The Bamboo Blonde

by Dorothy B. Hughes

  Kathie's eyes widened. "Did she have a gun? I didn't know that. I went back to the apartment with her after lunch. She didn't say anything about being afraid." Her nose wrinkled. "I didn't like her really. I didn't stay long. She was awfully common, wasn't she?"

  Griselda repeated as before, "I didn't know her."

  "Well, she was. Bleached hair and lying around with not a stitch under her negligee and swearing into the phone."

  "Swearing?" Griselda feigned polite interest, hiding her avidity. "To whom was she talking?"

  "Some man. He called her up. At least I suppose it was a man. I don't think she would have talked that way to a woman. Cursing and swearing like a streetwalker."

  Griselda had greater interest. "Why was she so annoyed?"

  "Well, it sounded as if some man were trying to break an engagement. She was saying if he didn't take her out to dinner that night he'd never have another date in his life."

  Griselda's eyes widened. This was important although Kathie didn't know. "How did it come out?"

  "Well, I really don't know. She finally said with a lot of swear words that she'd wait for him at the Bamboo Bar and if he didn't come she'd go gunning for him."

  "She said that?" Griselda stared. It was so plain now; find the man who had called Shelley, the man who didn't keep his appointment at the Bamboo Bar. There was the murderer delivered unto you.

  "Yes, she did. I heard her say it. But I didn't know she really had a gun."

  "You didn't tell the police?"

  She shook her head. "I told them about lunch. They didn't ask about anything else. You don't think that phone call was important, do you?"

  Griselda stated clearly, "I think Shelley Huffaker was talking then to her murderer. I think if we could find out who made that call—"

  It was essential. It couldn't be traced, not this late, but it would be possible to find out where each man had been during the afternoon. All that was needed was investigators and Captain Thusby could afford as many as he liked with Oppy supplying the unlimited resources. She'd telephone to him after she'd rid herself of her guest.

  But Kathie lingered. She was talkative now. "Do you think she might have been talking to Mannie? She was always chasing after him. He couldn't stand her. He didn't like blondes." On and on nervously. She seemed frightened to leave, .as if there were safety here of all places. Wearily. Griselda manipulated her eventual departure.

  Why was Kathie suddenly afraid? She hadn't seemed to be before. It must be because of Vironova. Did she believe that the murderer would think she knew something about Shelley's death, because she'd had a drink with the little Russian the night before?

  Griselda's laughter was hysterical, there alone in the creaking cottage. Kathie need not fear. It wasn't Kathie who was endangered. It was she. She was next in line. She had been doing what Sergei had done, seeking the killer. She put her hands together about her throat to stop that dreadful sound. She didn't even know from whom to run. She was without defense, but it was better to go on. There was always the outside chance she could discover the killer in time to tell the police, before he killed her too.

  She locked, the door. Shelley Huffaker. Sergei Vironova. They were linked as tightly in death as in life. In one of their histories was motive. She couldn't sit idly; she had to further the action. And Si Burke knew everything about everyone. She put in another call to Malibu. He'd still be there. He had a gift for prolonging story conferences when a guest house and cabana and Oppy's slice of the Pacific were thrown in.

  Kew came before the call was completed. Worry ate in his face but she hushed him, spoke into the phone, "Ask Mr. Burke to call back when he comes in."

  Kew didn't wait for the receiver to be cradled. He began. "I must see Con. It's of the greatest importance."

  She looked at him. She didn't trust him now. He had burned the letter that would have protected Con.

  "It's important." Kew was pacing again. She wondered how many furlongs he'd walked since the case was begun. "Griselda, why would he be such a fool as to run out this way?"

  She said furiously, "Doubtless he saw he was being framed. He got out before it was too late to prove someone else did it. That's what I'd do. You'd do it. You wouldn't sit there waiting for them to sentence you for something you didn't do."

  "But it won't work. My God, Griselda, he can't make it work. Everyone will be tracking him. the police, the murderer, and all the honest citizenry of Southern California. He can't stay escaped, This makes him sign his guilt to everyone but the few of us who know him. If I could only talk lo him."

  Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why is it important you talk to him? Does the major want you to?" Without caution, she demanded, "What did you report to Pembrooke last night?"

  "I? Report to Pembrooke?" The amazement on his face couldn't be simulated. She'd made a bad guess in her weary fear. Relief flooded her, weakened her, and she caught at the chair before she fell.

  Kew came to her. "What is the matter, Griselda?"

  She touched his hand. "I'm sorry, Kew." Her voice was hysterical. "I'm sorry—"

  He said, "Take it easy, darling." She was babbling, trying to explain, "But you went from me to the Hilton and joined him and—"

  He said, "I went to the Hilton to make sure that Kathie was safe. I knew he was stopping there last night and I was afraid that he might have thought up some plausible scheme to get her back on The Falcon—alone. I needn't have worried. Walker was there with the Admiral. And Pembrooke was immersed in Vironova."

  She was controlled now. "Do you think the major killed him, Kew?"

  "I don't know what to think," he said slowly. "Sergei told me at lunch he was going to meet a woman," Griselda said. "That I didn't know her. Maybe it was true. Maybe he was meeting her last night again. But why the Village?"

  "I think he was passing through." He began to walk up and down again. "The killer was following and let him have it because it was safer there than on the Pike." He was scowling. "It I could only see Con." He went to the door. "Dinner tonight?"

  "I'm not going out.'' She didn't add to it; he understood.

  He said, "I'll drop by and help amuse you, if you'd like."

  She preferred to be alone if Con came. But if anyone else came, she would welcome his assistance.

  He asked, "You do believe he'll come?"

  "Yes," she answered almost hopelessly. "He'll come." It was a part of the blueprint. Nothing in this whole affair, save the actual killings, had been a surprise to Con. He had even known he would be arrested, would escape. That was why they came to Long Beach, why she had to promise to remain in this cottage. It had been planned this way. She still didn't know why.

  CHAPTER 7

  She was restless; she knew how Con must have left the night that Barjon Garth left, the night that things were scheduled to begin. She couldn't sit quietly, although every step creaking the floor stretched her already tight nerves. She drank a glass of milk; the thought of food was leaden. Slow gray covered the nervous sea. The knock came. Her mouth was dusty as she hurried through the unlighted room.

  It wasn't Con in the dusk outside. She wasn't quite certain who it was until he entered, closed the door after him. And then she saw with wonderment the uniform, the tired face of Walker Travis above it.

  "Is Con here yet?" he asked.

  She said, "No," and the weariness changed to anxiety.

  "He isn't?" Surely he knew. "He told me to come here."

  "When did he tell you that? When did you see him?"

  He seemed sorry to disappoint her eagerness, "He didn't actually tell me. He sent a message.”

  "When?"

  "Yesterday. Yesterday afternoon. I was to come here at seven-fifteen exactly and bring him this." He fumbled the thick brown envelope from an inner pocket.

  "Did he say he'd be here?" She couldn't believe it.

  "He said, 'Bring it to me,' but—" Again he seemed sorry to disappoint her. "I was to leave it if he wasn't here."


  "Oh." There was no assurance then that he would come.

  Lieutenant Travis said, "I guess I'd better leave it." He laid it uncertainly on the table. "I'd hoped to see him. Tell him I'd like to see him, will you?" He stood fingering his cap. He said without expression, "I suppose he knows they've found Mannie."

  "No!"

  "They called me to identify him last night." He swallowed. "It was hard to do."

  Her voice was hoarse. "What happened to him?"

  "They think he was caught in a riptide." He swallowed again as if there was an obstruction in his throat.

  Her hand pointed to the shape of the envelope. "These are—his papers?"

  "No. These are just some notes Con wanted."

  She withdrew her hand as from a licking flame. The information the major was after, the knowledge of the poor fish. She didn't want it threatening here.

  He said awkwardly, "I guess I'd better go. I haven't seen my wife yet. She doesn't even know I'm ashore. I came straight here from the landing. You tell Con I'll be in town all day tomorrow and I'd like to see him. He can reach me at the hotel. Any time tomorrow."

  He managed to open the door. "Good night and thank you. Mrs. Satterlee."

  She watched him across the tracks, rolling up the street past the bay toward where the trolleys and busses ran, hurrying to Kathie, to Kathie whose eyes hungered for Kew. She heard the creak that meant footfalls and swung around. Chang was across the room watching her. She pushed back closer to the door; she could get away if she could open it quickly. But she had no breath; her heart was racing noisily, her whole body weighted.

  And then her eyes jumped to the table. Even in the deepening dusk, the outline of the envelope was not there. She moved and lighted the floor lamp in one rapid motion. The envelope was not there.

  She forgot fear. "You took Con's envelope. Put it back."

  He was polite as always. "I didn't take anything, Mrs. Satterlee. Is this what you mean?" He stooped behind the table, raised up with the envelope in his hands.

  She crossed and snatched it from him. And then fear returned and again she backed from him toward the door. "How did you get in?"

  He nodded his head toward the bay window opening on the sea wall. "I climbed up. Used to be a 'cat' once when I was younger."

  "Why did you break in here?" If he'd come to steal the envelope, why had he given it up to her?

  "I wasn't breaking in, Mrs. Satterlee. I haven't done anything like that for years. Con can tell you. I'm honest."

  "Why are you here?" Ignorance and suspicion made her panicky.

  "I came to see Con."

  "He isn't here. I don't know where he is." She frowned. "That's no excuse for coming through a window," She must remember to keep them locked.

  "Yes it is. I wanted to see him private, not with the coppers."

  She looked at him under her lashes. "The coppers will be checking who comes in or out. And you don't want to be checked?"'

  "No'm, I don't. I've got a criminal record, Mrs. Satterlee. I wouldn't want them to fingerprint me. They might find out and think I had a hand in these murders."

  She was suspicious. "I suppose you know nothing of them?"

  "Not a thing except what I've read in the papers."

  "Is that why you hid out this morning when Captain Thusby was looking for you?"

  He asked in mild surprise, "Was he looking for me? I didn't know. I had to get some groceries for my niece. She and her husband have come to pay me a visit. What did Captain Thusby want, if you'd be so good to tell me?"

  "He wanted to ask questions about Sergei Vironova's murder."

  He shook his head. "I wouldn't have been any help. I never met that Mr. Vironova, so far as I know. Why would he want to ask me about it?"

  She told him, "Because he knows you're mixed up in this some way. You're always somewhere around when these people are together—even at Catalina." And she asked with sudden idea, "Did you help Con escape? Were you the one waiting to see him yesterday?"

  "I saw him yesterday. Mrs. Satterlee. I dropped in to find out if I could do anything for him. But I didn't help him escape. I was working last night." His face suddenly listened. He said, "You're about to have company. I'd better go."

  Before she could speak he was at the windows, had flung himself over the sill and vanished. She restrained the desire to run over and watch the descent. He must be experienced to negotiate the sheer drop. And what was Con doing with a second-story man?

  She faced the door with resignation, wondering who this one was to be. She saw his bulk through the pane, momentarily held the knob fast. He knew she was there", he could see through into the lighted room better than she could out into the dark. She was terrified. But she could not refuse to admit him; if he wanted to enter, the rickety catch would not restrain him. Appeasement might be a weak game but it was better to play at it, try to keep him neutral, until she had the defense of Con in back of her again.

  She opened the door. "Major Pembrooke?" she queried. "I couldn't be certain. We've no porch light and without my glasses I don't see well." She led him into the living room, went on talking, making her voice natural as if she were calm, "I didn't expect you." She realized then that she still held Lieutenant Travis's brown envelope. There was no way to hide it; she was not a sleight-of-hand artist. "Won't you sit down?"

  But he stood there, his mouth curved up at the corners, no smile on it. "You did expect someone? Con?"

  "No indeed." If she could be seated her trembling wouldn't be so noticeable. But she could move with more rapidity standing. "No. Con certainly won't come here with the police watching the house." Warn him.

  "Are they watching the house?" The curve widened. "Captain Thusby is on his way to visit the Antarctica with Admiral Swales. The boy is being amused in Mrs. Crandall's apartment. To be sure they may have delegated a watcher, with their 'unlimited funds,' one who doesn't know one of us from the other." He was amused. There was no use keeping up pretense; he wasn't disguising himself as a lamb tonight. She waited warily, holding the envelope against her.

  "Just whom were you expecting, may I ask?"

  "Kew." She repeated with emphatic truth, "Kew is coming."

  "Then I must be quick. I want no trouble. Mr. Brent is not busy tonight. Lieutenant Travis is in town." His hands were in the pockets of his tweed topcoat. His hands and a gun?

  She stood without moving. It he had come to kill her too, she could do nothing.

  "Give me that package."

  She didn't know what to do. If only the police, or Kew, or someone would come now. She asked brokenly, "You mean this envelope?"

  "Yes." He put out one hand to take it but she pressed it closer to her. His eyes burned at her but otherwise he controlled his anger at her refusal. He kept his hand outstretched. "I came for that. I have been waiting for the authorities to make just such a stupid mistake. Give it to me."

  She couldn't defy him but she did, brazenly. "You can't have it. It's for Con."

  Their eyes held and she didn't falter at the cold decision she read in his. Then he spoke, softly, between his teeth, "I said I wanted no trouble." Without warning he took one long step to her and slapped her across the face. The sound was a thunderclap. He picked up the envelope from the floor, put it in his pocket. Her glazed eyes watched him, one empty hand held to a throbbing bruise.

  He spoke without inflection. "I do not expect you to mention my visit or its purpose to anyone. I have ways of dealing with those who make trouble for me.' You do not wish to be hurt. Nor do you wish your foolish husband to be hurt. And just in case you or he should consider offering yourselves as sacrifice, let me say it will be of no value. I am safe from such irritations. Do you understand?"

  He waited for her response and she whispered, "Yes." He was safe; powerful, mechanized governments were protecting him with false papers and a last ship and an available plane. He could move more swiftly than she. Kew and Con had both warned her that he was out of her class; he was. Nails
were pounding into her head. She closed her eyes for a moment. If he would only go.

  He said, "I believe you do," and then both heard the voices and footsteps. It mustn't be Con; dear God, not at this moment.

  Major Pembrooke spoke quickly, stonily, "There has been no trouble."

  She let him open the door: when she saw Dare and Kew she sank weakly to the couch. They had been in high spirits; the major only slightly dampened them.

  Dare greeted, "What are you doing here, Albert George? Looking for Con like everyone else?" She and Kew were stowing paper sacks and paper cartons on the table. "Griselda wouldn't dine with us so we've come to dine with her."

  The major said. "I'm sorry I can't join you. But I've been delayed as it is." His eyes warned Griselda again while hers tried to convey her frantic promise. "Good-night, Mrs. Satterlee. Don't bother to get up."

  She watched him go, watched Dare close the door after him. Then together the two looked at her; they had noticed; it was too much to hope that they would not.

  Dare's voice was tense, "Griselda, what happened to your face?"

  She put her hand up and away, looking at the palm as if there would be blood on it. She tried hard to smile, to say. "A wave knocked—"

  Kew came toward her, his deep voice sick with shock, "Griselda, my dear."

  She ran into his arms, hiding her face against his coat, sobbing without sound. He meant nothing to her but he was comfort and strength at this moment. His hand smoothed her hair.

  Dare's words were flippant, "Am I necessary?" But there was tension underlying them.

  Griselda fought for control. She must stop the terrible silent tremors that were tearing her apart. Kew asked quietly, "What happened, Griselda?" The fear that froze her made her steady. She mustn't point any hint at Major Pembrooke, nothing that Dare could carry back to him. She stepped away uncertainly. "I'm sorry. My nerves just went all at once, I guess. The strain's been too much." She pushed back her hair, tried for natural words. "Let me wash my face and I'll join you. I didn't know I was hungry but it smells good. You're angels to remember me. I didn't have a chance to market." She went into the bedroom. She didn't care what they'd say of her behind her back. She wouldn't change her explanation.