“Come on, Velma. You’re not still sore, are you?”
She paused for a second. “No, I guess I’m not. If I thought about you, I might be. But I’m making wine. My first vintage. Life’s good.” She relaxed a little. “So . . . what are you doing here, Frank?”
“I’m on a case, sweetheart. Do you know the Jamisons?”
“Jed and Jane Jamison? No, they’re big-time. I only have four acres.”
“Yeah, but everyone knows your vineyard is the best four acres of old mixed black in Sonoma.”
“Maybe so, but Jamison’s big business. I’m just a small grower. We don’t run in the same circles. Besides, they’re competition for Peregrine Vineyards.” Velma Peregrino’s folks had a big ranch adjacent to her little spread. Just then, there was a tug on my jacket. It was Felipe.
“Mr. Swiver, Mr. Kosloski says tell you Jamisons come in.” I dug in my pocket for two bits to give Felipe, and Velma and I looked toward the entrance of the ballroom.
“That’s Jed Jamison,” said Velma, indicating a tall man in a tux who’d just come in. He had a hard-edged, weathered face, grey hair, and a thick grey moustache. He looked past middle age, though he seemed trim and fit enough. Just off his shoulder was a brunette I took to be Jane, and she looked like a real stunner from across the room. Jed stopped to talk, and the dame touched his arm and whispered something. He nodded, and she headed into the fray.
“She’s going to the bar, Frank. Why don’t you get me another one of these?” Velma drained her Champagne flute and wiggled it for me to see.
I wanted a closer look at Jane. “Okay, sweetheart. Schramsberg, right?”
“Blanc de blancs.” I gulped the rest of my Zin down and set a course to intersect with my target.
Jane pulled up to the bar first and I got there in time to hear her order a Campari and a Prosecco. I stood next to her and gave her the up-and-down. She was a good-looking broad with a curvy figure. She wore a red gown, a deeper red than Velma’s, and full-length, whereas Velma’s was cut short to show off her long gams. Jane’s wine-dark gown had a deep vee, and was gathered tight in front under the bosom, down to the waist, then it was sheer and flowed out loosely. There were layers of sheer, like a seven-veil dress, but it was clingy, and a guy could really see the arcs of her long thighs. Mrs. Jamison was shaking as fine a pair of maracas as you’d want to see, but you’d barely notice them because of the stunning necklace that hung about two-thirds of the way down into the vee of the dress. The White Tiger was strung with alternating diamonds, in baguette cuts, and opals about the size of black beans. At the center, a diamond pendant lay against her chest. It was large for a single diamond, but it had a flaw. A vein of black, like a tiger’s stripe, ran through the heart of it.
“See something you like, Bo?” Her voice cut clearly over the tinkle of glasses and polite patter of party talk mixed with laughter.
“Oh, you caught me admiring your . . . uh . . . stones. I’m Frank Swiver, Mrs. Jamison. I’m a private dick. I’ll be keeping an eye on your assets this evening for the Golden Gate Insurance Company.”
“Strictly business, Mr. Swiver? Not a personal interest? Well, I hope you enjoy your work. Excuse me; I must get back to my husband. He likes to keep an eye on me too.” She picked up her drinks and headed across the room, moving her rear end like a washer tub with an unbalanced load.
2.
When I returned with the Schramsberg, I found Jed Jamison wasn’t doing a very good job keeping an eye on his wife. He only had eyes for Velma. Up close, it was clear he must have been at least fifty, but he was acting like a teenager in lust around Velma. She seemed to be enjoying the attention, and took her glass from me without a word of thanks, listening to Jamison’s line. He was going on about the size of his grapes or something like that. I drifted a short distance away with my glass of wine to keep an eye on the ice.
Joe Damas was flitting around the room, a Gauloises drooping from the side of his mouth, trying to squeeze into tight circles of conversation. Most people looked at him like they’d look at something they stepped in, and kept right on chinning with each other as if he weren’t there. Another drink and I might have started to feel sorry for him. He was a crook, but he’d been square with me. Joe worked his way over to the Jamisons and Velma. Jamison shook his hand and draped an arm across the Frenchman’s shoulders. He moved his head close to Damas and smiled while he talked into his ear. But soon, Jamison turned and took Velma’s elbow and guided her away. Joe didn’t have anything to say to Jane, so he gave her a little bow and moved away to look for another prospect.
Well, I guess Jane Jamison started to feel the chill from her husband, and before I knew it, she was walking up to me. “How’s your drink, shamus?” she said.
“Excellent Zinfandel, Mrs. Jamison. What happened to your Prosecco?”
“I think the bartender must have poured me a short one. Buy me another?”
“Sure,” I said, and we walked over to the bar. I ordered two more. Jane Jamison brought her glass up to her lips and bent her head back. Her long, dark walnut curls hung free, her smooth neck rose in a graceful curve, and the Champagne flute pointed straight up at the ceiling as she drained it all at once. I half expected her to toss the empty at the nearest fireplace but she slammed it down on the bar. She looked me in the eyes and licked her lips.
“The case of the disappearing drink,” she said. “It’s gone, but I’m still thirsty.” She licked her lips again.
“I’ll get you another,” I said. “But slow down a little, all right?”
Her eyes bored into me and for an instant, I thought she was going to give me an argument. But she softened and smiled. “You’re right. I just get so mad at that husband of mine sometimes. He’s making a fool of himself with some dish half his age.”
“I don’t know. He seems to be doing okay.” We looked over. Velma and Jed were sitting on a small davenport. She was sitting up straight, with her legs crossed, and he was leaning towards her ear, jawing softly. Velma laughed; Jed put his Campari, which was still half-full, on a little table, and withdrawing his hand, let it linger on Velma’s knee. I had to turn away to keep calm.
I was working, but as long as Jane was staying this close, I wasn’t having much difficulty doing my job, keeping an eye on the White Tiger. So I had another drink with her and we talked.
“You know, you look a little like that actor, the one who was just busted for reefer. Robert Mitchum,” she said. “Anybody ever tell you that?”
“I’ve heard it once or twice.” It’s a compliment. Mitchum’s five years younger, and I don’t have a dimple in my chin.
“He has a lot of self-confidence, Jed,” she said, with a nod of her head in his direction. “He thinks he can do anything he wants.”
“I guess the Jamison Winery is pretty successful,” I offered.
“Hunh. We have top-grade Cabernet and Chardonnay land in the Alexander Valley. That’s what I brought to the table. My father owned a big ranch. I was born and raised up there. Dad had cattle. But Jed’s the businessman. Did you know he used to own the Oakland Oaks? We met at a ball game, back in thirty-eight. After we got married, after my father died in forty-one, the land came to me. Jed wanted to grow wine. He sold the Oaks, and now we live up on the ranch. We’ve only had vines in for six years. Jamison Winery is just getting started, really.”
And so it went. I made small talk with Jane Jamison and we drank our drinks, while Jed made time with Velma Peregrino on the other side of the room. The orchestra started up and Jane asked me if I could dance a fox trot. I said sure, and she put down her glass and led me out on the floor. My right arm went around her back and her bare flesh was warm and smooth. She pressed her bosom into me and I looked down at the White Tiger and the view into the vee of her wine-dark dress below.
We stayed out on the dance floor for a few numbers. My right arm slipped a little further down her back each time I guided her around the floor. Jane knew how to use her body and she mo
ved her long thighs against me as if we were doing a tango not a fox trot. Finally, the orchestra took a break. We picked up our drinks and went to sit down.
“They’re gone,” she said.
“Who?”
“That two-bit bum I came in with and the blond kitten.”
I looked around the room. I felt sure if Velma were there in her red cocktail dress, I could pick her out of the crowd. But after scanning the joint twice, I agreed. Neither Velma nor Jed Jamison was in the room.
“Maybe Velma had to powder her nose,” I said.
“Yeah, maybe. And maybe my no-good husband had to go shake the bishop’s hand. But I think something’s up. I told that son of a bitch tonight, if he did it again . . .” but she let the rest trail off. So we sat a few minutes and drank our drinks. We waited long enough for a seventy-year-old man with a bad prostate to return from the restrooms. Velma and Jed didn’t appear. Then Jane put a smile on her face. “Well, what the hell are we doing sitting here like a couple saps? I came to town to have a good time. I got a room. Why don’t you come on up?”
I hesitated. Usually that was my line.
“Look, shamus, I’m not going back to Geyserville tonight. Me and Jed are booked in here at the Biarritz, separate rooms. So the ice is staying here and you’re watching the ice. Come on up and do your job.”
“Let’s go,” I said, and stood up and put out my arm for the lady.
In the lobby, I saw Stosh leaning on a post with tomorrow’s funnies. I asked him if he’d seen Jamison come out, and he pointed upstairs with his thumb and a roll of his eyes. Jane stopped at the desk and picked up a key. Quicker than you could say “dangerous liaisons,” we were in the elevator. As soon as the doors closed, Jane started climbing me like a schoolgirl shimmying up the old apple tree. I fell back against the wall of the lift and the car shook in the shaft. The elevator boy turned around but I gave him an unkind look and he faced forward again until we got up to twelve.
Somehow I got Jane off me, and we walked down the hall to her room. She gave me the key and I put it in the keyhole while she blew hot breath in my ear and slid a hand in my pocket. We stumbled inside; I put on the lights. The wine-dark dress slid right off, and we left it on the floor.
3.
I called down to the desk afterward, and had them send up a deck of Camels and a bottle of Moët. I thought of getting Paul Masson, but Jane said to put it on the room tab. We lay next to each other and smoked and drank some Champagne. Jane was naked except for the White Tiger, which she’d kept on, and she looked spectacular.
Jane blew out a long stream of smoke and said, “You know, Frank, I think I’ve got to dump Jed and start again.”
I took a sip of the Moët, which was cool and crisp, but not icy. “Can you do that, baby?”
“Well, the land is still mine—all in my name. I think everything else, the winery, the cars, the bank accounts—that’s all Jed’s.”
I smoked.
“I need a divorce. Jed will never give me one willingly because he wants the land.”
I had a drink.
“But he’s in room eleven-oh-two now, giving me grounds for a divorce,” she said. “All I need is evidence. Evidence that he’s screwing around. Your friend . . .”
“Velma.”
“Velma. She’s not the first one. We’ve been married ten years, and he’s been doing this sort of thing whenever he gets the chance. He makes me feel like such a fool.” She drank. “He’s had twenty Velmas.” Not really, I thought. There’s only one Velma.
I reached for the bottle and poured a little Champagne below the White Tiger necklace and watched the bubbles trickle down between her knockers. I pulled the sheet off her, leaned over, and put my tongue in her navel. When the wine started to pool there, I lapped it up and worked my way north with my tongue.
“Frank, you’re a private dick. What if I hire you? You could go over there and take some pictures. That’s all I need. He’s in room eleven-oh-two. I stopped at the desk and got the extra key for Jed’s room.”
“Mmmm. I’m sorry, Jane. I don’t do divorce work.”
“Please, Frank,” she said. “I can’t live like this anymore.”
“No. I never wanted to be the kind of peeper who waited in the bushes with a camera. It’s cheap. I’m poor, but I’m not cheap. Besides, tonight, it doesn’t seem ethical. I’m doing the same thing with you that your husband is doing with Velma. If he’s guilty, what are you?”
We had a drink. I finished my cigarette and snubbed it out.
Jane frowned and took a last drag on her Camel. She exhaled and brightened again, “Well, that first one was to get even with Jed for skating around. Now let’s do it for us.” She rolled me over and climbed on top.
“Frank,” she said.
“Yes?”
“Go over to room eleven-oh-two and take a picture.”
“I don’t have my camera,” I said.
“I’ll bet you can get one.”
“Where? It’s after midnight.”
“Hey, you’re friends with the house dick, aren’t you?” Jane said. “I’ll bet he keeps one around. Frank, I’ve got to get a divorce. Jed beats me, you know.”
“He beats you?”
“Sure. We have separate bedrooms up at the ranch. Jed’s a real bastard, with a temper. He takes it out on me. The only time he comes to my room is when he wants to rough me up. It gets him excited.”
“I can’t do divorce work, Jane. I never have,” I said.
“You know, the only reason I’m not covered with bruises now is he wanted me to wear that red dress tonight, and he knew bruises would show. So he hasn’t beat me for about three weeks. Except here. Look.” She rolled over on her front and lifted her ass. I sat up. Hidden just at the bottom of the butt cheeks and across the back of her upper thighs were red welts. “See that? He’s got these leather thongs . . . He’s probably so frustrated with pent-up anger, he’s probably beating your blond friend.”
I was already out of bed, stepping into my trousers. “He’s vicious,” Jane said. “I have more meat on me than she does. She could really get hurt.”
I wasn’t happy about Velma being with Jamison in the first place, but she was a big girl. It wasn’t my business who she tumbled with. But I couldn’t let her get beat up by a sadist. I pulled on my shirt. “All right. I’m going to pay your hubby a visit. First I’ll go down and see Kosloski. If he has a camera, fine. I’ll take it with me and get some photos. Give me the key to his room.” I grabbed my fedora and headed for the door.
“Thank you, Frank. You’re wonderful, you know that?”
A few minutes later I was creeping along the eleventh-floor hallway. It had green and magenta wallpaper in a quiet floral pattern, some side tables with vases of quiet flowers on them and mirrors behind them, and my gumshoes sank into the deep pile of the quiet carpet. Stan Kosloski’s Leica camera was slung around my neck and Jane’s key to 1102 was in the palm of my hand. I was wonderful. But something was wrong about this; I could feel it. I don’t know if you ever did something where it didn’t feel right, but you couldn’t help yourself. Did you ever get on that ride you didn’t want to be on, but you stayed put and didn’t say anything until it was too late and they’d put the bar down? That’s how I felt. Maybe it was the peeping with the camera—divorce work. I couldn’t put my finger on it. I knew I was making a mistake, but it was too late to get off this ride.
I slid the key in the lock, turned the knob silently, and eased open the door to 1102. There was a dim light coming from the bathroom on the far side of the bed. I was backlit from the hallway. I raised the camera and took the picture. The flash lit up the room. In flagrante. I popped the bulb out on the floor. Velma screamed and I pushed in another bulb. Say cheesy. I fired again. Dee-licto!
Jed Jamison must have been half-blinded, but he lunged off the bed and came at me. He stepped on the first bulb, yelled in pain, and picked up his foot. “Velma,” I said, “are you okay?”
&nb
sp; “Oh, God, Frank? Is that you?”
Jed was hopping on one foot, and I stepped forward and shoved him over with one hand. He went down against the nightstand, and the lamp fell off the table in his face.
“Did he hurt you, Velma?” I asked.
“Get out of here, Frank. Are you crazy?”
“Just so you’re okay . . .”
“Get out of here!” she screamed. I guess she was fine. I turned and left. That feeling of what had been wrong going into Jamison’s room started to coalesce. I took the stairs two at a time, back to 12. I knew what my mistake had been. My job was watching the necklace, and I wasn’t doing my job. The door to 1224 was locked; I kicked it. There was a crack of wood and it opened. I rushed in, feeling like all the air had been knocked out of me, feeling like a kicked door.
Jane was sitting up in bed, but lascivious as she’d been before, now she was holding the sheet up modestly across her breasts. There was no White Tiger necklace around her neck. She pointed at some spot beyond my left shoulder. “Frank, he’s got the diamonds!” I heard a swishing noise behind my left ear and I knew what was coming.
4.
Private dick’s manual, Chapter 2—Equipment: Never go out without your fedora. Not just a fashion accessory, a good hat can make the difference between a concussion and a catnap when you’re sapped. Sigh. When I get too old for this business, I’m going to write that book.
Right then, my mouth was full of carpet and there was a harsh bitter smell in the air. I opened my eyes. The room was blurry. My name is Frank Swiver. I looked at my watch. It was now 12:55. I am in the Biarritz Hotel in San Francisco. It had already been after midnight when I left Jane. It is Friday night. Well, it was Friday night. Now it’s Saturday morning. I had been unconscious, but maybe less than fifteen minutes. The president is Harry Truman. I was conscious, but considering the pain in my head, I wished I’d still been out.
I got up to my hands and knees. The camera back was open and the film was lying on the floor next to it. Jane was no longer sitting up. I crawled over to the bed like a dog that had lost a fight with a bigger dog and got my paw and face up on it. Jane was dead. Her beautiful throat was cut, and the sheets were soaked in her blood. I gagged, but held it down.
Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine 09/01/12 Page 28