Curves Can Kill

by Larry Kent

  At seven o’clock I turned on the TV set and watched the news. At an item about a triple murder I turned up the volume.

  “Two of the three men,” the announcer said, “have been identified as subversive agents by the Federal Bureau of Investigation. This afternoon, in the nation’s capitol, an FBI spokesman said that Julian Kristo was a charter member of the Fair Play for Cuba Committee, a pro-Castro organization; while Macklin Thomas had been active for several years as a membership organizer for various Communist front organizations. The third man, Carl Orstrand, remains a man of mystery. And mystery continues to shroud their deaths in a west side tenement five days ago. All the police know for certain is that the three men were killed by bullets from the same gun, between two and four o’clock last Wednesday afternoon. The bodies were discovered after five p.m. that day by Paul Prevane, the janitor of the building, who climbed the fire escape to investigate broken glass found on the ground. The glass came from a window of the apartment. As no shots were reported, the police assume that the killer used a silencer on his gun. According to a police spokesman, no motive has yet been found for the shootings, though several leads are being explored ... And now, the lighter side of the news. At a fashion show in Los Angeles—”

  I switched off the magic box, did some thinking, picked up the phone, dialed Lee Howard’s apartment number.

  “Packed yet?” Lee asked.

  “Not yet. Can you come over to my place?”

  “Well, I was thinking of getting an early night.”

  “No reason why you shouldn’t. You won’t be here long. I just want to show you something.”

  Lee didn’t like the idea, but he said he’d be over in about fifteen minutes. I chain-smoked until he arrived. Over drinks I told him about the man who called himself Jim Flag, but I left out the part about Z Detail taking delivery of the man, substituting in its place a story about a secret arrest under the authority of the Espionage Act. If he knew the truth, it would make him nervous. Hell, it made even me nervous. After my adulterated narrative, I took Lee into the bedroom, showed him the booby-trap device and the pellet holes in the wall. He sat on the bed, looked thoughtful, then worried, then a little angry. He said:

  “Surely you don’t think Rita had anything to do with this?”

  “At this point,’” I said, “I’m not sure of anything.”

  “But you suspect her.”

  “Lee, my job is to keep her under surveillance. Period. I asked you to come over here because I wanted you to see for yourself that the other side isn’t playing ring-around-a-rosie.”

  “This ...” Lee waved a hand at the pellet-pocked wall, “… is no indication to me that Rita is involved in a plot to sell out our country.”

  “I’m not saying it is.”

  Lee looked down at his hands. “I’ve been thinking about this trip to New Hampshire, Larry. I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.”

  “Meaning?”

  “The cabin is all by itself, in deep woods. If someone traps us there, you won’t be the only one who’s in danger.”

  “Lee, that kind of thing happens only in badly plotted books. How far away is this place of yours?”

  “Over three hundred miles.”

  “You don’t honestly believe that a car could follow us that far without us being aware of it, do you?”

  “Well ...”

  “Of course you don’t.”

  We went out to the cocktail cabinet in the living room. As I poured the drinks, I asked, “Any special reason for leaving earlier than we originally planned?”

  “I’d like to get there before noon,” Lee said. “There’s an article I have to finish for Life magazine. It’s got to be typed and in the mail before Wednesday afternoon.” He took the drink from me. “I had forgotten all about the deadline.”

  “Until Rita reminded you, eh? I can see you need a good secretary.”

  I thought I had gotten away with it, but Lee looked at me suspiciously and said, “Why didn’t you come straight out and ask if leaving earlier was Rita’s idea? Anyhow, what’s suspicious about a thing like that? So she did suggest leaving earlier. So what?”

  “Nothing,” I said, doing my best to look innocent. But I wondered what his reaction would be if he knew that when Rita phoned, I had speculated on the possibility that she had used a ruse of some kind to get my unlisted number from Lee so she could check on whether the booby-trap had been successful. Later, when Jim Flag entered my apartment, my dark suspicion about Rita’s phone call had faded somewhat. Even so, knowing whose idea it was to leave earlier might prove to be important later on. I was checking all the angles.

  Lee finished his drink. I refilled his glass and we talked about the fishing in his lake. He told me he had stocked the lake with perch, crappies and bass for three straight years. The last time he was there, a month or so back, he caught a few six-pound bass and a string of fat perch and crappies. I was glad I had switched the conversation around to fishing. When Lee left, he was in a good mood.

  The alarm went off on schedule. I packed, had a quick breakfast, dressed and went down to the garage. I had the Corvette at the curb, motor purring nicely, a little before 8.30. Seconds later, Lee Howard’s Buick came around me and stopped at the curb. The back door of the Buick opened and a blonde-topped dream stepped out. She wore tight stretch slacks, a tight striped T-shirt, gold sandals. Even at a distance of thirty feet I could see that she wasn’t wearing a bra under the T-shirt: well, she didn’t need one.

  “Hi, Larry,” Lee called from behind the wheel. “We’ve got some company for you.”

  I honked the horn.

  “Meet Vicki Dawes,” Lee yelled.

  I leaned over, threw open the passenger side door. Vicki smiled and came to the Corvette and got in.

  “Hello there, Larry,” she said. “Lee and Rita told me all about you.”

  “Don’t believe any of it,” I said.

  She laughed, slapped my leg just above the knee, let her hand remain there for a moment. “I feel as though I know you already.”

  Lee hit his horn. I tore my eyes away from Vicki with great reluctance. Lee had his head out the window. Rita sat beside him, looking straight ahead.

  “Blow your horn when you’re ready,” Lee called out, grinning.

  I waved to him, turned back to Vicki. Her long-lashed, blue green eyes were warm, impishly challenging. “Fasten your safety belt, please,” I said.

  She widened her eyes, pouted like a puzzled little girl. “Oh, dear, I’m so helpless when it comes to mechanical things.”

  “Then allow me.”

  I leaned over her to grab the far end of the safety belt. She leaned forward so that we touched.

  “I like your shaving lotion,” she said.

  “It’s a Whalen Drugstore creation,” I said. “Five bucks a pint.”

  She laughed. Which made her jiggle against me. Which was nice. But you can’t make an all-day project out of fastening a safety belt, so, with the long, drawn-out sigh of a martyr, I clicked the two ends together, moved back to driving position behind the wheel and pressed the horn. The Buick moved away from the curb and I sent the Corvette in its wake.

  “Like some music?” I asked.

  “Mmmmm. Yes.”

  I switched on the radio. Station WMCA co-operated with some romantic music. Vicki made delighted sounds and writhed on the bucket seat like a contented cat.

  “Ooooooh, it’s so good to get away from the city for a while! And Lee’s place in the country sounds so wonderful!”

  “Who told you about it?” I asked.

  “Lee did, on our way to your place. He said his cabin is on the shore of a lovely little lake that’s set in the middle of the woods.”

  “Did Lee invite you?”

  She didn’t answer right away, so I took my eyes from the road and looked at her. She fluttered her lashes and turned on the little-girl pout. “I hope you don’t mind, Larry.”

  “Mind?” I laughed. “Hell, n
o! I just want to know who I should be grateful to.”

  “You really don’t mind?”

  “Vicki, I’m delighted, delirious with joy, thrilled, pleasured, jubilant—”

  She giggled, slapped my leg again. “Wheeeee! And to think I was almost on the verge of going to visit my aunt in Pittsburgh.”

  “Pittsburgh’s loss is my gain.”

  “What a nice thing to say.”

  “I’m full of original little bits like that.”

  “You know, I was afraid you might be one of those men who like to go fishing or swimming or tramping in the woods all by yourself.”

  “Only when there isn’t a beautiful woman around. As a matter of fact, Vicki, I was dreading the thought of fishing and swimming and tramping in the woods all by myself.”

  “Really?”

  “Absolutely. Lee must have read my mind.”

  “He’s very nice, isn’t he?”

  “Nice? My dear Vicki, that is the gross understatement of the year. Lee Howard is the salt of the earth, a giant among men, a veritable fairy godfather, a prince of fellows, the custodian of a cornucopia brimming with wonderful ideas—but never, never in his life has he come up with a better idea than inviting you to join us. For that I will be everlastingly grateful.”

  She purred. “You do have a way with words. But I don’t believe more than half of it.”

  “Make that ninety percent. Leave out the part about the fairy godfather. A fairy Lee is not. But the rest stands. You, Vicki, are Lee’s best idea. I never dreamed he liked me so much. Where did he find you, by the way?”

  “Oh, he never even met me until this morning. But Rita phoned him about me late last night.”

  “Rita?”

  “Mh-hm. If you want to thank someone for my being here, it’ll have to be Rita.”

  “It was her idea?”

  “Mh-hm. I dropped in on her last night. We’re old friends, you see. We’ve known each other since our high school days. We worked together for a while, too, but then Rita left modeling and went back to secretarial work.”

  “You’re a model?”

  “In fashions. I work at Ohrback’s. My vacation period started yesterday and I didn’t know what to do with myself. As I told you, I had almost decided to go and see my aunt in Pittsburgh. My funds are a little too low for a proper vacation resort or a cruise or—well, anyhow, I told Rita about my troubles and she thought it might be all right for me to come along to New Hampshire. She phoned Lee Howard about it and he said there was plenty of room, so why not? And here I am.”

  “I’m staggered,” I said, shaking my head. “And here I was thinking Rita Duncan couldn’t stand the sight of me.”

  Vicki chuckled throatily. “Well, she did warn me about you.”

  “What did she say?”

  “That you might prove to be a little ... well, hard to handle.”

  I tried to make my eyebrows meet my hair line. “Am I to understand that Rita considers me to be the type of cad who would trifle with a lady’s affections?”

  “Well, she didn’t go that far. She just called you a wolf.”

  “Vicki, I’m shocked!”

  “Are you?”

  “Why of course I’m shocked.”

  “No. I mean, are you a wolf?”

  “My intentions are even purer than Ivory soap.”

  Vicki sighed. “I knew it was too good to be true.”

  We laughed. She couldn’t laugh without slapping my leg. A very friendly girl. Easy to get along with. Obviously co-operative. The perfect companion for a guy who’s planning to spend a week or so at a lonely cabin in the middle of the woods. But she could prove to be awfully disconcerting if a guy wanted to devote most of his time to something like bird-watching. With Vicki around, a guy would miss seeing a lot of birds ... or people. I wondered if this was what Rita Duncan had in mind when she invited Vicki to make it a foursome.

  Chapter 5 ... a lovely place ...

  Long before we passed the New York State border I was absolutely sure that we were not being followed. We stopped for coffee and gas and nose-powdering at a Savarin road-house. Rita was a different person. There was color in her cheeks. Her eyes were bright. She even laughed at one of my cracks at the coffee table. And she seemed pleased that Vicki and I were hitting it off so well.

  But it was Lee who really surprised me. Dumbrille himself couldn’t have wished for more perfect behavior. Lee was free and easy, completely relaxed. For a while I thought he had forgotten that this working holiday was rigged solely for the purpose of keeping a close watch on Rita. But that wasn’t it at all, for as we walked back to the cars, the girls chatting away some twenty feet or so ahead, Lee whispered:

  “I’m going to win that golf bag, old buddy boy.”

  We were in the State of New Hampshire at eleven-thirty. I followed Lee’s Buick off the turnpike and onto a good country road. We were in farm country for about twenty miles before leaving that road. Now we were on a gravel surfaced road that had a hump in the middle for drainage. Eight or nine miles later, Lee stopped the Buick at a country store.

  “I’m going to pick up some groceries, kids,” he called and shook a hand at me as I started to slide out from behind the wheel. “No need for you two to come in. I have to make some phone calls back to the city. I might be here for an hour or more. Why don’t you two go on to the cabin and wait for us?”

  “I think that’s a wonderful idea,” Vicki enthused. “Do you have food at the cabin?”

  “Plenty. I’ll just get some fruit and vegetables and fresh milk. But there’s powdered milk and butter and everything else you’ll need for flapjacks.”

  “That’s my specialty,” I said. “I’ll mix up a batter and get the griddle hot. Want us to take Rita with us?”

  “I think I can look after her,” Lee said with a thin smile. Then he leaned inside my car window and gave me directions.

  The next road was just a rutted track that wound around rocks and between trees. I had the Corvette in first gear most of the way. Just staying on the track took my full attention. After six miles of this (according to the milometer; it felt more like twenty to me), there was a straight, level portion. Now that I didn’t have to concentrate so much on the road, I realized that Vicki had been quiet since we left Lee and Rita at the general store. I looked at her. She was sulking.

  “Something wrong?” I asked.

  “Oh, nothing at all,” she said loftily. “I’m quite happy.”

  The track began to twist again. I geared down, fought the sudden curves.

  “Actually,” Vicki said, “I can’t say I blame you.”

  “For what?”

  “Rita is very cute.”

  “Rita is very cute,” I echoed. “And you don’t blame me. Why, Vicki! You’re not mad because I suggested to Lee that we take Rita to the cabin with us, are you?”

  “Oh, I don’t mind.”

  “You are mad.”

  She picked an imaginary piece of lint from her knee, patted her hair. “Well, look at it from my point of view.”

  “Okay, honey, let’s hear from your point of view.”

  “Well ... a girl likes to think a fellow wants to be alone with her.”

  “Now look at it from my point of view,” I said. “How many seats are in this car?”

  “It’s a two-seater.”

  “Correct. And if Rita came along, I would have suggested that she take your seat. That would have left my lap.”

  “Your lap?”

  “My lap.”

  “But you couldn’t possibly drive this car with me sitting on your lap?”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, there’s not enough room between you and the steering wheel.”

  “It’s an adjustable seat.”

  “How far back will it move?”

  “A few inches.”

  “That still wouldn’t give you enough room.”

  “I think we’d just about make it.”

  “How about
a friendly bet?”

  “How much?”

  “A nickel.”

  “You’re on.”

  I braked, slipped into neutral, moved the seat back as far as it would go. Vicki undid her safety belt; so did I. Then she got out of the car and came around to my side. I opened the door. She slid onto my lap.

  “You win the nickel,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  I went into first gear, moved the car perhaps a trifle faster than I would have if Vicki was still in her seat. The right wheel went over a flat rock that I didn’t try very hard to miss.

  “Oooooh, a bump!” Vicki said. She went up, down, sideways. “Another one! ... And another!”

  “Yes,” I said. “It’s a wonderful, wonderful road.”

  “There’s another bump ahead.”

  “I see it.”

  “Careful how you steer, Larry.”

  I was. I hit the bump dead center with the left wheel. Vicki went up, came down laughing, went up again as the rear wheel hit.

  “Too rough for you?” I asked.

  “I can take it if you can.” Her voice fell. “Oh, dear.”

  The cabin was about a hundred yards ahead. And the road was smooth all the way. It was just as well. A few more bumps and I’d have had to stop the car and make Vicki go back to her seat. Or something.

  I free-wheeled to a spot behind the cabin, braked.

  “Let’s sit here and have a cigarette,” Vicki suggested, wriggling to adjust her position on my lap.

  “One more move like that,” I said, “and you’d be able to light a cigarette off the end of my nose.”

  She laughed, and that made her bounce around some more. I hit the door handle, pushed the door open with my knee, slid around on the seat, deposited Vicki on the ground. She couldn’t stop laughing. I opened the trunk, got out my things, walked to the front of the cabin, unlocked the front door with the key Lee had given to me at the general store, entered the cabin. There was a huge living room with doors leading off. Plenty of big, comfortable looking chairs. A large fireplace. No TV set, radio or phone. But there was an electrical system fed by a power generator behind the cabin. Lee had told me that it was the most modern generator available; all you had to do to start the engine was push a button in the kitchen. He was right. I punched the button and the engine kicked to life. I found the pantry, took out powdered milk, Nescafe, pancake flour, maple syrup, canned butter, canned bacon, powdered eggs, sugar. I filled the kettle, put it on the electric stove, turned the appropriate dial.