Fashioned for Murder

by George Harmon Coxe

  “Have you got an extra blanket? And maybe a pillow?”

  “What?”

  “I can sleep here,” he said.

  “But—” Linda hesitated and watched him strangely, as though not sure whether he meant it or not.

  Nason grinned at her. “You heard what the lieutenant said. He said to stick around.” Then, the grin fading and the soberness coming into his voice, he said, “You don’t think I’m going to let you stay here alone, do you?”

  “But, Jerry! I can lock the door and—”

  “What about the guy who was trying keys in your lock? How do we know he hasn’t got one that fits? We don’t know if he got in or not, do we?”

  “O-h.”

  “Right. And let’s not kid ourselves about those stones. Maybe they came from your bracelet—”

  “I’ll never believe it, never.”

  “—and maybe not. But the way it looks to me someone murdered Norman Franks because of them. The only reason I can think of that would make him come here after he’d beep shot was because he’d stolen them from you—though a man dying like that doesn’t need a reason, I guess, and maybe isn’t quite sure what he’s doing.”

  He paused, his glance moving unconsciously to the small, dark stain on the rug. “The guy that killed him must know he had them. He knows where he came, and so far we still have the stones. What’s to stop him from coming back?”

  Linda stood up. She drained her glass and walked without a word into the hall. When she came back she carried a blanket, a sheet, a pillow, and pillowcase.

  “I wouldn’t have thought of that until later,” she said as she set about making up a bed for him. “And then I would have lain awake all night in a cold sweat with my heart in my throat.”

  He took the blanket from her. He said he could fix it up and that he’d had lots of practice. She smiled, but it seemed to him that she was taking pains not to look at him.

  “I’d like to,” she said. “It’s the first time I’ve ever tried to make it up.”

  Nason stepped back and watched her as he finished his drink, a curious feeling of warmth and contentment stealing over him as he watched the line of her throat and shoulders and the way the blond hair fell about her face. It had been a long time since he had time to see her with his mind as well as his eyes, and he had forgotten how very lovely she was.

  Chapter Ten

  JERRY NASON WOKE UP ONCE during the night, found the apartment quiet, and went back to sleep again. When he awakened next time it was light outside, but he did not know what time it was and, not meaning to, he fell asleep again. When next he opened his eyes the hall door was open. He could hear pans clattering in the kitchen, and the smell of coffee was fragrant in the room.

  He stretched and leaned out, supporting himself with one hand, but he could not see the kitchen door, so he lay back and yawned loudly. A moment later the kitchen sounds had ceased and steps tapped lightly in the hall.

  Linda Courtney smiled at him from the doorway. Her blond hair was shining and brushed smooth, and her cheeks had a fresh warm glow; she may have worn a trace of lipstick, but he did not think so. She had put on loafers but no stockings and wore a simple, tan gabardine dress, with a pink-and-white-checked gingham apron covering a square foot of the dress.

  “Good morning,” he said. “Do you have to make all that noise?”

  Her eyes were merry, her tone severe. “Hah! A fine watchman you make! The way you sleep, you couldn’t protect anyone from anything! You have ten minutes,” she said. “And how do you like your eggs?”

  “Egg,” said Jerry. “And I’m not fussy. Sort of medium.”

  Then she was going down the hall, and he stood up and slipped into his robe. With his clothes under one arm and his toilet case in hand, he went through her bedroom, not examining it closely but noting that the bed was made and an air of general neatness prevailed, and into the bath.

  A three-minute shave was followed by a three-minute shower, and when he came back to his suitcase wearing a clean shirt and with his brown hair damply wavy, a gate-leg table had been set near the window. The sight of it made him feel very good indeed, and he packed quickly, arriving at the kitchen door before the toast was ready.

  “Ahh,” said Linda, forking bacon onto brown paper to drain, “you made it. Now, if you’ll pull the plug on the percolator and take it in the other room.”

  She followed him in with two glasses of orange juice and told him he could sit down, but he went back with her and buttered the toast while she dished up the bacon and the egg he had ordered.

  “What about you?” he said.

  “I’m a fruit-and-coffee girl for breakfast,” she said. “Come on, while your egg is still hot.”

  Nason obeyed. He drank his orange juice and sailed into the toast and bacon and egg, and, though there was not much chance to talk, he liked the sparkle in her gray eyes and the smoothness of her skin as well as the thrill of sitting across the table from her. Unfortunately, the mood could not last. With the first flush of pleasure gone, his mind began to work, and by the time he was ready for a cigarette, he found himself remembering Lieutenant Treynor’s questions with discouraging clarity. She seemed to sense this, and presently they were two sober people sitting in a quiet room from which the sunlight seemed to have gone. Finally, she sighed and crushed out her cigarette.

  “What do we do now, Jerry?”

  “Find out about those three pieces. Kate Harper should know someone who can make a real appraisal of them.” “Albert Wylie would do it for me.”

  “I suppose he would,” Nason said. “I’d forgotten you knew him.”

  “But first, I’d like to talk to Paul Sanford.”

  “All right. Let’s get the dishes done.”

  He stopped as the buzzer sounded. He rose slowly, and Linda moved with him, her eyes meeting his and sliding beyond him to the door while a frown puckered the bridge of her nose.

  “I’ll get it,” he said.

  She nodded. She stepped to the sofa and picked up the blanket, sheet, and pillow he had folded and put there. When she started for the bedroom, Nason walked over to the door, hesitated, then turned the knob.

  Raoul Julian stood in the hall, his ready smile fading instantly at the sight of Nason. He looked big and immaculate in his double-breasted, chalk-striped flannel; he carried gloves in one hand and wore no topcoat.

  “Hi,” Nason said. “Come in.”

  Julian took his time, his black eyes mirroring his annoyance, the curve of his mouth and mustache fashioning a new and superior smile. “Thanks,” he said.

  Linda was back in the living-room. “Good morning,” she said. “You’re just in time for coffee. Pull up a chair.”

  Julian put his hat down, his gloves on top of it. He shoved a chair closer to the table, and his busy eyes inspected Nason’s suitcase before they moved on.

  “Thank you,” he said. “I would like some. I have never been lucky enough to be invited for breakfast,” he added.

  Linda laughed lightly. She said she hadn’t known him long enough.

  “How long?” Nason asked idly.

  “About a week,” Julian replied, not looking around.

  “You do all right.”

  “Do I? And you are an old friend?”

  “Definitely. I’ve known her at least two weeks.”

  Linda glanced from one to the other, sensing the hostility between the two men and changing the subject quickly by offering Nason more coffee. She got a cigarette box and put it on the table, asking in a too-bright voice if anyone had a light. Nason supplied it, and now, with the coffee, Julian’s mood improved. He complimented Linda on its excellence. He smiled at her and asked what her plans were for the morning.

  “We were going to the Jewelers’ Guild,” the girl said.

  “To see Kate Harper,” Nason added.

  Julian finished his coffee, put the cup down, and rubbed his hands. He looked particularly pleased with himself, like a man who has stumbled ov
er some new discovery and found it delightful to contemplate.

  “Fine,” he said. “I will go with you. I met Miss Harper the other night,” he said. “She is quite a girl.”

  “After we do the dishes,” Nason said, not liking the way things were going.

  “I will help,” Julian said. “I am quite good at that. You get ready,” he said to Linda. “We will take care of things.”

  The girl glanced at Nason, and the resigned and stricken look on his face brought a smile to her eyes. She nodded and said that would be wonderful. She said she would put on some shoes and stockings, and went into the bedroom, telling them she would be ready before they would.

  Kate Harper, the publicity woman for the Jewelers’ Guild, was at her desk when Linda Courtney knocked and opened the door, and the minute Kate saw Jerry Nason she jumped up and greeted him heartily.

  “Well, come in,” she said. “What brings you to town, Steichen? Hello, Linda—Mr. Julian.”

  “We were looking for Paul Sanford,” Linda said.

  “He’s hardly ever here in the morning,” Kate linked her arm through Nason’s. “How is it in Boston?” she demanded. “What’s new with the Bulletin?”

  Nason’s rugged face cracked in a smile. He said Boston was okay but he didn’t know about the Bulletin, and so infectious was Kate’s personality that for a minute he forgot his troubles and examined her fondly.

  From the first she had been one of the best reporters the Bulletin ever had, never asking favors because of her sex and making no excuses when things went wrong. She had the proper intuitive equipment to sense a story in the making, and she had the energy and resourcefulness to follow up a lead once she was convinced it was a good one. Many was the time that Nason had covered an assignment with her, and when he was in the Pacific he learned that she had become one of the first accredited woman correspondents to get to Europe.

  Now she was a pleasant-faced woman of about thirty, on the large side but with a figure that if not sylphlike was firm-fleshed and extremely well proportioned. Her brown hair had a touch of ginger in it, her skin was good, and if at times she was a little overpowering, she was without malice and her heart was big. Able to hold her own in any rough-and-tumble battle of wits or innuendos, she was never mean, and Nason knew that no one on the Bulletin had ever had more friends.

  Now aware that Raoul Julian was going to try to pay him back for the luncheon date he had spoiled, and wondering what he could do about it, he said, glancing approvingly at Kate’s tailored woolen suit, “That’s a good-looking outfit, Kate.”

  “Aren’t you nice?” Kate beamed and then considered Linda and Julian. “Are you a delegation of some sort or—”

  “We just dropped in,” Nason said. “I’m looking for work, and Linda wanted to see Paul Sanford.”

  “And they very kindly asked me along,” said Julian.

  “I don’t know of anything just now, Jerry,” Kate said. “But they liked that thing you did with Linda. Oh, yes,” she said. “Speaking of Sanford, he’s throwing a little party tonight at his place—sort of a wake, really, to celebrate Experiment in Living. He was one of the bigger angels.”

  “But,” said Julian, “it closed Saturday.”

  “Yes,” said Kate. “It had an extremely nice five-day run, which is something like par for Paul. That’s why I said it was really a wake. He wanted me to ask some people. I’ve called the cast and director and the stage manager, but if you’re going to be in town, why don’t you bring Linda, Jerry?”

  “What about me?” said Julian.

  “Hmm.” Kate tipped her head, one eye half-closed. “Maybe. Of course you’ll probably have to take me and bring me home.”

  Raoul Julian inclined his head. “I should be delighted.”

  Kate Harper, that one eye still humorously half-closed, said, “Hmm.” Then, opening the eye and speaking to the others, she said, “What else is on your mind, kids?”

  There was a moment or two of silence. Linda glanced at Nason and did something with her eyes that seemed to say, “What are we going to do about him?” The “him” being Raoul Julian, who had leaned back and was smugly enjoying the silence and the opportunity to annoy until Nason finally thought of something to say.

  “Could you get me a hotel room, Kate?”

  “I could try,” Kate said and pushed a button. “June,” she said to the girl who entered a moment later, “will you try the hotels and see if we can get Mr. Nason a room? This is Miss Edwards,” she said. “You can call her later, Jerry, and she’ll tell you what’s available.” Miss Edwards went out. Kate leaned back, watching her callers curiously. The silence began to build again and now only Julian was grinning, After ten seconds of this, Linda rose abruptly.

  “You’ll have to excuse us,” she said to Julian and Nason. “I want to talk to Kate a minute.”

  Julian sighed and stood up. “Certainly,” he said, and opened the door, allowing Nason to precede him.

  Once outside, Julian leaned against the partition and pretended he was alone. He looked boredly about the main office, inspecting the girls who worked at the desks and typewriters, and Nason watched him, his distaste for the big man growing. He made no attempt to analyze his feelings, but studied the other covertly, admitting Julian’s sartorial perfection and his fit-looking, well-proportioned height, conceding his dark good looks and regular features, but resenting strongly his superior, patronizing manner. Perhaps what Nason felt was a certain well-founded jealousy, though he had no time either to wonder about this or admit it because the door opened, and Kate and Linda joined them.

  What happened then made up for a lot of things, for Linda turned immediately to him, smiled brightly, and said. “Are we ready, Jerry? ’By, Kate—and thanks.”

  Julian blinked and seemed undecided about his next move. As Nason and Linda started past him, he made as if to follow and then, somehow, Kate Harper had his arm, holding him, telling Linda and Nason good-by and saying to the puzzled Julian, “You don’t have to go, do you, Mr. Julian?”

  For once Julian was at a loss for words. “Well,” he said, “that is—”

  “Fine!” said Kate, half turning him toward the office door. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”

  Nason kept walking—on air now and feeling very wonderful indeed when he realized that Julian had been neatly framed by the two women. He did not glance back but kept pace with Linda, who moved blithely beside him as though nothing had happened.

  “Did you cook that one up all by yourself?” he asked as they stopped by the elevator.

  Linda giggled. Then, voice sobering, she said, “Well, we couldn’t very well take him to see Albert Wylie, could we?”

  Nason silently agreed. He had forgotten, in his concern over Julian, about the costume pieces in Linda’s bag. Considering them now, he felt much of the fine glow of his excitement ooze away.

  Chapter Eleven

  ALBERT WYLIE’S SHOP was on a side street not far from Fifth Avenue and occupied the ground floor of an old four-story building built flush with the sidewalk and having a gray-stone façade with a recessed doorway flanked by four pillars. There was an iron gate in front of the foyer, open now, and beyond this was a heavy glass door and a large brass knob.

  This was locked as Jerry Nason tried it, and he saw then that the glass was very thick in the door and the narrow panels adjacent to it, and colored in some way so that, while one had difficulty seeing inside, it permitted inspection of all those who wished to enter.

  “He’s looking us over,” Linda said.

  “How do we look?”

  “Respectable, I think.”

  With that there was a buzzing sound and a sharp click as the bolt slid back. Nason opened the door, and they went into a long, narrow room with a showcase running along one side and what looked like some private rooms at the rear.

  Two men stood behind the showcase, one in a plain gray suit, who looked like a jewelry salesman, and the other in blue, who, with slightly differen
t accouterments, might have passed as a guard or bouncer. Coming toward them from the rear was Albert Wylie, his round face beaming, his striped trousers and gray coat masterpieces of tailoring.

  “Good morning, Linda,” he said, offering his hand.

  “I told you I was coming in to see you one of these days,” Linda said. “This is Jerry Nason—Mr. Wylie.”

  “Oh, yes,” Wylie said. “The young man you told me about from Boston. I’ve seen some of your work,” he said to Nason. “I liked it. Come in. Sit down.”

  He led the way through a doorway to a private office and waved them to chairs. “Now, what can I show you today?” he said when he was seated. “A diamond neck-ace, perhaps?” He examined them with pale eyes that were bright with good humor to see if they were enjoying his jest.

  “If it doesn’t cost over three dollars,” Nason said.

  Wylie laughed, and Linda opened her bag. She was smiling, too, but her eyes were not in it, and presently she seemed to straighten in her chair, as though readying herself for what was to come.

  “I came to ask a favor,” she said. “I have some things I wanted to have appraised and I didn’t know anyone else who—”

  “Of course,” Wylie said. “Let’s have a look and then we will see.”

  She put the three pieces on the desk in front of the jeweler. She arranged them in a row, and Wylie’s eyes slanted quickly up at her, an odd brightness showing in them before he tipped them back and bent over the pieces to begin his examination.

  Seconds ticked by, and no one moved. A nerve tightened in Nason’s chest and was still. He found himself leaning forward, hands gripping the chair arms, wanting to say something but afraid to interrupt Wylie’s thoughts. He could not see the other’s face now for the head was bent, but he watched the jeweler lift the bracelet and turn it, and was struck by the slender, expressive hands because they seemed out of place in one so stocky.

  Wylie opened a drawer and took out his jeweler’s loupe. He screwed it in one eye and inspected the bracelet, turning slightly in his chair to get the full benefit of the light. He replaced it carefully and examined the brooch; he examined the necklace, stone by stone, and took time to study the clasp.