me as we drove up toward Wilshire Boulevard, and gave me directions to her house on Berendo Street.

  Suddenly she said, "Shell, isn't it funny? I know hardly anything about you."

  "As much as I know about you."

  "I guess so. But tell me about yourself. I want to know all about you."

  "Not much to tell. Grew up around here. Went to sea for a while, worked on the docks, odd jobs. Then for four years my business was murder, then I opened my office here. That about does it."

  "What four years?"

  "The war years, honey. I was a Marine during the war."

  "But that's not murder."

  "It isn't?"

  She didn't answer for a while, then she said, "What about now? Where do you live? What do you do besides sleuthing?" She squeezed my arm and grinned up at me.

  I turned left at Wilshire and headed down toward Berendo. Driving with one hand, I said, "You know where the Wilshire Country Club is in Hollywood?"

  "Uh-huh. You live there?"

  "Hardly. Across the street in the Spartan Apartment Hotel. On North Rossmore. Come up sometime and I'll show you my fish."

  "Fish?"

  "Uh-huh. Little ones—tropical fish. All kinds. I've got a couple of aquariums full of the things."

  "No etchings?"

  "With the fish I don't need etchings."

  She laughed softly. "Let's go. Right now. I want to see your fish."

  "Shameless wench."

  "Sure. Let's go."

  "Not now," I told her. "Business first. But," I added, "you have a standing invitation."

  "A standing invitation?" She laughed brightly. "I'll be up."

  "You'll go up with me," I said. "So I can keep an eye on you. I've got a neighbor two doors down the hall from me. Guy named Dr. Paul Anson with a roving eye and a constant bedside manner. He might waylay you and show you his collection of medical photos. I don't trust him with you."

  "Will you protect me, Shell? From the leering doctor?"

  I squeezed her soft shoulder. "I'll protect you."

  She snuggled closer as we drove out toward her place.

  It was pleasant. I could have kept driving right on by her house and headed for the open road. Down the coast. To Mexico. East to Las Vegas. Anywhere. Just to enjoy life, take it easy, get away from murder and violence and blood. It would have been wonderful to drive along like this with Hallie holding onto my arm and pillowing her head on my shoulder, the cool night air brushing our faces.

  But instead, I drove slowly past her house and around the block without seeing any other cars parked nearby. I parked in front of her place and left the motor running. We sat there for two or three minutes, then I said, "Give me your key, Hallie. Got one to the front door?"

  "Yes. Why?"

  "I'm not going in right now. Just going to play a little. Might see if anyone's hanging around."

  She gave me the key and I walked to the door,
unlocked it, and felt for the light switch inside on the wall. I found it, flipped it on, and went back to the car.

  "What was that for?" Hallie asked.

  "I don't really think anyone's watching the place, but if they are they might think someone's home now. We'll sit it out for a little longer."

  We waited. I kept the motor purring softly and the car in gear with the clutch shoved in just in case, but nothing happened and we sat quietly in the darkness. The moon was almost hidden by thin clouds that were forming. Finally I said, "O.K., honey. Let's flash in."

  I shut off the motor but left the key in the ignition, and we went inside the house. "Guess we'll have to use the lights," I said. "But let's not stick around any longer than we have to."

  She nodded wordlessly and headed across the room. "I'll get the picture," she said.

  I called after her, "Didn't you say you had no idea how Brane got the shot?"

  She turned at the door. "Uh-huh. I suppose he snapped it somewhere. I don't remember anything like that, though."

  I'd been thinking and asked another question: "We know Brane was a busy boy with a camera, but is there any chance he could have got onto the sets at Magna with his little candid job? You know, for off-guard shots while you were shooting or just sitting around?"

  She shook her head. "Not much chance. That's one thing that's watched pretty darned close."

  "I can understand that."

  She went out. I hadn't asked Hallie much about the picture of her before this. It seemed a little nosy to ask how another man had got a picture of her naked. Particularly a guy like Brane. But I felt a little easier about asking her now.

  I didn't feel easy, though, about being here when there was a chance we'd have company. And I didn't like not having a gun at my left armpit. I was still not liking things when Hallie came back into the room.

  "Here it is," she said.

  I grinned. "It's all right for me to look at the thing?"

  "It has to be. Besides," she grinned herself, "I haven't got any secrets from you, have I?"

  I didn't answer that one. I took the photo she handed me and looked at it. It was glossy, but the shine wasn't even all over the face of it, as if the tin hadn't been properly waxed when Brane ferrotyped it to bring out the gloss. It was obvious that, with the kind of pictures Brane had been playing with, he'd been doing the work himself.