Witch Rhymes With ...

by Larry Kent

  “I won’t even count it,” she said, her voice quivering. “I’m sure it’s all there.”

  I said, “I expect to get something worth five hundred.”

  “With maybe a bonus thrown in,” she smiled.

  “I’d like to see what I’m buying,” I said.

  “You will.” She moved her hand and the belt fell completely away.

  “Not that,” I said.

  She laughed, throatily. “Who said anything about selling?”

  “You mentioned a letter.”

  “I’ll get it.”

  She walked to the wall, the silk wrap-around billowing behind her. She knelt on her left knee. I saw all of her right leg, to the hip. She lifted the linoleum, reached under, brought out a long, smudged white envelope. She arose, came to me. Now the silk robe was more like a train than a covering. The only thing she wore under the silk was a narrow black V and a tiny bra. I took the envelope from her, held it to the light.

  “You steamed it open,” I said.

  “Well, I wouldn’t know it was worth five hundred if I didn’t look at it,” she smiled.

  I opened the envelope, took out a small square of folded paper. I unfolded the paper, saw two lines of handwriting and a signature: Eve Delmar.

  The two lines were:

  Earl Salem’s name in Virginia was John Bray.

  In Virginia, John Bray is wanted for murder.

  Daisy said, “Well? Is it worth five hundred? I think it could be worth a lot more than that, Larry.”

  “We made a deal.” I said. “Five hundred is all you get.”

  She looked as though I had hurt her feelings. “Oh, please don’t get me wrong, honey. I’m not trying to shake you down. I was thinking about Earl Salem. That place he runs takes in a lot of money. He must be worth plenty. Maybe he didn’t kill Eve. There were other men in her life.”

  “What if he didn’t kill her?”

  “Then we’ve got no real reason for turning him in. And if we don’t turn him in ... well, that letter could be worth a small fortune.”

  I shook the piece of paper in her face. “Do you know what this could be worth, Daisy? A bullet in the back, or a knife across the throat, or a massage under the wheels of a car.”

  Her face paled. “It doesn’t have to be like that. A smart fellow like you could sell the letter without letting him know who you are.”

  “That’s blackmail,”

  She shrugged. “That’s just a word. In this world, you take what you can get.”

  “If you feel like this, Daisy, why didn’t you sell the letter to Salem?”

  “I promised Eve I’d give the letter to you if something happened to her. But I didn’t make any other promises. Listen to me. If Earl Salem killed Eve, then I want him to get what’s coming to him. Eve was my friend. I’m loyal to my friends. But that murder in Virginia doesn’t mean a thing to me. What about her husband? I heard on the radio that he’s being held for the murder.”

  “Jack didn’t kill her,” I said.

  “Can you prove he didn’t?”

  “This letter may help prove it.”

  “All that letter says is that Earl Salem’s real name is John Bray, and that he killed somebody in the state of Virginia. What motive did Salem have?”

  “That’s what I’ll be working on.”

  “What if you learn that Salem didn’t kill Eve? What then?”

  “I’ll think about that when I come to it.”

  “Just do me a favor,” she said. “If you find out that Salem didn’t kill Eve, let me know, eh?”

  “Why?”

  “Well, Eve was my friend. I think I have a right to know, don’t you?”

  “Let me give you some advice, Daisy. Leave Earl Salem alone.”

  She poured another drink. “You can stop worrying about that, honey. I’d be too scared to try to work it on my own. I’d be afraid of making a mistake somewhere along the line. I like money, sure, but money’s not worth a damn to you when they put you in the box.”

  “You just remember that.”

  “I will, don’t worry. I like living too much.” She peered at me over the rim of the glass. “There’s a lot of fun ahead of me yet, and I don’t want to miss any of it. For instance ...”

  She placed the glass on the table, moved the silk away from her body with an outward movement of her hands, walked to me, slowly, hips swaying. When she came to a stop against me, there was no silk between us.

  “If you have any feelings,” she whispered, “you hide them well. In fact, you’re doing a very good imitation of a cigar-store Indian right now. Well, let’s see what we can do to fix that ...”

  She grasped my wrist, guided my hand. I thought about Eve, remembered my feeling of guilt as I left her suite. But then Daisy’s free hand slid around the back of my neck, pulled me down to her lips, which were parted, waiting, hungry.

  And that, as they say, was that.

  Chapter 6 ... the good witch ...

  The arrest of Jack Delmar for the murder of his wife made the headlines of most of the morning papers. The newspaper boys called at my apartment in full force. I knew I couldn’t dodge them forever, so I invited them in. They wanted to know if I was working on the case. I said I was. Who had hired me? I was working on my own. Did I think Jack was guilty? No. Did I have any evidence? Yes. This caused a stir. What kind of evidence? Against whom? And so forth. I winked at them, said I couldn’t divulge my evidence at the present time, promised action within a few days. They left my apartment, heading for the nearest pay phones.

  I had breakfast and then I phoned the Sunshine Garden Hotel and asked for Captain Ballantine. He was no longer stationed at the hotel, so I got the Oceanview police station on the line. Ballantine didn’t have much to say. All he could do was confirm what the newspapers said. If I wanted further information I’d have to drive down to Oceanview and have a talk with the district attorney.

  “However,” Ballantine added, “if you want my opinion, the trip would be a waste of time. At any rate, the D.A. will be inviting you down for a talk one of these days.”

  I thanked Ballantine, hung up. There was no point in telling him about Eve’s letter concerning Earl Salem. That in itself didn’t prove anything. Actually, I had no idea of how to use the information. I’d have to think about it.

  I was still thinking—without much success—when I went to the office just before lunch. I picked up a copy of the Journal-Tribune in the lobby. It was an extra. On the front page was my promise of action. The Journal-Tribune boys were pretty fast. I had made the statement less than three hours ago.

  My phone was ringing as I entered the office. It was the crime editor of the Daily News. I told him I had information concerning a person who was involved in the case. I refused to give the person’s name. Another newspaperman phoned a few minutes later. I told him the same thing.

  Then I read the full story in the Journal-Tribune. Earl Salem had been questioned by the Oceanview police. A police spokesman would only say that Eve Delmar had been friendly with Salem and his wife. Salem, however, admitted freely that he had been with Eve Delmar less than two hours before she was murdered. There was another man with her, he said, but the police didn’t want him to say any more about it. The other man, of course, was me. There was a photo of Salem on page six. It wasn’t much of a picture. He had his hat brim pulled down low and his right hand was covering the bottom half of his face. The hand was cupped around a cigarette. A very nice piece of work on Salem’s part. Nobody in the state of Virginia was going to recognize him as wanted killer John Bray, not from that photo.

  I lit a cigarette, did some thinking about the case. But not much thinking. The silhouette that formed against the frosted glass of my door gave me something else to think about.

  “Come in,” I said.

  The door opened. I was treated to a dazzling smile. There were red highlights in her black hair. Maybe a hairdresser was responsible, but the effect was sensational all the same. She wore
a pink woolen top, a matching skirt in the new extra-short style. Her knees were absolutely wonderful. If you don’t think knees are an important feature of a woman’s body, have a look at some of the bony monstrosities brought to light by the mini-skirt rebellion.

  She walked across the office with the kind of assurance a woman shows only when she knows her figure is as good as nature, exercise and diet can make it. Her bust was about medium, but beautifully molded. Women can buy bras that tell blatant lies, but this particular woman had no need to depend on a bra: and she didn’t—this was made clearly evident by the freedom of movement in that particular area.

  “Mr. Larry Kent?” she said, her voice pleasantly throaty.

  “Yes,” I said.

  We shook hands.

  I said, “Please sit down, Miss ...?”

  “Thank you.” She sat, gracefully; crossed her legs, delightfully. “But it’s not Miss. I’m Mrs. Anne Salem.”

  She smiled, knowing damn well she’d rocked me.

  “Do you mean Mrs. Earl Salem?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I see.”

  Her eyes laughed—if that’s possible. And it is possible. Almost anything is possible when a woman owns eyes like the two that stared candidly into mine at that moment. They were violet eyes. Deep, deep violet. Large eyes under long, natural lashes.

  “My husband told me about you,” she said. “This was after we learned that Eve Delmar was murdered.”

  “Yes?” I said.

  “I would like to hire your services, Mr. Kent.”

  “Does your husband know you came here?”

  “That is a very good question. The answer is no. And I want to keep it that way.”

  “Why?”

  “Are you available?”

  “That depends.”

  “On what I want you to do?”

  “Yes.”

  “I want you to investigate the murder of Eve Delmar ... with the accent on my husband.”

  “I don’t understand, Mrs. Salem.”

  “Anne, if you don’t mind. And not because I particularly want you to be friendly.”

  I smiled. “That puzzles me even more.”

  “Mr. Kent, I think my husband was having an affair with Eve Delmar.” Her violet eyes studied me as though looking for reaction. “What do you have to say to that?”

  I said, “I met your husband only once. When I saw Eve last night, it was the first time for more than a year. That hardly qualifies me as an expert on their relationship. At any rate, I don’t see what the possibility of an affair between your husband and Eve Delmar has to do with murder.” I paused for effect. “Unless, of course, you can furnish me with information pertinent to the proposition.”

  “I think I can. I’ve been married to Earl for about three years. For the past two and a half years I’ve been asking him for a divorce. How’s that for openers, Mr. Kent?”

  “It’s not very significant. If married men made the murder of mistresses a habit, the female population of the United States would be down by several million.”

  “Ah, but all mistresses are not like Eve Delmar.”

  “Oh?”

  “A few weeks ago I went through Earl’s checkbooks. He’s a very methodical man, especially in financial matters. When he signs a check for the milk bill, he enters the number of quarts of milk for which he’s paying on the check stub. The same applies to all other things—with one exception: rather a series of exceptions. During the past five months, Earl made out fourteen checks to cash in amounts ranging from four hundred to twelve hundred dollars. But there was no entry on the stubs. And the cancelled checks were not with the others. This, to put it mildly, Mr. Kent, is suspicious. I think you’ll agree with me on that.”

  “It would seem,” I said, “that your husband doesn’t want you to know the recipient of the checks for cash.”

  “Precisely.”

  “But that doesn’t say he gave the checks to Eve Delmar.”

  “She has a very distinctive lipstick, Mr. Kent. I found evidence of this lipstick on Earl’s shirts and handkerchiefs quite a few times. And I kept track of the dates. It was always a day after he made out a check for cash. Also, it was always a day after he was missing for from five to ten hours. On two occasions I found books of paper matches in his pockets. The two books of matches were identical; they carried an ad for the Yolanda Motel, which is near Point Pleasant, only about six miles from Oceanview. The suggestion is rather obvious, don’t you think?”

  I shook my head. “It’s not nearly conclusive. The Yolanda Motel has a very nice restaurant. Your husband may have stopped in the restaurant for a meal. Maybe he has property in South Jersey.”

  “Earl is part-owner of a night-club in Atlantic City.”

  “Well, there you—”

  “But the club down there is beautifully run. Earl receives a nice return from his investment. As a matter of fact, I checked with the manager of the Atlantic City club only a few days ago. Naturally, I was discreet. I learned that Earl made only one trip to Atlantic City by himself during the past year. On two occasions I went with him.”

  I offered her a cigarette. She refused with a slight movement of her head. I lit up.

  “Well?” she said.

  “Anne, there are quite a few good detective agencies in town that will handle your case.”

  “I want you to handle it.”

  “That’s very flattering, but I stopped doing that sort of thing a long time ago.”

  “What sort of thing?”

  “What you want me to do—check on your husband.”

  “I didn’t say anything about checking on my husband. I want you to investigate the murder of Eve Delmar.”

  “But with emphasis on your husband’s role in the affair.”

  “Let’s forget about my husband for a moment, Mr. Kent.”

  “After what you’ve just told me, I can’t do that.”

  “I told you because I wanted to be sure you knew just how things were between Earl and me. I didn’t want you to think I’m hiring you to divert suspicion away from my husband. I expect you to investigate the murder of Eve Delmar in your own way, giving me absolutely no consideration despite the fact that I’ll be paying your fees and expenses.”

  I leaned back in my chair, gave a short laugh.

  “Is something funny?” she asked.

  “Odd is the word, Anne. You think your husband killed her, don’t you?”

  “I’m paying you to find out who killed her. That is, I’ll be paying you if you accept me as a client.” She opened her purse. “Will three hundred dollars do as a retainer? If it isn’t—”

  “It would be—if I accept the case.”

  “Why shouldn’t you? According to the newspaper reports, you’re working on the case now. Do you have a client?”

  “No—”

  “Then wouldn’t it be practical to have one?”

  “Anne, at the risk of sounding corny, Jack is a good friend of mine. When a friend is in trouble—”

  “I’m not asking you to turn your back on a friend. Quite the contrary: I’m offering to subsidize the investigation. Is there anything wrong with that?”

  “It’s your motive I’m concerned with. In addition, I’m already working on the case.”

  “So I gathered from the news reports.”

  “Well, why should you pay me to do something I’m already doing?”

  She looked away. There was a strange little smile on her lips. “I don’t think you’d understand ...”

  “Try me.”

  Her violet eyes met mine. “I hate my husband’s guts.”

  She said it softly, with no inflection. Maybe that was why her words came as such a shock to me.

  “We won’t go into the reasons why I hate him so ... avidly,” she said.

  “If you feel like this, why don’t you leave him?”

  “He’s holding something over my head, Mr. Kent. I made a mistake, shall we say. It happened before I
met him. Since then I’ve lived in a different world. I’ve made a lot of friends. I don’t want to lose all that.”

  “Blackmail,” I said.

  “In a way. Let’s leave it at that, shall we?”

  I puffed on the cigarette. “I still don’t get it. You think he killed her, don’t you?”

  She hesitated. “I’m hoping he did.”

  I shook my head. “It just doesn’t make sense to me, Anne! You’re worried about this hold he has over you, yet you came here and ... Aren’t you taking a risk?”

  “I’m sure you won’t tell anyone about my visit, or our business.”

  “That’s beside the point. You’re an intelligent woman—that’s obvious, just looking at you. So why don’t you sit back and wait? Why run the risk of angering your husband?”

  “He knows how I feel about him, Mr. Kent. He knows I wish he was dead. He sees the hatred in my eyes. But all it does is amuse him. My mistake was in asking for a divorce. He had already grown tired of me—one woman isn’t nearly enough for him—but the moment he knew I wanted my freedom, he closed the door!”

  “You make him sound like a sadist.”

  “He is! ... That’s exactly what he is. But it goes deeper than that. I’m a possession. Earl doesn’t dispose of his possessions until he’s ready. When I asked for a divorce, he wasn’t quite ready. On the other hand, he was ready to get rid of Eve Delmar a long time ago.”

  “How can you be sure of that? Did he discuss Eve with you?”

  “Of course not. That would have given me a hold over him. But I know my husband very well. The symptoms were there. Eve came to the club quite a few times. It was obvious from their behavior that he wanted to be rid of her—and she was determined to hold on. And the same time, she was afraid of him ... yet, in other ways, she seemed sure of herself and her position. I’ve done a lot of thinking about this. It’s my opinion that Eve threatened to come to me and tell about her relationship with Earl. As for the checks made out to cash, I think she was blackmailing him. Finally, she went a little too far ... and Earl killed her.”