by Frank Kane
The cruise director grinned at her. “What are you getting so sensitive about? I’m not trying to write him out. Matter of fact, I’d like you to get to know him better.”
“Why?”
Allen shrugged. “Captain wants to know more about him, for one thing. And I always like to keep the captain happy.”
“Why don’t you ask Liddell who he is or what he is?”
“I’m not his type.” He let his eyes wander over her lush figure. “I think you might be.”
The blonde looked at him. “Okay. I’ve had worse assignments. If I have anything for you, I’ll call your stateroom.”
“Why don’t you drop by and—”
The blonde grinned at him. “That’s one thing I have in common with Liddell, Jack. You’re not my type, either.”
Allen scowled at her. “I’ll expect to hear from you.” He spun on his heel, headed for the grand staircase, shouldered his way through the hungry horde that was descending on the midnight spread.
Ingrid frowned at the cruise director’s back until it was swallowed up in the crowd, turned to find Robin Lewis watching her with an amused smile. “Looks like our genial cruise director is unhappy. I thought it was part of his contract to keep smiling.”
The blonde shrugged. “I don’t know about his contract, but he sure doesn’t understand mine. It calls for bed and board along with the salary. He has it figured it should be his bed.”
The actress eyed the lush lines of the blonde’s figure. “You can’t blame him for trying. The time to start worrying is when they stop.”
Ingrid smiled. “I guess so.” She looked past Robin to the long line holding plates to be filled from the tiered tables. “If you’re going to get anything to eat, you’d better get in line.”
The actress shuddered delicately. “I couldn’t eat another bite if my life depended on it. I don’t know how they manage to do it.”
The blonde compared the ample lines of the other passengers to the carefully massaged, svelte figure of the actress. “They kid themselves that the more woman there is, the more their husband has to love. You know the old story—acres and acres and all mine! Then they pull a faint when they find out that he’s been keeping a secretary half their size.”
Robin brought a jeweled cigarette case from her handbag, offered it to the blonde, drew a shake of her head. She reached into the bag, found a cigarette holder, screwed a cigarette into it. “I don’t see our new shipmate among the hungry horde. I guess that build of his is no accident.”
“You mean Mr. Liddell?” The blonde’s green eyes flicked along the line. “He doesn’t strike me as the Gobbler type. He’s more likely to be at one of the bars.”
The actress leaned over, accepted a light from one of the junior officers, thanked him with a smile. She took a deep drag, let the smoke escape from between half-parted lips. “Something about him intrigues me. I have the most peculiar feeling that I know him from somewhere. You wouldn’t happen to know whether he’s ever been in Hollywood?”
The blonde considered, shrugged. “I don’t know anything about him, frankly. But he doesn’t seem to me to be the type. To be an actor, I mean.”
Robin tapped the end of the holder against her teeth absently. “I don’t mean as an actor. It’s just some association that escapes me—” She broke off, shook her head. “I’m probably mistaken. In a town like Hollywood if I’d ever met a man like that, I don’t think I would have forgotten him.” She consulted the tiny baguette on her wrist. “I think I’ll drop by the Midnight Sun for a nightcap. Maybe you’ll drop by?”
“That’s the second invitation I’ve had tonight. I might just decide to do that.”
The actress smiled around her cigarette holder, headed for the grand staircase. She was oblivious to the epidemic of whispering she caused. The older passengers were consoling each other with comments on how old she looked, while the younger members were wondering how many face lifts it took to make such an ancient look so good.
To Robin, the whispers were an old story. She pretended not to hear the comments as she swept regally up the stairs and out of sight.
CHAPTER 10
The Midnight Sun was a small, intimate bar set off the main foyer on the promenade deck. It opened nightly at twelve when the other bars closed for the night and provided a headquarters and a refuge for the night owls.
Johnny Liddell walked into the room, stood in the doorway and looked around until his eyes became accustomed to the dimness. There was a small, circular bar set in the center of the room. It had red-leather elbow rests and a ring of matching stools. The only lighting in the room came from hidden fixtures in the comers, giving it a dim, intimate air. A number of comfortable armchairs and low tables were scattered around so as to provide each with the maximum of privacy. Near the ceiling, a pall of gray smoke stirred lazily in the draft from the open door.
Most of the tables were already filled, a handful of loners perched on the stools at the bar. Liddell could see Carson Eldridge at one table, his neatly combed white hair shining dully in the gloom. He was deep in conversation with Lewis Herrick, emphasizing his points with the flat of his hand on the edge of the table.
Nearby, at another table, the newlyweds Harry and Belle Doyle sat nursing two bottles of beer, their knees touching under the table, their heads together, oblivious to anyone else in the room.
Liddell walked over to the bar, slid up onto one of the stools. He signaled to the bartender for a scotch and soda, watched while the man in the white jacket made a production of building the drink.
The door to the companionway opened, agitating the cloud of smoke near the ceiling. Robin Lewis stood in the doorway for a moment, then crossed to where Eldridge and Herrick were sitting. Liddell could understand why the actress would like the indirect lighting of the late bar. It was like being photographed through a filter that miraculously erased the lines, softened the tendency to sag along the jaw line, wiped away the droop to her lips. Viewed in this light, she was still an excitingly beautiful woman.
The bar continued to fill up as late arrivals filtered in from the buffet. Martin Sands and his “niece” were among the latecomers, sat at a comer table, seemed to be having trouble finding things to talk about. The girl was smoking a cigarette with short, nervous puffs; the man’s eyes kept darting around the room as though in search of something to spark the conversation,
Liddell was on his second drink and third cigarette when Ingrid walked in. She acknowledged a wave from Carson Eldridge, crossed to where Liddell was sitting, squirmed up onto the stool alongside him.
“Waiting long?” she asked.
“Like forever,” he assured her.
The blonde grinned at him, asked the bartender for a brandy and soda. “It felt like forever to me, too. I didn’t think they’d ever stop eating.” She waited while the man in the white jacket slid the glass in front of her. “Jack Allen and I alternate in playing host at the buffet. Tonight was my turn.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m glad it’s over.”
Liddell crushed out his cigarette in the ash tray, asked, “If you dislike the job that much, why do you keep doing it?” He raised his eyes from the spiral of smoke that rose from the ash tray, took inventory of her obvious assets. “A gal like you could do herself plenty of good in lots of other spots.”
The blonde sipped her drink, turned the full impact of her slanted eyes on him over the rim. Then, “Maybe this job offers me something I’ve been, looking for that I couldn’t find in another job.”
“For instance?”
She shrugged, with interesting effect on the bodice of her gown. “A chance to meet rich men. Maybe even marry one.” She half closed her eyes, studied him from under expertly tinted lids. “You wouldn’t happen to be rich, would you, Liddell?”
He shook his head.
The blonde sighed philosophically. “It figured. The only rich men I ever meet on these cruises are fat, fifty and with more hands than an octopus.” She reached across to whe
re his cigarettes lay on the bar, helped herself to one.
“But you still keep the job.” He waited while she fitted the cigarette between her lips, then held a match for her. “How come?”
She blew a stream of smoke at the ceiling, winced as a stray tendril stung her eye. “It has other compensations.” She reached down, smoothed the fabric across her well-rounded thigh. “I manage to make ends meet.”
Liddell grinned. “I’ll bet.”
Ingrid removed the cigarette from between her lips, speared a tiny piece of tobacco with her long fingernail. “Now that you know all about me, how about you? Who are you and what do you really do?”
Liddell shrugged. “What’s to tell? My name’s Johnny Liddell. I take a little, leave a little, do a little of this, a little of that.”
The blonde studied the carmined end of her cigarette. “Not exactly a pillar of society, huh?” She rolled her eyes up to his face. “You don’t smell like one.”
“How does a pillar of society smell?”
“Part wanting something he’s not supposed to have so bad he can taste it and part fear of being caught at it.” She drew a deep drag on her cigarette, let the smoke escape from between half-parted lips. “They sit there so godawful proper, with their fat wives, looking like butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths. You wouldn’t know they were the same men if they happen to corner a girl behind a lifeboat or up on one of the top decks in the dark.” She brought her eyes back to Liddell. “You smell more like my kind of people. The kind who take what they want and don’t give a damn who knows.” She studied his face. “Are you?”
Liddell considered for a moment. “Part of my business does involve taking an occasional risk,” he conceded.
“I thought so,” Ingrid dropped her eyes to her glass, picked it up. She swirled the liquor around her glass thoughtfully. “You know, you’ve made an awful lot of people curious since you came on board this morning. Even the captain has been asking questions about you.”
“That so? Who’s he been asking?”
The blonde considered it. “Jack Allen, my boss.” She grinned at him frankly. “That’s why I’m here. To find out who you are and what you do.” She took a swallow from her glass, studied him over the rim. “I’m going to be awfully disappointed if you tell me you’re in stocks.”
Liddell chuckled. “Why stocks?”
“You said in your business you take a little, leave a little. That you take an occasional risk.” Her eyes flicked over his face. “What do you do?”
Liddell shook his head. “You’re making this all sound mysterious and romantic. I’m not.” He looked around, dropped his voice. “Some people I know got the idea they could set up a base in Barbados to operate from. I came down to look it over—” He shrugged. “It wouldn’t have worked out.”
Ingrid looked thoughtful. “You make it sound almost shady.” She eyed him, waited for an answer. When he passed it up, there was a new interest in her glance.
“You’re not very communicative. Usually when I turn my charm on a passenger he falls all over himself telling me what a big wheel he is and how important he is.”
“That’s the curse of living a dull life.” Liddell grinned.
“I’ll bet.” She managed to look unhappy. “Allen is going to be very disappointed in me.”
Liddell shook his head. “I don’t believe anybody would be disappointed in you. I’d be willing to risk it.”
“Well, thanks.” She drained her glass, set it back on the bar. “I promised to drop by for a nightcap and that’s it.”
“You can’t fly on one wing.”
The blonde shook her head. “I do have to get my beauty sleep.” As she slid- off the stool, she brushed against him. He had the impression of a firm, rounded breast; the scent she wore filled his nostrils.
“I’ll take you back to your room.”
Ingrid shook her head. “I can find my way, thanks.” She turned, headed for the companionway. Liddell watched the play of her rounded hips against the tight fabric of her skirt, sighed.
A waiter materialized at his side. “Mr. Eldridge would like you to join his party, sir,” he told Liddell.
Johnny spun on his stool, looked over to where the white-haired man was beckoning to him. He nodded, dropped a bill on the bar and slid off his stool. He threaded his way through the tables to where Eldridge sat with Robin Lewis and Lew Herrick.
“Tough luck, old boy,” the writer greeted him with a grin. “We were rooting for you.”
Liddell slid into the chair opposite Robin Harris. “You over-rate me. I never stood a chance.”
“Cost me a round of drinks,” the white-haired man complained. “I’ve been waiting ever since we left New York to see someone waltz out of here wearing that Scandinavian on his arm. From the progress you’ve been making since you came aboard, I figured you might be the one.”
“I think you’re all a bunch of lechers,” the actress scolded smilingly. “I’m sure Ingrid is above that. Besides, you make me horribly self-conscious about walking out with anybody. Do you suppose they’re speculating about me like that?”
“Definitely, my dear,” Herrick assured her. “You should hear the stories that are going around about us. Very flattering, I assure you. My steward makes it a point to keep me informed.”
“Nasty-minded people. All of them.”
The waiter deposited a round of drinks on the table, drifted off.
“A lot of speculation going on about you, too, old fellow.” The writer turned to Liddell. “Understanding is that it’s extremely rare to pick up a passenger so late in the cruise.”
Liddell grinned. “I’ve got influence.”
“Lucky thing for you that Landers fellow got himself washed overboard, wasn’t it?” Eldridge asked casually. “We filled the last available cabins in Antigua. Real convenient of him to vacate one for you.”
“Wasn’t it?” Liddell grunted. He checked his watch. “I guess I’ll make this one the nightcap and get some sack time, if you don’t mind.” He drained the glass, set it back on the table.
“Would you mind very much walking me back to my room, Johnny?” the actress asked. She grinned at the surprised look on the writer’s face, the speculation in the white-haired man’s eyes. “If they’re doing so much talking about us, darling,” she told the writer, “don’t you think it would be fun to really confuse them?”
Herrick tried for a smile, didn’t quite make it. “Of course.” He nodded to Liddell. “Be my guest.”
Carson Eldridge leaned back in his chair, shook his head. “Like I said this afternoon, you sure don’t waste much time. Monopolizing the Scandinavian and Robin Lewis, both in the same evening—” He shook his head again. “I’d love to see what you do for an encore.”
The cool breeze on the promenade deck felt good after the closeness of the bar. Robin Lewis tucked her hand under Liddell’s arm.
“It seems a shame to go in this early. There are so few nights like this before we’ll be back in the slush and sleet.” The actress sighed. “Mind if we walk a little?”
“And talk?”
The woman adjusted her stride to Liddell’s, shrugged. “If you want to.” They started down the length of the carefully holystoned deck toward the stem of the ship. “You see, Liddell, I know who you are. What I’m not sure of is what you’re after. That’s what I’d like to know.”
Liddell grinned glumly. “You’d make a good poker player, Robin.”
“I’m not bluffing, Johnny.” She led the way to the rail, released his arm, pulled her scarf closer around her shoulders. “When I first heard your name, it struck a familiar chord with me. You know how it is?” she asked. “You fumble around, try to tie the familiar name in with something or somebody. All I could come up with for you was Hollywood.”
“You’ve already mentioned the fact that you were in the movies,” Liddell told her coolly.
“We were talking about you. When I saw you, your face wasn’t as familiar as
your name. It was tantalizing, trying to remember where I heard that name and under what circumstances. It bugged me all evening.” She smiled at him. “It only came to me while I was sitting there at the table with Carson and Lewis.”
“What came to you?”
The smile was broader. “I was in Hollywood a couple of years ago when you broke the Dirk Messner killing out there. Your name was all over the papers. The reason your face wasn’t equally as familiar is because there were very few pictures of you in the papers.”
Liddell groaned. “Mention this to anybody?”
The actress shook her head. “Not yet. It just came to me. Besides, there might be a good reason for all this cloak-and-dagger stuff.”
“So I’m a private detective. Can’t private detectives want to take a rest like anybody else?”
Robin stared out over the water, her eyes following the luminous path that capped the waves, drew a line out to where a pumpkin-colored moon nestled in the blue-black of the sky. Below her, a mist rose from the foaming sea, created a ghostly effect in the light from the portholes.
“You heard what Carson Eldridge said. You couldn’t have known that Landers’s cabin would be available by the time the ship reached Barbados.”
“So?”
“So your being aboard is no accident. When word reached New York that something had happened to Landers, you flew to Barbados, waited for the Queen to arrive and took up where he left off.”
Liddell sighed lugubriously. “And here all along I’ve been thinking it was my charm that caused you to get me out here alone.”
“Is that why you’re on board? To finish what Landers started?”
Liddell considered for a moment. “What had Landers started?”
“You won’t tell me what you’re doing on board, then?”
“I thought it was obvious. I’m taking a cruise.”
The actress shook her head. “I think you’re going to be very sorry, Mr. Detective.”
“That so? Why?”
“Because I’m going right to the captain, tell him who you are and what you’re here for. My guess is that tomorrow when we leave Grenada you and your baggage will be sitting on the dock.” She swung around, hightailed it toward the aft companionway.