The Kubla Khan Caper (The Shell Scott Mysteries)

by Richard S. Prather

  “Each?” I said, taken aback. “Well, hummm. Hundred smackers a smack, hey? Let me count my change . . . . I’ve got a Diner’s Club card, would that—Ah, make that a Carte Blanche—”

  “But you’ll have to talk to Lenore.”

  “Who?”

  “Lenore.”

  “Who in hell’s Lenore?”

  “She’s the girl in the kissing booth.”

  I looked into the booth. “Hi, Lenore,” I said, and she dimpled and smiled. She wasn’t half bad, but she wasn’t Misty, so I turned back to Misty.

  “Why aren’t you in the booth?”

  “I’m not working the booth. Shell.”

  “You mean your shift’s over already? Ah, do you girls ever put in any overtime?”

  She laughed. “Overtime—you make it sound like the girls have to belong to a union. They don’t.”

  “Thank Heaven. Be a terrible thing if they did. Right in the middle of a pucker and the boss says. ‘That’s it, kids. I’m pulling your lips out on strike. Either we get a guaranteed lifetime wage or nobody kisses.’ Why, I can see—”

  “I’m not working the booth at all. I was just talking to Lenore.”

  “Oh? Oh. Well . . . well, instead, then, do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions?”

  “What kind of questions?” Her soft lips curved a little and those eyes, the shade of mountain shadows, rested on mine.

  “Well, like where’s Mr. Leaf? Is be dead? I can think of no other reason why he’d fail to be at your side.”

  “Oh, Simon got involved in a talk with a couple of other producers. And he’s supposed to join a group in the Sabre Room soon. So I’ve just been entertaining myself.”

  “And lots of other people, I’ll wager.”

  “Any more questions?”

  “Just a couple little ones.” I lowered my voice and added, “About Jeanne Jax.”

  No reaction.

  “Jeanne?” she said. “What do you want to know about her?”

  I took her elbow and led her a few feet away. When we were comparatively alone I said, “You know who I’m talking about, don’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  “She’s not at the party,” I said. “Did you see her at any time today?”

  Misty was quiet for quite a while. Then she asked, “She’s not here?”

  “No.”

  “I hadn’t seen her, either. I was wondering where she could be.”

  “When was the last time you saw her. Misty?”

  Another silence. Those enormous lavender-shaded eyes stayed steady on my own, and finally she said, “I know you’re a detective. Shell. Is that why you’re asking these questions? Is Jeanne in trouble?”

  “We won’t get anyplace this way.” I grinned. “I’m asking the questions.”

  She knew I was avoiding a reply, and a little of the surface amusement left her face. In fact, all of it did. But she said, “I saw Jeanne early this morning, when I got up. She stayed in my suite last night.”

  I don’t know why I was surprised to hear her come right out with it. No reason she shouldn’t have, unless she had something to conceal; and I knew of no reason for her to be concealing anything.

  I said, “How come she stayed with you, Misty? I heard she was supposed to room with a girl named Carol Shearing.”

  “She was. But I knew Jeanne slightly before coming here—she sang with a group in one of the lounges in Las Vegas for a while, and I met her a couple of months ago.”

  “Just ran into her?”

  “Not exactly. I was with Simon and some other people from the studio. Simon asked her to our table for a drink after her act. He thought she was a remarkably attractive girl. Which she is.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Anyway, that’s how we met. Well, Jeanne knew I had a suite here, and she simply asked me yesterday if she could spend the night with me. I saw no reason to refuse.”

  “She say why she didn’t want to stay with Carol?”

  “Yes, naturally I asked her that. There wasn’t any secret about what rooms the girls were staying in, or with whom, and because of that Jeanne was afraid her husband might find her. She’d seen him here, and didn’t want him to see her, she said.”

  “Husband? She’s married?”

  “She said she was married, but, well, sort of separated.”

  “How do you get sort of separated?”

  Misty smiled slightly. “Jeanne didn’t tell me that.”

  “Let me get this straight. She didn’t want hubby to find her? Why not?”

  “I gathered she was afraid he’d beat her up or something. Jeanne didn’t say that in so many words, but she did seem afraid—awfully nervous, at least.” Misty paused. “Jeanne told me her husband hated the idea of her being in the beauty contest. Didn’t want her parading around”—she smiled again—”half naked, as he put it.”

  “He sounds like a stick. Who’s the hubby?”

  “I don’t think she mentioned his name. If she did, I don’t remember it.”

  “But she saw the guy? Here at the Khan?”

  “Yes.”

  “When was that?”

  “I don’t know. She first spoke to me yesterday afternoon, an hour or two after lunch. So it must have been before then.”

  “Sound deduction. She tell you any more about her husband? Or of anything else that might have been worrying her?”

  “No, not really. We spent quite a bit of time together, and talked till about ten last night. Just girl talk, you know. But she did act rather strangely, I thought. Even stayed in the room alone while I had dinner.” Misty added, as if it were an afterthought, “I had room service bring her a tray so she wouldn’t go hungry.”

  “I already knew about.that. Somebody saw a tray delivered to your room.”

  “Oh?” Her voice was a little cooler. “You’ve been checking up on me?”

  “Not you. Jeanne Jax.”

  “Well, hard at work, I see. Risking mayhem, overcoming impossible obstacles. Splendid!”

  That wasn’t Misty. And it sure wasn’t me. I looked around to the turgid spot from which the words had come. They had come, not surprisingly, from Ormand Monaco. He and Jerry Vail had walked up together and now stood a couple of feet from us.

  On Monaco’s thin, tanned face was an expression I’d seen there briefly before, something like that of a man with one leg caught in a bear trap. He looked even thinner than usual, as if in the last couple of hours he’d lost an ounce. His clothes still fit him beautifully, though. This time he wore shiny black shoes, black trousers, and a pearl-gray dinner jacket with sporty gray-silk lapels which matched the variegated pattern of his narrow bow tie.

  Monaco looked from me to Misty, back at me. Then at the nearby kisses-for-sale booth. Then he fixed the sharp, dark eyes on me again. “Splendid,” he repeated. “At this rate, Mr. Scott, all my worries should be over within not less than ten years. I am well aware you have an eye for beauty, but I did not employ you to investigate the beauties of all womankind—”

  “Watch that ‘investigate’ bit, Mr. Monaco. You’re damn close to blowing my cover.”

  “I am damn close to firing you.”

  Hell, fire, I thought. If he canned me I’d have to leave this grand party. “Now, hold your horses, old bean,” I said. “As a matter of fact, I am tossing clues around like crazy, and—”

  “Mr. Vail has informed me of your sickening exhibition in the Seraglio. Girdles, indeed.”

  “Well, it was time somebody said it. Besides, a very large and maniacal individual was about to—”

  “I think, perhaps, employing you at all was a mistake. I think perhaps it was a cataclysm.”

  Misty didn’t look so sober any longer. In fact she appeared somewhat amused, and a soft smile rested on her lips.

  I thought: Maybe . . . And then I thought: Why not?

  Monaco was saying, “Mr. Scott, ever since we met I have suffered indescribable—”

  So I held up a hand
and cut him off. “Please, Mr. Monaco. Can’t you see I’m working?”

  Then I turned to Misty, fixed her with a stern glance which I hoped she would not misinterpret, and said, “Now, Miss Lombard. To return to the brutal interrogation I was conducting. Do you or do you not deny that a tray from room service was delivered to your suite last night? I warn you, I have a witness.”

  She blinked those magical eyes, but then her expression smoothed and she came right in—on my side. I could have kissed her. I could have kissed her anyway, but it helped more than a little that she immediately got at least half an idea of what I was trying to do.

  “Why—well, yes,” she said, in fluttering confusion. “I mean, I don’t deny it.”

  “A tray of food, surely.”

  “Surely. Yes, food.”

  “And do you or do you not deny that you have just eaten copiously in the Mandarin Room?”

  “No. Yes. I mean—oh, you’ve got me so confused, Mr. Scott! I ate. Yes, I ate, and ate, a salad, and steak, and potatoes, and carrots cooked with honey, and—”

  “Don’t confuse me with the menu.”

  Mr. Monaco’s mouth was open about half an inch, and I could see a little of his tongue sticking out. I continued to bore in. “So. You ate enough food for two large men, then had a tray of food sent to your room? Are you in the habit of eating meals for dessert?”

  “No, of course—”

  “Then it is logical to presume, I presume, that you were not yourself going to eat the tray of food?”

  “Yes, I wasn’t—”

  “Aha. Then the tray must have been for somebody else. For who? Whom? What was it for. Miss Lombard?”

  “For Jeanne.”

  “For Jeanne . . . Come on, out with it.”

  “Jeanne Jax.”

  Pretty quick I’d dragged all the rest of it from her. Jeanne had stayed in Misty’s rooms overnight, they talked girl talk, Jeanne was married but had seen her husband, from whom she was sort of separated, she didn’t want him to find her and sock her in the jaw, and such.

  I wound it up, “Then she did not describe or identify her husband, nor did she indicate fear of anyone else?”

  “No. But she certainly wanted to stay out of sight. And she did seem terribly nervous. Maybe she was just that way all the time, I don’t know. But she was certainly on edge and disturbed last night.”

  “And you’ve not seen her since early this morning?”

  “No. She was in the room when I left for breakfast, but when I went back later she was gone. She’d taken her few things with her.”

  “All right. Thank you. Miss Lombard. Sorry I had to be so rough on you, but a job’s a job.” I paused, and winked at her—with the eye not visible to Monaco and Vail. “I’ll probably want to talk to you later, so get some funny ideas—I mean, don’t get any—keep yourself available.”

  “Oh, I will,” she promised.

  Then I turned to Ormand Monaco and said, “If that’s all, sir, I’ll be packing my things.”

  “Hmm,” he said. Then he put a hand on my shoulder and steered me away from Misty. He gazed at me curiously, and Vail scowled at me, then Monaco said, “That was very interesting. It explains, at least, where Miss Jax was yesterday afternoon and evening. I, ah, commend you, Mr. Scott.”

  “Well, it helps when you know what you’re after,” I said truthfully.

  “Have you found her husband yet?”

  “No, but I saw a guy talking to one of the contestants, who just might be the fellow in question, and whom I shall attempt to find—if, that is, I’m not fired.”

  “Fired? Oh, forget that. Just, ah, keep me informed.”

  “Of course, Mr. Monaco.”

  We talked for a few more minutes, and he told me of his “appalling” experience at the Sheriff’s Department. Actually, he’d been treated very politely and well, but had over and over been asked questions about Ephrim Sardis, where he’d been driving this afternoon, and if he knew of any enemies Sardis had. It had not been necessary for his lawyers to swing into vigorous action, since the sheriff and some deputies merely questioned him closely and then let him go free as a bird—but he nonetheless had the feeling they were right behind him with birdshot.

  “You did drive along Ocotillo Lane this afternoon,” I said.

  “Yes.” He nodded absently. “It’s only a few miles from here. I went right by the Sardis estate, I’m sure, though I was hardly aware of it at the time. That must be when the deputy, in his car, saw me. I was returning home by then—to meet you, Mr. Scott.”

  “Uh-huh. Is that all the law had on you? That a man in one of their cars spotted you near the scene?”

  “Yes. He saw me”—Monaco hesitated briefly—”near the entrance, that is, the road in front of the estate. As he arrived, that is. But before he went inside and found Ephrim dead. The deputy recognized my car, presumably.”

  “I understand somebody phoned in and reported hearing a gunshot. Did they tell you anything more about that?”

  “No. They didn’t tell me anything. Just asked their infernal questions.” Monaco looked at his watch. “I must see some of my guests. By the way, Mr. Scott, you will be free to pursue whatever course you feel is necessary, but tomorrow morning at eleven you will have to meet with the other judges. You are, after all, supposed to be here solely as a judge of the talent search.”

  “Eleven in the morning, huh? What’s the meeting about?”

  “It’s in preparation for the contest tomorrow evening. You’ll all be supplied with literature, rules for judging, schedules showing the times of various events. The meeting is merely to help assure that everything goes smoothly, and with dignity.”

  Yeah, that was important. “OK. I’ll be there.” It was going to cut into the time I had left between now and noon tomorrow, I thought. And ha-ha, I thought.

  Monaco turned to Jerry Vail and said, “Jerry, my guests are still in the Sabre Room. Will you tell them I shall Join them in a very few minutes?”

  “Certainly, Mr. Monaco.” Vail nodded at me, started to turn.

  I said, “Mr. Vail.”

  He stopped. “Yes?”

  “I mentioned this earlier, but are you sure Jeanne—Miss Jax—didn’t talk to you after arriving at the hotel?”

  “No, she didn’t.” He shook his head, frowning a little. “In fact, I guess she’s the only one of the contestants I failed to meet. I didn’t get to talk to her at all. But of course she, well, disappeared.” Still looking puzzled, he said to me, “Why do you ask?”

  “Apparently she was kind of curious about Mr. Sardis. I thought, since he was your father-in-law, she might have quizzed you about him?”

  “How very strange,” he said.

  Maybe not so strange, I was thinking, at least not if her interest in Sardis was the interest I was beginning to suspect. “Do you know for sure if she said anything to your wife?”

  “Well . . . I’m not absolutely certain. Such a thing never entered my mind.” He paused, still with that frown on his handsome face. “I could ask her.”

  “I’d appreciate it if you would. Just one other thing. Do you know where Bull Harper was when your fatherin-law was killed?”

  “I believe Ephrim gave him the afternoon off today. Because of the party tonight. Ephrim knew he wanted to arrange for a costume, things like that.” He paused again. “Exactly where Mr. Harper was, I’ve no idea.”

  “OK. Thanks, Mr. Vail.”

  He nodded, started to turn and then stopped. Finally the frown left his face and he flashed me a quick smile. “For Pete’s sake,” he said, “call me Jerry.”

  I grinned at him and he left.

  Monaco looked after him, then spotted somebody he knew and waved. In a moment a muscular man of medium height, wearing a black dinner jacket and tie, strolled over to us. Simon Leaf.

  I’d never met him but I’d seen him before and recognized him. He was a worried-looking man, his forehead creased with deep wrinkles though he was not yet forty.
He wore his black hair in a brushlike crewcut that resembled the beginning of a beard, and there was a sort of sickly gray cast to his cheeks that spoke of healthy whiskers.

  He and Monaco greeted each other cordially and chatted for a few seconds. They were, I gathered, about to meet with some VIPs for highballs and jolly conversation.

  Monaco introduced us and we shook hands, and I said I’d heard of him, and he told me he’d heard of me, too, though from his tone I got the impression he hadn’t heard of me as often as I must have heard of him. I commented blandly on his films and he told me I must lead an “amusing” life and I laughed lightly and said sometimes it almost tickled me to death. The usual nothing. It was pleasant enough, but we didn’t kiss each other on both cheeks.

  Monaco glanced at his watch again, then said to me, “What did you mean, Mr. Scott, when you mentioned Miss Jax being curious about Ephrim Sardis?”

  “Well . . . “ I glanced at Simon Leaf.

  Monaco said, “Oh, it’s all right. It was necessary for me to tell Mr. Leaf why I asked you to come here. In order that you could be accredited as a judge of the talent search.”

  “I see. Well, OK. I was just curious about why she was curious, that’s all. It seems she asked a few people a bunch of questions about Mr. Sardis. And about Neyra, Mrs. Vail, too, apparently.”

  He cocked his head on one side, ran a lean finger along the angular line of his jaw. “That is odd,” he said in a quiet voice. “She asked me about Neyra, too. When she first arrived here at the Khan.”

  “Oh? How’d that happen?”

  “I met the girls when some of them arrived Wednesday

  morning, of course. I was alone with Miss Jax for a few minutes, in the main lobby. Jerry and Neyra were standing talking near the entrance to the Seraglio. Miss Jax was looking at them and asked me who Neyra was—that is, who the lovely black-haired woman was. I told her she was Neyra Vail, Ephrim Sardis’ daughter, and that her husband was standing there with her. Miss Jax seemed quite taken aback, and said, ‘She’s his wife?’ Much like that, with that emphasis. I told her she was, and Miss Jax then asked me who Ephrim Sardis was.”