This Girl for Hire Read online

  “Wait a minute!” I lifted the cards from his chubby fists. “Low man deals each hand. When I say low, I mean the person with the least amount of clothes. You all have me about seven to one at the moment. It’s my deal.”

  “Okay,” buck-teeth agreed. He was shaking so hard he would have agreed to anything. The rest followed suit. Only Danny tried to call off the game, but he was out-voted.

  I shuffled, cut and flipped out five cards, face down. “All right,” Arch said. “You first Danny boy. Then me, then Hank, then Buck. The lady is last. Go ahead, turn it over.”

  Dan had a queen. The trio grinned. Arch had a ten. They banged the table happily. Hank had a jack. They clapped each other on the back. Buck had a king. The place nearly flew apart.

  “Now it’s your turn, blondie,” Arch said, licking his chops. “Remember, this was your idea. No sore losers!”

  I turned over my card. The trio flattened out.

  Ace of spades.

  Grumbling bitterly, Arch took off his shoes.

  I reshuffled and dealt a new hand. All four had jacks. Arch lined them up in a formidable row.

  “Beat that!” he bragged.

  I took all four jacks and stacked them one on top of the other. Then I flipped over my card and covered the pile with it. The trio flipped.

  Queen of hearts.

  All four of them removed a piece of clothing. But no shirts.

  I dealt out five more cards. Arch was getting hot around the collar. “This time around,” he said, “the lady shows first. We’ll reverse the table. I’ll show last.” I nodded and turned up my card. The trio cackled like a bunch of old hens. Three of diamonds.

  Hank had a king. Buck had an eight. Danny had an ace. Arch chuckled and flipped over his card.

  Deuce!

  Arch was down to his shorts and shirt.

  After ten more hands the whole trio was in the same state of undress and I still had my tiger stripes. Danny had lost only his jacket. It was getting so dark, Hank had to turn on the lights.

  “Hey, Arch,” buck-teeth moaned all of a sudden. “How come we keep losing?”

  “I dunno,” Arch said. “But I’m beginning to get a pretty good idea. I think the little lady is dealing off the bottom.”

  Arch demanded the next deal. He shuffled and issued out five cards. I had a bad feeling. Especially since this was the first hand I hadn’t dealt—and, as Arch had guessed, off the bottom of the deck.

  The trio flipped over their cards. They groaned. Three treys. Dan had a ten of hearts.

  My card was a black one. Very black. Deuce! The plan was wrecked. I’d wanted to see a few bare arms. Now they were clamoring to see a few parts of my anatomy.

  “Well?” Arch roared, jumping up, “are you going to do it, or should I?”

  “I’ve managed to undress myself since I was five,” I said, stalling. “I don’t need any lessons now.”

  “Okay,” Hank said impatiently. “Commence!”

  The tiger-striped suit was held up by two shoulder straps. I shrugged and unfastened one, edging slowly toward the door. A big storm had turned the early evening pitch black and rain smashed heavily on the roof. The second strap finally gave. Holding up the front of my suit, I eased down the zipper, simultaneously stepping back and grasping the doorknob. Their glazed eyes saw nothing except the fabric easing away from my body as they waited for the unveiling.

  As I was about to turn the knob, the lights went out. The cursing and screaming was riotous.

  “Who did it?” roared the runt’s voice out of pitch blackness. “Who did it? I’ll kill ’em! I’ll kill ’em!”

  “Nobody done it, Arch,” boomed back the nasal voice of buck teeth. “It musta been the storm. The electricity is off.”

  “Well, get it on again!” Arch screamed wildly.

  I whirled around, flung open the door and dashed out into the night. Rain drilled in my eyes. I stumbled, snagged my swimsuit on something sharp and tried to break loose. The fabric ripped apart below the zipper as I lunged free. Then a biting chill swept over me. My suit was gone!

  I searched frantically for my cabin, but the rain and darkness obliterated everything. A hundred and fifty cabins and they all looked alike. I wound up on a side street, lost, angry and naked. The street was apparently deserted, but I couldn’t be sure. Lights were out all over Avalon.

  I stopped and listened. Drenching rain pelted against the pavement. There was one other sound, distant and weird. The chimes. They were pealing wildly up on the hillside.

  I ran for the police station. It would be embarrassing, but I had no choice.

  Chief Clements almost knocked me down in the door way of the police building. He wore a black slicker and apparently was in a big hurry. He gave me a quick run down with the flashlight and bellowed, “Miss West, for God’s sake, don’t you ever wear clothes?”

  He swept me into his office and a warm blanket as I explained the circumstances. His face had an expression of exasperation and worry.

  “We’ve been looking for you,” Clements said. “Decker’s been found.”

  “Where?” I demanded.

  “Up in the chimes tower,” the police chief said.

  “What was he doing up there?”

  Clement wiped a wet hand across his old face. “He was hanging by a thick rope. Decker’s dead!”

  FOURTEEN

  INEARLY DROPPED MY BLANKET. “HOW’D YOU HAPPEN TO find him up there?”

  “The chimes started ringing at five o’clock,” Clements said, “and they never stopped. One of the Island Company repair men went to check the trouble. Decker was strung up on a rod that controls the timing device.”

  “But the electricity,” I said. “I thought there was a power failure.”

  “There is,” the police chief explained. “Decker was hung up on a timing rod. His weight created a jam-up in the bell mechanism.”

  “Where’s the body now?”

  “In the island morgue. He’s had a .38 caliber bullet lodged in his heart. That’s what really killed him.”

  “It must be Swanson,” I said, shaking my head. “But it just doesn’t add up.”

  “How big is this TV actor, Swanson?” Clements asked.

  “About average. He’s in terrific shape, though. Strong as a bull physically.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “I don’t get you.”

  Clements produced a crumpled piece of paper and handed it to me. The typewritten note read, MEET ME IN THE CHIMES TOWER AT FOUR-THIRTY THIS AFTERNOON. VITALLY IMPORTANT. B. S.

  I examined the note. “Where’d you get this?”

  The old police chief struck the table with a match and applied the flame to his cigarette. “We found it in Decker’s coat pocket. Swanson’s first name is Bob, isn’t it?”

  I nodded. This note looked exactly like the one Mark and I had found in Rod Caine’s pocket. All capital letters and an unusual typeface. Both messages were probably from the same typewriter. Swanson had a portable in his stateroom aboard Hell’s Light.

  “Any trace of Swanson?” I asked.

  “No. The storm’s loused us up completely,” Clements said. “It’s been pretty dusty around the tower. We might have followed his trail if the rain hadn’t obliterated everything. I’ve got men covering the airport and both piers.”

  Dusty! That coincided with Joe King’s description of Swanson. Golden Boy could have investigated the chimes area before sending his message to Decker.

  I studied the old police chiefs face, then said, “How would you guess it was done? It’s no easy matter to hang a man who weighs three hundred and fifty pounds.”

  “There’s a ledge next to the timing rod,” Clements said. “I figure Swanson got Decker up on that ledge at gun point, then ordered him to slip on the noose. The bullet did the rest.”

  Clements loaned me some trousers and a shirt. “I’m going back to Hell’s Light,” I said.

  “You want a lift out to the yacht?”

>   “No thanks, I’ll find a way. Do you have a flashlight you can spare?”

  The grizzled police officer brought one out of a drawer. “Incidentally,” he said, “we still haven’t been able to get to the mainland with those thumb impressions from Ann Claypool. All the airstrips are closed over there.”

  I rolled my eyes dismally. “Listen, Chief, do me a favor. Check Decker’s arms for needle marks. He might have been a narcotics addict.”

  The chimes had stopped and raindrops slackened into a mist by the time I reached the Villa. My footsteps rang loudly on the wooden walkways as I searched for my own cabin. When I found number thirty-six the door was ajar.

  Hadn’t I locked it? My mind, conflicted with thoughts about Decker’s murder, couldn’t come up with a positive answer. I stepped inside and closed the door, automatically flicking the wall switch. Nothing happened. The power was still off.

  Then a metal instrument flashed in the darkness. I ducked, but not far enough. The weapon caught me on the side of the head just as one of my fingernails tore into something. I crumpled to the floor, rolled over and crawled for the door. A dark figure was stumbling clumsily down the walkway. Struggling to my feet, I started in pursuit, collapsing after a few steps. My head felt like a full-scale assault at Iwo Jima.

  When I finally reached the street, it was deserted. My first impulse carried me to the Jolly Inn. Candles flickered on the tables and behind the bar. The place was alive with music, laughter and the jangled chorus of glasses, bottles and people bumping around on the dance floor.

  Fighting a blackout, I grabbed the edge of the bar and shot a flare up in the general direction of Joe King. He got my signal and breezed over.

  “For God’s sake, Honey,” Joe said angrily. “You look like Hell-warmed-over for the Fourth-of-July. What’s happened?”

  “Have you seen Swanson in the last few minutes?” I demanded.

  “No. Haven’t seen him since this morning.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure,” Joe said. “What are you doing in men’s clothes? I hardly recognized you.”

  “My dressmaker’s on vacation!” I said, holding my head. There was a lump on the left side that would have frightened an ostrich. I studied the crowd. The character who leveled me with the blunt instrument had to be around somewhere. And I felt certain that character was Swanson.

  I dashed across the street to the Hi-Ho bar. The same sort of candlelit fandango was going on. One difference. Danny Marble was sitting at a table with a blonde about my size. One difference here, too. This gal didn’t have a lump on her topside. I joined them.

  “Gee, Honey,” Danny said warmly, “where you been? I looked for you.” He glanced at his partner. “Oh, I’d like you to meet Toni.”

  Toni was about twenty and stacked to the rooftops in a flashy orange dress.

  “I owe you an apology, Danny,” I said. “I was sure your story about another gal was a phony.”

  The big youth grinned. “Well, I didn’t tell you the absolute truth. I knew you weren’t Toni in the first place.”

  I scanned the surrounding populace. No Swanson.

  “Listen, Danny,” I said quickly. “Did you go to my cabin after the card game?”

  “Yeah, I was worried. It was raining bad and I knew you weren’t exactly dressed for the weather.”

  “How’d you know that?”

  Danny said, “I found your bathing suit. It was caught in a fence outside our cabin. So I took it to your place.”

  “Did you try the door?”

  “Sure. But I knocked first.”

  “Was it unlocked?”

  “Yeah, it was,” Danny said. “That surprised me, because you weren’t there and I saw you lock it when we left for the Phoenix.”

  “You did see me lock it?”

  “Of course. I even tried it after you turned the key. Don’t you remember?”

  I nodded dazedly. Blackness was drawing in again and I needed air. Without an explanation, I headed for the street. The night mist felt cool to my face. I walked up one street and down another. More than anything I wanted to come face to face with Robert Swanson, television’s gift to humanity. I wanted to take that gift and give it back to the Indians, piece by piece.

  I wound up at the police station and quickly phoned the Los Angeles Sheriff’s office, homicide.

  “We’re socked in solid, Honey,” Mark explained, after he got on the phone. “I’ve been trying to charter a plane for the past three hours, but everything’s grounded. You might have mist, but we’ve got the works. Lightning, thunder, hail. It’s like pea soup outside.”

  “You should crawl inside my head,” I groaned. “Pea soup doesn’t begin to describe the weather conditions. Somebody slugged me.”

  Mark swore. “I told you to stay out of trouble. What happened?”

  I gave him the details and then said, “I suppose you know about Decker?”

  “Know about him? Clements had me on the phone for forty-five minutes. Why do you think I’ve been trying to break every law of aerial navigation to get over there?”

  “I thought you wanted to see me,” I said miserably, trying to make light of the situation. “Now I know the truth. All you want is to gaze at Decker’s body and take notes.”

  “Whose body do you want me to gaze at? If it’s yours, I won’t bring a note pad, I’ll bring a deck of cards.”

  “Where’d you hear about that?”

  “What difference does it make?” he said. “Next time I find out you’ve been playing strip poker, I’m going to slap you in the pokey so fast you’ll think you came up with seven aces!”

  “That does it!” I retaliated. “I’m going out and start the biggest strip-poker game in history. By the time you get here, you’ll think Catalina is a nudist camp.”

  “Is that so?” Mark said, suddenly serious. “You’re a sassy blonde with plenty of guts and body, but when it comes to the think department, you’ve got another think coming.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You think Swanson hit you, right?”

  “Right!”

  There was a slight crackling pause. “Okay. If your Villa door was open after you locked it earlier, someone must have opened it with a key, right?”

  “I—guess so,” I stammered. “I never thought about it.”

  “Of course you never thought about it,” Mark said. “Hot heads die young. You’ve got a brain that’s saturated with gasoline.”

  “Who says so?”

  “I do. Someone throws a match and you blow, everytime.”

  I thought about that with my muddled tank of gasoline. Mark was so right. I had been hurt and gone haywire. Ignited was a better word. I’d blown when the chips were down.

  “Okay,” I said, “I’ve just installed some asbestos. Fire away!”

  “Check with the manager of the Villa,” Mark advised. “If your cabin wasn’t broken into, then someone used a key. Maybe Swanson gave a song and dance about being your husband and the manager opened the door.”

  “Think you’re smart, don’t you?”

  Mark said, “It’s easy when you’re born that way.”

  “Very funny,” I said. “Well, make a joke out of this. I think I’ve found a connection between the Nelson case and the four murders over here.”

  “What’s the connection?” the lieutenant barked.

  “The metal case containing Rod Caine’s lab equipment. I believe it was used to transfer heroin.”

  “Do you know for sure?”

  “No. But I’m going to find out. You’d better break up the atmosphere as soon as you can and get over here before I win that bet of ours by default.”

  Mark told me to stay out of dark cabins, promised to tear holes in the sky and then hung up. I walked to the manager’s office after reaching the Villa and rang the bell. A squat little man clutching a candle came to the door.

  “Did you open up cabin thirty-six for someone this afternoon?” I ask
ed.

  He stared blankly at the candle, then shook his head. “What about the woman who rented the cabin to me this morning? Maybe she opened it.”

  “That’s my wife,” he said. “I’ll ask her.” He disappeared.

  He returned shortly. “Yes, she opened up thirty-six. It was early this evening. About six-thirty or seven. The man said his name was West. Said he was your husband—that you misplaced your key.”

  “I haven’t got a husband. What’d he look like?” The manager’s face dropped a foot. “This is terrible. Was something taken? It was raining so hard and my wife probably thought—”

  “What’d he look like?” I repeated.

  He hurriedly disappeared inside again and returned with his wife, a dumpy blonde in a faded negligee.

  “What are you trying to start anyway?” she bellowed. “You were with the man when I gave him the key.”

  I tried to unscramble that one.

  She continued, “I don’t give out no keys unless the renter is there, and you were there. Now what do you say to that?”

  “What was I wearing?”

  The dumpy one chewed for an instant on a fingernail. “A raincoat and hat, and—and an orange dress. I seen it under the coat.”

  “What’d the man look like?”

  “Hard to say. He was wearing a trench coat and hat. I never got a good look at his face. He had a lot of pimples, that’s all I saw.”

  “That’s enough,” I said. “Thanks.”

  I bent into the wind as I walked down the main street again. Rain drove in under my jacket, drenching my skin.

  They were still sitting at the table in the Hi-Ho bar. I crossed over and plumped down beside blonde, busty Toni. She did resemble me in many respects. I studied Danny’s pockmarked cheeks.

  “Did you open my cabin door tonight?” I asked him carefully.

  “Yeah, I told you,” Danny said. ‘The door was already unlocked.”

  “Who unlocked it?”

  “I dunno.”

  “The manager’s wife down at the Villa says you unlocked it, Danny.”

  “She’s crazy!”

  “She says I was with you at the time.”

  “Well, now you know she’s crazy for sure,” Danny said.

  I glanced at the other blonde. “Except it wasn’t me she saw, was it, Danny? It was Toni.”