by Roy Huggins
“I seem to worry you, Mrs. Palmer,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to do that.”
The smile faded abruptly. It had been a simple statement, but Jane was reading menace and cold cruelty and accusation into it. She had to prove it now. She had to prove that he was just another male, that the offer to go to San Diego was just the first subtle pass, that this last seemingly prodding remark was only a plea for a lead. All right, she would give him his lead and sit back and watch him rise to it. She smiled again, and it was warm because she thought warmth, and she let her eyes grow only the slightest bit lazy, and she said,” You don’t worry me, Don. But you’re beginning to intrigue me.”
“Let’s wait till we’re sure Al isn’t coming back, huh, Mrs. Palmer?”
She sat up stiffly. The remark had come back fast, with an effect that he might have duplicated by throwing his drink in her face. She said, “You made quite a bit out of that, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t mean to make any more out of it than I found there.”
“I’m afraid you did.” She stood up. “Drop in again before you leave town. I have to get some sleep now. I’m exhausted.”
He rose abruptly and put aside his glass and walked to the door. For a brief moment, Jane had the empty, helpless feeling that he was going to walk on out the door without another word, without looking back.
Then he turned and said, “By the way, shall I take the man with the dark mustache off your back?”
“What . . . did you say?”
“He looks a little pale. I think I can handle him all right.”
“But I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“All right, but you’d better forget about that sleep. He’s lurking around at the dark end of the hall, making like a tenant trying to find his key. I watched him for a while before I knocked. It made him nervous.”
“Perhaps he’s from the police.”
“Sure. They’re looking for Al. Maybe they figure the best place to find him is where he lives.” He opened the door and went out, closing it softly behind him.
Jane stood in the center of the room, her fists clenched tightly at her sides, feeling a slow pounding in her throat, and forcing herself to forget him, to think of names, an endless meaningless run of names, because she had to remember the name of the boy with the station on Adams. She had to call him and ask him if he had ever heard of a Don Blake. And if he had, to describe him. The door opened quietly and Danny Fuller slipped into the room.
He said, “Excuse me for not knocking, but I don’t like the idea of standing in front of your door. Too much traffic.”
Jane stared at him and said, “You fool. You were seen out there. For all I know, the man who saw you is a detective.”
“But he didn’t see me come in here, gorgeous. There are other people on this floor, you know.”
“What do you want?”
“Are you kidding? I want my dough, and there are too many exits in this place. I can watch you better from up here. Find the ticket?”
Jane shook her head and went back to the wing chair and sat down. Her head was aching as it had never ached before, hammering steadily and sharply behind her eyes. “Do you intend to live here until I find it?”
“Not a bad idea.”
“My sister-in-law walks in here just the way you did.”
“Don’t take it to heart, tiger. I came up to tell you something. When I’ve told it, I’ll go. And when you’ve found the ticket, you’ll bring it to me. And don’t come with any ideas. I got me a gun.”
Jane looked at him then, and Danny came over and sat down on the chesterfield and grinned at her. He said, “So if you get that dough and dust with it, it’ll be very, very bad.”
“I don’t intend to.”
“That’s fine, but let me tell you why it’ll be very bad. You want to know about that, don’t you?”
Jane said nothing and Danny went on, “I’m gonna take myself down to police headquarters—when you take French leave with the dough, this is—and I’m telling the whole story just like it happened. Once you skip town, they’re going to believe me, see? I won’t get more than a year or two up at the college. You, tiger, will be found. And you’ll be brought back to breathe some of the state’s special nonhabit-forming gas.”
Jane tried to smile. The muscles in her cheeks quivered a little and gave up. She said, “Don’t you think I realize all that? We’ve got to help each other, Danny, or we’ll both be breathing that gas.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes. It’s my sister-in-law. She’s snooped about and stumbled onto things until she knows that something is wrong. It’s only a matter of hours before she goes to the police with her story. And she has just enough to—to make them investigate.”
Danny’s voice was dry, the confidence suddenly gone. “What has she got?”
“She knows I went out last night after I went to bed. She knows Alan wouldn’t have gone after liquor, because we had plenty here. And she knows that Alan’s gun was gone for a while and brought back.”
Danny licked his lips slowly and stared at the rug.
“You’re going to help me again, Danny.”
“Yeah?”
“There’s no other way out. There are two of us, Danny. We can’t stand by and let her kill us! And that’s what she’ll do.”
“How do you keep her from doing it, tiger?”
“She’s been upset because of her brother’s disappearance. I mean that. She missed work today. She’s what the papers will report as ‘despondent’. She’s going to take poison because of it.”
Danny Fuller looked up, questioningly.
“You’re going to get the poison.”
Danny shook his head.
Jane drew her mouth down tightly across her teeth. “Danny, do you think I want to do it? Do you think I wanted to kill my—to kill Alan? I killed him because he was all the things that were beating me down and driving me to conform and making me betray the good that was in me. Grin, damn you!” Jane stood up and looked down into Danny’s eyes and remembered the terror she had felt when Alan’s eyes had burned into hers. She wished suddenly that these were Alan’s eyes turned up to hers. There would be no terror now. “I killed him,” she finished quietly, “so that I could live.”
Danny Fuller said nothing.
“You know how to get . . . what T need. I’ll do the rest. It’s our only chance. We can’t put it off. We’ll be executed, Danny——”
Danny closed his eyes. “I’ll need dough.”
“I can give it to you.”
He said nothing and his eyes remained closed.
“You’ll get it for me tomorrow, won’t you?”
Danny Fuller nodded once slowly and whispered, “Yes.”
Danny walked down the six flights of stairs, looking back over his shoulder from time to time, and slipped out the side entrance onto the street. The moon was high and bright and a few stars shone dimly. He walked in the shadow of the building up to his car. He didn’t see the tall man step out of the shadow and follow. He didn’t see him stoop down and run up behind the car after Danny had climbed in and switched on the lights. And he didn’t see the man take an envelope from his pocket and write on it.
Danny sat stiff and cold at the wheel, seeing nothing. Fear was a damp and palpable presence all about him. He felt a sudden and terrible certainty that his crime was already known. They were dragging the lake. Now. If he went down there—He made a harsh sound in his throat and raised his hands in a stiff and meaningless gesture, then let them drop slowly. He pushed his foot against the starter. He was going down to the Jungle Room for some scat and barrel fever.
KATHY opened the door to Blake’s discreet knock, said, “Come in,” and gave him what she thought was a sardonic smile. It came out with all the cynicism of the Mona Lisa’s. She had spent the past hour contemplating the probability that he no longer had an ally. The thought hadn’t occurred to her until she had walked back to her apartment, leaving Bla
ke alone with Jane. She had never quite thought of Jane as a vampire, but she had no mean appreciation of Jane’s intuitive genius for finding and exploiting the weaknesses of the male sex. And Blake was a male. He no doubt had his weaknesses. But here he was, and Kathy was nicely restraining any impulse to throw her arms about his neck.
“No visible scars,” she commented, “Sit down.”
“It was a draw,” he said, and walked over to the sofa.
Kathy said, “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”
“Uh-huh. Like something you might buy in a swank shop . . . if you could afford it.”
Kathy made no comment on that. She considered how, a few days ago, she would have resented it.
And then Blake added quietly, “I’m afraid Alan couldn’t afford it.”
Kathy sat down across from him. It was very still in the room, and from below them came the sound of a window being opened for the night, “Why do you say that?”
“Her conscience. It’s very, very heavy. She thinks I’m anyone but who I say I am. And she had a caller after I left, a tacky character who carries a gun in his pocket . . . unless it’s a pipe wrench.”
“But what could it mean? Why would Jane——”
“I don’t know, Kathy. But it’s time to call the constabulary.”
“That department, or whatever it is, closes at five.”
“It would. What did they do last night? Do you know?”
“Jane told me they went to Pasquale’s for dinner, then down to McPhearson Park for a sail on the lake. Then they came home.”
“Did she always do that? Tell you just what they did?”
“Why . . . no! Just the opposite. She never talked about what they did. But she told me all about it, even before she began to wonder what had happened to Alan.”
“I have the uncomfortable suspicion,” Blake mused, “that that ought to mean something.”
Kathy’s lip was curled in under her teeth, her eyes wide and distant. “It is strange,” she whispered. “I never ask Jane what she and Alan do. And she’s never gone out of her way to tell me . . . until last night.”
Blake dropped his cigarette in the tray and stood up. “How are you,” he asked, “on stumbling into dark rooms by mistake, finding clues, keeping up a hilarious line of chatter while guns press into your back, and so forth?”
“Would you repeat that please . . . slowly?”
“We’re going sleuthing. I’m wondering if you’re the correct, standard type.”
“Sorry.”
“That’s two of us, but I’d like to find out who saw Alan last, besides Jane. We’ll work backward and finish off with some of Pasquale’s pastries.” Kathy looked up sharply. “How did you know about Pasquale’s pastries?”
Blake grinned slowly, “Angel, not yet. We begin in the basement . . . and not on each other; it ain’t ethical.” Kathy laughed and went into the bedroom for her coat. She stood in the dark room wondering what tenuous thing it was that made her doubt that she really knew what had brought Blake here. She felt so much at ease with him. There was an earthy candor about him that could not be anything but genuine. And yet she knew that she had changed her mind. She had thought to tell Blake about the ticket, to ask what to do about it. She wasn’t sure now.
Pete was backing a custom-built car onto the lube hoist when they came down the stairs into the basement. He stepped out of the car, and Kathy said, “Hello, Pete. Have you met Mr. Blake? He’s a new tenant.”
Pete said, “How are you?” and “Excuse me for not shaking hands.” Then he glanced at Kathy and said, “Heard anything from your brother. Miss Palmer?”
“Nothing yet.”
“He’ll turn up.”
Kathy glanced at Blake, who looked away at the long line of cars, “Did you see them,” she went on, “when they drove in last night?”
“Sure. Don’t you remember calling me?”
“Yes. Did Alan seem upset or anything like that?”
“I didn’t talk to him.”
“Oh. But you did see him.”
“W-e-e-e-l-l. Yeah, I saw him.”
Kathy nodded slowly, then turned to Blake and took his arm. “Thanks, Pete. Good night.” She gave a tug at Blake’s arm, but he didn’t move.
He looked at Pete and asked, “Did you see his face?”
Pete looked Don Blake over slowly with neutral gray eyes. “No,” he said, “I didn’t see his face. Just a sleeve. And he didn’t say a word.”
“Did you notice that at the time?”
“No. I didn’t think about it until I heard he was missing.”
“Have the police been around?”
“One guy. I told him they both drove in around ten o’clock. He just asked me when they came in.”
“I wouldn’t want Mrs. Palmer to get the idea her sister-in-law was asking unflattering questions. They were my idea.”
Pete put the handkerchief away and said, “Who’s been askin’ questions?” Blake grinned. “Some car you’re working on there.”
“Yeah. That’s quite a hot rod.”
“Seeing you.”
“Good luck . . . You, too. Miss Palmer. Good luck.”
PART FIVE
ASOMATIC blonde with blooming red cheeks was behind the counter, and the juke box was giving someone a loud nickel’s worth. The girl was drying a glass that would never be any dryer and staring off across the lake.
Kathy said, “Sounds like Duke Ellington.”
The girl behind the counter grimaced, put down the glass and said, “That’s the Herman herd, honey. What can I get you?”
They ordered root beers, and when they finished them, Blake took a picture from his pocket and showed it to the girl. He said, “Do you remember when you saw this man last?”
The girl took the picture and looked at it carefully. “He go with a real slick blond girl?” Blake nodded. “M’m, I think they were in here last night.”
“Can you remember the time, approximately?”
“Lordy, no. What are they, crooks?”
“No, they’re missing. We’re trying to find out who saw them last.”
“Oh. Gosh, that’s too bad. They were awful nice people. They had something here at the counter and went boating, but I can’t say what time it was.”
“Did you see them leave?”
“No-o. I don’t think so. We get pretty busy around here some limes.”
Blake thanked her and the girl said she hoped those people turned up, they were super. He slipped the picture back into his pocket casually and they went out and down the stairs to the pier. Kathy tried to keep the chill that spread over her from becoming an outward shudder. She had caught a brief glance at the picture, and Alan had not seemed to be in uniform. And why hadn’t Blake offered to show it to her?
“May I see the picture?”
“Of course.” He held it out to her with a puzzled smile.
She took it and studied it for a long while. She had never seen the picture before, hut it was a recent one, and he was not in uniform. She gave it back to Blake and looked out at the lights moving along the boulevard.
“I went by the bank after I talked to you this afternoon,” Blake said quietly. “They gave it to me. They also told me they were pretty sure Al’s books would check with his cash . . . or hasn’t that worried you?”
Kathy looked up and tried to say something, and her voice choked to a stop. She said it with her eyes and with the first full warm smile she had been able to muster since Alan had gone.
“I’ll do the apologizing,” Blake said. “I should have told you about it, but I didn’t think you’d like my checking up on your brother.”
“I—I’m glad you did.”
A boy in a basque shirt and a leather jacket was handling the boats. It was a cold night, with a hovering blanket of gray cloud and a soft keening wind. But there were people in the boats, and it was several minutes before Blake got the boy aside. He showed the picture and asked if he remembered seeing the man
before.
“Sure. Him and his girl been down here two or three times lately. You a cop?”
“Do I look like one?”
“I never saw one that did.”
“I’m a friend of his. He disappeared last night. I’m just playing detective.”
“Is it fun?”
“Up till now,” Blake grinned. “When was the last time they were in?”
“Last night, I think. Yeah, last night. I haven’t spent the buck she gimme yet.”
“What was that for?”
“She prob’ly liked my build.” He winked at Kathy. “No, I give ’em one of the big jobs.”
“The big jobs?”
“Big boats, built to carry four. She wanted it, and they give me a buck tip a couple nights before, so I give it to ’em.”
“Who paid you when they brought the boat in?”
“They don’t pay me. Over at the box there.”
“Remember who paid?”
“Yeah, she did. She gimme this buck tip as soon as she got out, then went over and paid.”
“And the man?”
“Huh?”
“What did he do?”
“Went on up the stairs, I guess.”
“Didn’t you see him?”
“Sure I seen him.”
“Talk to him?”
“Yeah, quite a bit. He was a nice guy. We talked flying. I’m getting my pilot’s license.”
“You talked after they brought the boat in?”
“Huh? Say, I gotta get back.” He turned and ran over to the edge of the dock and guided a boat in to the landing. The boat emptied and filled and started away again.
Kathy said, “We know they were here. What—what are you getting at?” She had made an uneasy guess at what was on Don Blake’s mind, but it didn’t make sense. You couldn’t take someone out there and drown him. She felt the cold sharpness of the water and wondered with a sick horror at the things buried in the muddy depths of it. It was a crazy thought. Alan wasn’t out there. He was warm and alive and well.
Blake shook his head and murmured, “I don’t know what I’m getting at. I’m just poking around. This lake has to mean something, though.”
“But why?”
“Because it doesn’t ring true. They say the two of them have come down here two or three times just lately. I don’t know your sister-in-law, but I’ve met her and I’ve talked with her. And there’s something strictly out of character about Mrs, Palmer sailing around in a smooch boat on this poor man’s Lake Tahoe. So maybe it means something.”