Fall Girl Page 9

  Horton could hear a male voice over the phone say, “It’s eight o’clock, Miss Quincy.”

  Helen said, “Thank you,” and hung up.

  “My regular morning call,” she said to Horton. “Close your eyes.”

  Obediently he closed them, then cheated by slitting them open again as she bounced from bed. He got a fleeting view of white flesh as she slipped into a robe.

  The performance intrigued him. Last night she had at first delighted him with her fresh innocence, then startled him by her display of passion. Now her maidenly reserve in refusing to let him see her nakedness caused him fresh delight.

  As she disappeared into the bathroom, he wondered if he had at last found the woman who would be worth waking up to every morning.

  Helen wasn’t due at work until nine. She explained allowing herself a full hour by telling Horton that she usually breakfasted at a restaurant a few blocks away, where the prices were more reasonable than the Lawford’s. But this morning she would make an exception, she told him. She’d have breakfast sent up to the room.

  She was showered and dressed for work by eight-fifteen. When Horton came from the bathroom fifteen minutes later, a waiter had already delivered breakfast and had departed.

  Helen examined Horton’s face with approval. “You found my razor, did you?” she asked.

  “Uh-huh. Thanks.”

  She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “That’s better. Last night you scratched. Now, let’s eat.” She grinned. “I ordered only one breakfast, but it’s big enough for both of us.”

  On the breakfast cart there was orange juice, bacon and eggs, toast and coffee. They ate heartily, then lingered over their coffee.

  Helen said, “That’s more appetite than I usually have mornings. I wonder why?”

  Horton merely cocked an eyebrow at her, and she blushed furiously.

  He laughed. “Don’t ever change,” he said.

  “Change how?”

  “Keep that split personality. You’re a maiden and a wanton all rolled into one.”

  She colored again. “That’s an awful thing to say.”

  “I meant it as a compliment,” he told her. Then he hit his forehead. “You know, you distracted me so much, I completely forgot why I came here until now.”

  “I thought it was to confess.”

  “That was only part of it. Didn’t I tell you over the phone that I thought I knew who the real killer was?”

  For some reason she blushed again and averted her eyes.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked.

  “I guess you did tell me,” she said in a low voice. “You distracted me too. I never thought of it again until now.”

  He grinned at her, then sobered again. “Tony Manzetti’s convinced it was Velda.”

  Helen looked at him wide-eyed. She didn’t say anything.

  “It’s logical,” Horton said. “Manzetti says he didn’t send that threat. I believe him, because at the time he said it, he thought I was going to be dead before long. There wouldn’t have been any point in lying.”

  Helen’s brows puckered. “You think Velda put that note in the mailbox?”

  “It figures. As Joey the Cut put it, Velda would know the first person the police look at when a man is murdered is his wife. But by planting a threatening note the day before she killed him, the finger would point to Manzetti. Everybody knew your step-father’s committee was out to get Manzetti.”

  Helen said, “But why? What motive would she have?”

  Horton raised his eyebrows. “Don’t you know Velda’s reputation?”

  Helen shook her head. “What reputation? I don’t like her, but I really don’t know anything about her. Except I’m sure she married my step-father for his money.”

  Horton said incredulously, “You mean you’ve never heard the gossip? That Velda’s a tramp? And your stepfather was getting ready to divorce her?”

  Helen shook her head again.

  “I suppose you wouldn’t,” Horton said after some thought. “People wouldn’t repeat that sort of thing to a member of the family. Incidentally, if Quincy was so loaded with money, why do you have to work for a living?”

  “We haven’t gotten along since he met Velda,” Helen said a little bitterly. “I moved out a year ago, when he married her. I haven’t accepted any money from him since.”

  “Do you know if you’re in his will?”

  She shook her head. “I haven’t the slightest idea.”

  “You’re not being much help,” he said disconsolately. “I thought maybe you could help me pin the killing on Velda. But I seem to know more about her than you do.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said in a contrite voice. Then she brightened. “Maybe I can help you.”

  “How?”

  “Wasn’t the murder gun a forty-five automatic?”

  “A forty-five. There’s no way to tell whether it was an automatic or a revolver.”

  “Well, my step-father owned a forty-five automatic. If Velda killed him, she probably used that. Don’t they have ways to tell that a certain gun was used?”

  “Yeah. Ballistics tests.”

  “He kept it in the top drawer of his dresser, under some handkerchiefs. If Velda used it, then put it back in the same place, it would be proof of your innocence.”

  “Yeah,” he said slowly. “If she was that foolish.”

  “At least it’s a chance,” she said. “Couldn’t we phone an anonymous tip to the police, telling them to search for it?”

  He grinned at her. “Now you’re beginning to sound like a gun moll.”

  “I’m beginning to feel like one.” She glanced at her watch. “I have to go to work. Do you want to hide here today? I’ll be back up at noon, and can order some lunch sent up.”

  “I’ll stay around awhile,” he said. “I’ll call you at the desk if I decide to leave.”

  “Wouldn’t that be dangerous? Where would you go?”

  “I may not go anywhere. I said if.”

  He walked her to the door and gave her a good-by kiss. He felt a little like an unemployed husband sending his wife off to work.

  CHAPTER XVII

  HORTON PUSHED the breakfast cart into the hall. He hung a “Do not disturb” sign on the doorknob in order to keep the cleaning maid from walking in on him.

  For a time he sat smoking and thinking about his next move. Finally he lifted the phone and asked for room 727.

  Belle answered in a sleepy voice. Apparently she was still in bed.

  “Good morning,” Horton said. “Wake you up?”

  Immediately, she came wide awake. “Yes, but it’s time I’m up. I’ve been worried about you. The colonel told me what you planned to do last night. Where are you?”

  Horton said, “Not far away. Unlock your door. I’ll be along in a couple of minutes.”

  “You’re in the hotel?” she asked with surprise.

  “Yeah. Be right there.”

  Hanging up, he cracked open the door and glanced both ways along the hall. A waiter was wheeling the empty breakfast cart toward the elevators. He waited until the man had pushed it onto a car and the elevator door closed.

  Then he removed the “Do not disturb” sign and pushed the door closed from outside. He left it unlocked, in case he wanted to get back in. He walked quickly down the hall in the opposite direction from the passenger elevators.

  Halfway down the second corridor, a middle-aged woman stepped from a room and moved past him on the way to the front elevators. She gave him only a cursory glance.

  He encountered no one else. Belle’s door was unlocked. He stepped into the room, lifted the “Do not disturb” sign from the inner knob and hung it on the outer one. Pushing the door shut, he clicked the lock.

  In the bathroom he could hear the shower running. He lit a cigarette and waited.

  Five minutes later, Belle appeared wrapped in a white satin robe. Her dark hair was pinned into a mass on top of her head, and her face without makeup was fres
h and scrubbed-looking.

  She said, “Don’t you dare look at me,” and scooted to the dresser to remove underthings from a drawer.

  Belle possessed none of Helen’s old-fashioned modesty. Casually she slipped from her robe, tossed it on the bed and began dressing. Horton watched with interest as she drew on flimsy panties, hooked on a bra and snapped a garter belt into place.

  She glanced up at him as she drew on filmy stockings, and made a face. “Still playing Peeping Tom, aren’t you?”

  Horton grinned. “You make such nice peeping.”

  She stepped into high-heeled pumps, pulled a flowered street dress over her head, turned her back to him and said, “Zip, please.”

  He pulled up the rear zipper.

  Turning around, she said, “Now that I’m decent, you may kiss me good morning before I apply the paint.”

  Bending, he gave her a casual peck. She cocked an eyebrow at him.

  “Am I that unappetizing without makeup? Or have you found another woman?”

  She meant it as a joke, but it was such an accurate guess, he suddenly felt guilty. It must have showed in his face, because her eyes narrowed.

  “You have been two-timing me, haven’t you?” she accused. “And you’ve only been out of my sight for forty hours.”

  “Has it been that long?” he asked with surprise.

  “I’ve been counting them. The passage of time wouldn’t be as important to you. You’re not in love.”

  Swinging her back to him, she seated herself at the dressing table and began to make up her face. She used nothing but a touch of powder and bright lipstick. Her eyebrows and lashes were dark enough not to require mascara.

  Then she unpinned her hair and began to brush it with long, even strokes.

  “Who is she?” she asked suddenly.

  “Who?” he hedged.

  “The woman you’ve been with?”

  He walked over to the dressing table and stubbed out his cigarette in a tray lying there. He looked down at her thoughtfully.

  Glancing up, she said, “Know something funny?”

  “What?”

  “You’re probably the top bunco artist in the business. Your trade is fooling people. Probably nobody else in the world could read your thoughts, if you wanted to conceal them. Not even Dunninger. But I can always sense what you’re thinking as easily as though your head were made of glass.”

  “You read me because we’re kindred souls.”

  She returned to her brushing. “Make a joke of it. I suppose I deserve it. It’s really none of my business what women you tomcat around with.”

  He leaned down and brushed her cheek with his lips. “Stop trying to make me feel like a heel, Belle. You’ve succeeded. Isn’t that enough?”

  The brush halted its rhythmic movement and her hand fell to her lap. She turned her head to look up into his face.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I sound like a jealous vixen. Before I ever let myself fall in love with you, I knew you’d never be satisfied with only one woman. I just didn’t think it would be so soon. Is she nice?”

  “Do we have to talk about it?” he asked.

  “No, of course not.” She resumed her brushing. “Let’s talk about your problem. Did you visit that club the colonel told you about?”

  “Yes.”

  “Learn anything?”

  “Quite a lot. And nearly got myself killed.”

  She gave him a startled look. “Really?”

  “Really,” he assured her. He told her everything that had happened at the Sixth Ward Athletic Club and afterward, up to the time he escaped in the Buick.

  Belle said, “So now you’re not only hiding from the police, but from Manzetti’s men.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I seem to have everybody mad at me but you and the colonel.”

  She laid down the brush, examined her gleaming hair in the mirror and seemed satisfied.

  “Forgive me for returning to a subject that’s supposed to be tabled,” she said. “But as busy as you’ve been, when did you find time to sandwich in the mysterious other woman? After you escaped from Manzetti’s men?”

  “I didn’t have anyplace to go. I couldn’t return to the Palais Royal. She was kind enough to hide me out for the night.”

  “Just like that?” she asked incredulously. “Where did you meet her? On the street?”

  “I already knew her,” he said patiently. “I phoned her at one o’clock in the morning.”

  “Oh. I forgot that you’d been in town a full twenty-four hours before the murder. Naturally you’d have a number of alternate women lined up in that time. It was silly of me to ask.”

  He said tiredly, “Will you stop it, Belle? Do you want me to go?”

  Instantly she became contrite. Laying a hand on his arm, she said, “I really am sorry, Jim. I promise I’ll control my jealousy. What are your plans now? And how can I help?”

  He studied her face, saw that she meant it and smiled at her. “First I need a change of disguise. Since Manzetti’s hirelings will be looking for someone dressed as a bum, I thought I’d turn gentleman again. I’ll just have to take a chance on being recognized by the police.”

  “Isn’t that a dangerous chance?” she asked dubiously.

  “Not as dangerous as letting Manzetti’s goons spot me. At least the police aren’t out to kill me. They’ll leave that to the state. There’s a sport coat and a pair of slacks in the suitcase you have here. If you would go out and buy me a hat to hide my scrub-brush hair, I think I can get by. I’ll need some fresh underclothes, socks and a shirt, too. All I own are at the Palais Royal.”

  He took out his wallet and handed her a ten-dollar bill. It left him a five and three ones.

  “About a size seven hat?” she asked.

  “Yes.” He gave her the sizes of the other items.

  “Then what do you plan to do?” she asked. “Visit this Velda woman?”

  “I’d like a look at the inside of her house. I’ll need the colonel’s help to lure her away. Why don’t you call him and ask him to come over here while you’re shopping?”

  “All right.” She went to the phone and called the Rafferty House.

  When she had the colonel on the line, she said, “Our friend would like to see you. Here at my room. I’ll be out, so use the code knock.”

  When she hung up, she said to Horton, “He’ll be over in twenty minutes. Don’t open the door until you hear a quick double knock, followed by a pause and a single one. Otherwise it might be the cleaning woman.”

  Belle told him not to expect her back for an hour, as she’d have breakfast while she was out.

  At the door she hesitated for a moment, then decided to offer her cheek for a good-by kiss. When he bent to touch it with his lips, her fingers squeezed his forearm.

  “Don’t let my jealousy upset you,” she said. “I told you I don’t expect reciprocation. Nothing has changed so far as I’m concerned. I’ll still do anything I can to help you out of this mess.”

  She gave his arm another squeeze, pulled open the door, and was gone.

  CHAPTER XVIII

  COLONEL BOB DESMOND arrived twenty-five minutes later. At the sound of his code knock, Horton let him in and bolted the door again.

  The colonel surveyed him through his invisible monocle. “You’ve shaved,” he said in a disappointed tone.

  While waiting, Horton had gotten a light plaid sport coat and a pair of gray slacks from the suitcase Belle was holding for him, and had laid them on the bed. He pointed to them.

  “I’m going to spoil your kick altogether,” he said. “I’m discarding my unpressed trousers and worn jacket for those as soon as Belle returns with the accessories.”

  “Seems a shame,” the colonel said. “You made such a convincing bum. Aren’t you afraid the police will spot you in that outfit?”

  Horton explained the reason for the change. Briefly he described his previous night’s activities.

  Then he said, “I’d li
ke a look at the inside of Velda’s house. If she used her husband’s forty-five, maybe she didn’t dispose of it afterward. If I could find it and get a sample slug fired from it—”

  “You mean fire it right inside the house?” the colonel interrupted. His right eyebrow climbed and his left eye squinted nearly closed.

  “Depends on the circumstances,” Horton said. “How far away other houses are, whether I can find something to fire it into which will preserve the slug. I may have to take the gun away to test it, then plant it back where I found it later.”

  “Hmm. Suppose the woman’s home?”

  “That’s where you come in,” Horton told him. “With your assignment to write up the murder, it would be perfectly logical for you to interview the widow. I want you to invite her out to lunch.”

  Colonel Bob looked astonished. “You fancy that she’d accept? So soon after becoming a widow? According to this morning’s paper, the funeral isn’t even till tomorrow.”

  “If all the things I’ve heard about her are true, that shouldn’t deter her. Make your voice over the phone sound virile, so she won’t suspect you’re such a broken-down old wreck.”

  The colonel drew his already erect figure even straighter. “I haven’t had any complaints from women yet, my good fellow. Don’t let my lack of hair fool you. There’s still plenty on my chest.”

  Horton grinned at him. “Better get moving. It’s ten now. Try to get her to meet you somewhere for lunch at one. You can phone me here to let me know if you succeeded.”

  About a half hour after the colonel departed, Belle returned laden with packages.

  “I got everything,” she said. “But it exhausted your ten. I only made it by settling for a two-ninety-five hat at Penney’s. It looks all right, though.”

  Horton stripped and reclothed himself from the skin outward. When he was redressed, he surveyed himself in the full-length mirror of the bathroom door.

  Again he was the well-dressed man from head to toe. Even his shoes were polished, as he had exchanged the ones he had dulled for a pair of brown brogans in his suitcase. The brown, snap-brim hat Belle had purchased concealed his crew cut as effectively as the cap had, and even made his ears less apparent. He decided that with a measure of luck, he might even pass the scrutiny of police.