The girl asked, “Will you be staying with us long, Mr. Horton?”
He studied her for a moment before answering. She was an attractive redhead with clear, milky skin and wide-spaced green eyes. In deference to the Hotel Lawford’s conservative atmosphere, she wore a severely-tailored gray suit, but it failed to conceal that she had a body designed to be shown off in low-cut evening gowns. He guessed her age at about twenty-five, five years younger than he was. She looked as though she might be worth cultivating.
With a pleasant smile, he said, “I’m not sure, miss. Depends on how soon I find a permanent place to live.”
“Oh, you’re moving to Rice City?” she inquired.
“Just as a summer resident,” he said. “Hope to buy a home along the beach. I have an appointment with a real-estate man tomorrow to look at some places.”
“Well, we’ll certainly be glad to have you here,” the girl said. Then, realizing there was an unnecessary amount of enthusiasm in her voice, she blushed.
To cover her confusion, she looked toward the bell captain’s desk and called, “Front!”
A bell-hop came over and picked up Horton’s bags.
It was nine o’clock, Friday morning on June sixth when James Horton checked into the Hotel Lawford. By ten he had showered and changed to a freshly-pressed suit, and had descended to the lobby again.
He was on his way to the front door when a startled feminine voice called, “Jim Horton!”
Stopping, he turned to see a woman approaching him from the door of the coffee shop a few yards away. She was a tall, perfectly-formed brunette in her late twenties with jet-black hair framing delicate features in a pageboy bob. She was dark, with full, sensuous lips and almond eyes which gave her a slightly oriental look.
He waited until she neared, gave her a warm but wary smile and said, “Hello, Belle.”
She came to a halt a foot from him and examined him with a mixture of pleasure and speculation. “What in the world are you doing in Rice City?” she asked.
“Thinking of making it my summer home,” he said. “I’ll return the question. The colonel with you?”
She ignored the inquiry. “You staying here at the hotel?” she asked.
He nodded.
She touched the backs of fingers to her lips. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have yelled your real name across the lobby like that.”
Horton grinned. “Why not? It’s the one on the register.”
“Oh. You’re not here on business then?” Her voice sounded relieved.
“Yeah, as a matter of fact. Legitimate business.”
“You?” Belle asked with raised brows. “That I’ll believe when the colonel starts giving to charity.”
“Fact, Belle. Thinking of buying a home on the river and settling down to a life of fishing.”
The speculative look returned to Belle’s eyes. “A real estate deal, eh? Who’s the mark?”
“I told you it’s strictly legitimate,” Horton said patiently. “I’ve retired.”
She gave a disbelieving little chuckle. “Still as close-mouthed as ever, aren’t you? Do you think the colonel and I would try to chisel in?” She added quickly, “Don’t answer that.”
Horton grinned at her.
Belle laid a hand on his arm. “Honestly, Jim, you know I wouldn’t, even if the colonel wanted to. You don’t have to pretend with me. Don’t expect me to believe the top bunco artist in the profession is going legit.”
He shrugged. “If it pleases you to think evil of your fellow man.”
She dropped her hand from his arm. “Well, if you don’t trust me—”
Horton interrupted dryly. “Where’s the colonel?”
“Over at the Rafferty House. Only he’s demoted himself for the business at hand. He’s Major Herbert Walsh, U.S. Army, retired.”
Horton gave his head a reproving shake. “Can’t you get him to drop the military titles, Belle? His M.O. sticks out like a chorus girl’s bust after every score. He might as well use his own name.”
“You know Colonel Bob,” she said with a grin. “He’s not happy unless he’s playing the old soldier, prematurely put to pasture because of his honorable wounds. Incidentally, I’m Mrs. Belle Whitney here at the hotel. Room 727, in case you’re interested.”
Automatically he threw her an intimate smile. Belle gave a mock tremble.
“Don’t do that,” she said. “Even knowing you don’t mean it, it gives me shivers.”
“Maybe I do mean it,” he said. “You know why I’ve always steered clear of you.”
“The story was that the colonel’s a friend of yours,” she said petulantly. “And you don’t encroach on friends’ territories. But you must know by now that my relationship with Colonel Bob is strictly business. I always thought you just didn’t want to waste your talent on a colleague. Professional ethics would make it repugnant to you to skip with my life savings after you’d made me fall madly in love with you.”
He frowned at her. “Hey, that’s not fair. When did I ever cheat a woman by making love to her?”
“I guess it was below the belt,” she admitted. “You usually only take them as ask for it. But did it ever occur to you that you can cheat a woman by not making love to her?”
Horton grinned. “Maybe I’m afraid you’d abscond with my life savings.”
“Take a chance,” she urged. “Try living dangerously.”
“Perhaps I will sometime,” he said non-committally. “Maybe I’ll ring you.”
“Room 727. And don’t forget the name. Mrs. Belle Whitney.”
“Sure, Belle. I’ll remember.”
With a smile of good-by, he moved on toward the street door.
He hadn’t asked what sort of con game Belle Jarvis and “Colonel” Robert Desmond were planning to pull on some unsuspecting Rice City mark. Not because he didn’t have a natural curiosity. He just knew it would have done no more good to ask than it had done Belle to inquire about his plans.
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Copyright © 1960 by Richard Deming, Registration Renewed 1988
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This is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
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