This Girl for Hire Page 9

  “What was the argument about?” Mark asked.

  “A sailboat scene,” Ann continued. “According to the script. Bob was supposed to follow me down the ladder into the sailboat. But he wanted to reverse the procedure. I was wearing a full circle skirt—”

  “I get the idea,” Mark said. “What happened?”

  “Joe called Swanson a twisted lecherous bastard and the sparks flew.”

  “Did Swanson fire Meeler?”

  “No,” Ann said. “Bob just went haywire, shouting and raving. That’s when he disappeared. We couldn’t find him after that.”

  Mark looked at me and his mouth tightened. I knew what he was thinking. How could Golden Boy have entered and left the swimming-pool area without being seen by one of his television compatriots—much less silently commit a murder which involved something as unwieldy as a butcher knife. Meeler must have been completely unaware that he was about to die. If he’d had any kind of warning, the TV writer surely would have alerted others in the bar.

  After Meeler’s body was loaded aboard the Avalon patrol boat, I walked down to the float with Mark and Chief Clements.

  “The Coast Guard will probably send out an investigating party,” Mark explained. “I got a blood-sample scraping from the chest and will try to match it with the stains on the jacket. I’ll be back tomorrow, after I check out this character, Walker, who turned up in the Nelson case. Meanwhile, stay out of mischief, understand?”

  “That’s a pretty tall order, Lieutenant, but I’ll try. Incidentally, why did you fail to tell me about this guy Walker?”

  Mark ignored the question, climbed into the patrol boat, then turned and took my hand. “I understand Decker skipped out on a water taxi while we were searching for Swanson. He isn’t out of this by any means. I want him back on this ship by tomorrow. If the Avalon police can’t find him, it’s up to you, Honey. There are some places a dame can get into that even a cop can’t.”

  I nodded, kissed his cheek and thanked him for our exciting sojourn to Little Harbor.

  “We’ll have to do it again sometime,” Mark smiled. “Under different circumstances.”

  The patrol boat rocked, kicked up a dark crest that washed over the float and moved away into the night.

  “Don’t forget the prints on that knife!” I yelled.

  “I won’t!” Mark called back. “And don’t you forget to keep yourself out of trouble!”

  I walked up to the main deck, meeting Rod Caine at the top of the steps. He was strangely apologetic about Meeler’s death.

  “I can’t understand how it could have happened,” he said dejectedly. “Joe was a damned good writer. He was doing a better job on the show than I ever did. I’m really sorry about this, believe me.”

  “Did Lori tell you about Aces’ jacket?”

  “Yeah.”

  ‘Were you surprised?”

  “Hell, yes, I was surprised,” Rod said. “I still can’t believe he’s dead, though.”

  We walked to the bow of the ship. Rod lit two cigarettes and handed me one. I thought of Aces’ habit of doing the same thing.

  “Did Aces ever send you a note inviting you aboard this ship?” I asked.

  “Many times,” Rod said quietly. “I’ve spent some wonderful days aboard Hell’s Light.”

  “I mean recently.”

  “Of course not. I told you I didn’t see or hear from Sam from the time I ran out of Lori’s bedroom until last night.”

  “You’re absolutely certain?”

  Rod cocked his head suspiciously. “Now what does that mean?”

  I flipped my cigarette overboard. “We found a note in your coat pocket.”

  “When?”

  “Early this evening in your cabin. One thing we didn’t find was your lab equipment.”

  Rod shook his head dazedly. “You were in my cabin early this evening?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And you didn’t find my equipment? Did you look in the metal case on the kitchen table?”

  “We didn’t find a thing. Not even the metal case.”

  “But I left it on the table in the kitchen. Lori’ll tell you. She watched me make the tests."

  “We found Sam’s glass and that’s all.”

  Rod appeared genuinely dumbfounded. If this was an act, it was a good one. But then, I was surrounded by a ship full of actors, so his performance didn’t convince me entirely.

  “Believe me,” Rod said, “that equipment was on the table when Lori and I left. Someone must have taken it while we were gone.”

  “Who steals that sort of thing?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What about the note?”

  “I can’t explain that,” Rod said. “If there was a note in my pocket, someone planted it there.”

  “Let’s lay a few things on the line,” I said. “What was Swanson talking about last night when he said you’d know why he got mad in the bar?”

  Rod didn’t answer for a long time. He pinched out his cigarette and tossed it into the water. “You want it straight?”

  “Straight as you can make it.”

  “All right. I guess there’s nothing to lose now. Swanson found out I was living on Catalina. I don’t know how he found out, but he did. He came to see me about three weeks ago. Said his visit had to be strictly confidential. He told me if it didn’t remain secret, if his personal dealings with me ever came out in the open, he’d kill me dead in the writing field.”

  “What was he after?”

  Rod wiped his hands across his forehead. “A personal contract for my services on the Swanson show.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I didn’t understand at first myself. Then he explained that he and Decker were planning to force Aces out as producer. They had some kind of gimmick. I don’t know what it was, but he wanted me back as writer. I told him I didn’t want the deal, that I was happy with what I was doing. Then he really got tough. Promised me nothing but trouble if I didn’t sign the contract. So I signed. What else could I do?”

  “Now we’re getting somewhere,” I said. “You met him that night in the Golden Slipper, not accidentally, but on purpose.”

  “That’s right. He told me to be there after the show because he wanted to iron out a few last details.”

  “And what were these details?”

  “I don’t know,” Rod said vaguely. “He was crocked when I got there. Loaded to the gills. I told you how he kidded me about the drink he was taking to Aces.”

  I nodded.

  “Decker was there, too. I tried to get something concrete out of him, but he was flying three ways to the moon himself and I got nothing—except an ultimatum from Swanson to show up in his office on the twenty-fifth.”

  “You mean last Monday? The day I signed my contract?”

  “Yeah. I know I told you I hadn’t been back to town since that time in the Golden Slipper, but I had to lie. Don’t you understand? Swanson had me. I figured if I told you everything, it would get back to him. My writing career would have been but the window. I couldn’t take the chance.”

  “Okay. I understand. What happened last Monday?”

  “Swanson told me Aces would be out inside of two weeks. That meant Meeler, too. I argued. Told him Joe Meeler was doing a damn good job and ought to be retained. I said the same thing about Aces, and Swanson nearly hit the ceiling. He said if he could, he’d send Sam Aces right to the scrap heap.”

  “Then Swanson thought you were pulling a fast one when he saw you last night with Aces.”

  “Sure,” Rod said. “He probably thought I was breaking his confidence and making a separate deal with Sam. Certainly he never expected to walk in that bar and see the two of us talking together.”

  I searched for holes in his story. There was only one opening I could find. “How come none of your old cronies recognized you in the Golden Slipper, or last Monday at Television Riviera?”

  “It took a while for the plastic surge
ry to heal. During that time I couldn’t shave so I grew a pretty heavy beard. Swanson didn’t even recognize me the day he came over from the mainland. I shaved for the first time the afternoon I found you wading around in my abalone beds.”

  He flashed that infectious smile. I liked this guy. I couldn’t help it.

  “Mister,” I whispered, “I’m very glad we met.”

  “So am I. I saw you Monday at the studio and you know what I said to myself? There’s the most beautiful woman alive. Why don’t you ask her to marry you, buy a hunk of your crazy island and never come back to civilization again?”

  “Why didn’t you?” I teased.

  “Because,” he said, “I knew there’d be ten thousand guys ahead of me in line.”

  “What if I told you there weren’t ten thousand guys?”

  “I’d say you’re the biggest liar in the world.” He took my face in his hands and kissed me.

  He looked at me tenderly, “You know, I started some thing the night we met that I never got a chance to finish.”

  A crazy hot feeling boiled up in my stomach. Before I could make a move, Rod picked me up, carried me to my cabin and locked the door.

  The horn of a big ship passing outside tore the darkness with its sound. He unbuttoned my sweater and slipped it gently off my shoulders.

  Suddenly there was another sound. Loud footsteps running hurriedly on the deck. It was a sound filled with urgency—with deadliness.

  Rod whirled toward the doorway, snapped open the lock and stepped outside. He disappeared as the night wind pushed the door closed. I waited tensely as Rod’s footsteps faded in the distance. New rain pattered on the windows. When I peeked through one of the curtains, a yellowish face rose up, stared at me and disappeared.

  Then there was knock at the door. For an instant I was frightened. Really frightened. A killer was loose aboard Hell’s Light. I forced back my female instincts, assumed my role of private detective, and answered.

  “‘Who is it?” I asked.

  “Carruthers, ma’am.”

  “Who?”

  “Carruthers. One of the ship’s crew, ma’am. I found something I think you and your police friend ought to see.”

  “Just a minute.” I switched on the table lamp and crossed to my closet for a negligee.

  Carruthers, his weather-beaten face damp with rain, stood outside the door. He was wearing a yellow hat and slicker and looked like something hauled straight out of the Sargasso Sea. But what really shook me was the instrument he held.

  It was a knife. A butcher knife. Exactly like the one Mark had pulled from the dead body of Joe Meeler.

  ELEVEN

  CARRUTHERS SHOVED THE KNIFE TOWARD ME. “FOUND it down on B Deck near one of the lifeboats,” he said. “Looks like a trick gadget of some kind.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Here, I’ll show you, ma’am.” He took the butcher knife in his right hand, swung it back and rammed it squarely in his chest.

  He should have been ready for a pine box or leaking so much plasma the blood bank could have closed down for a week. But he wasn’t even scratched.

  The old man smiled. “Amazing, ain’t it?”

  “Let me see that again.” I examined the knife. It was apparently spring-loaded, allowing the blade to collapse on contact into a narrow slit in the handle.

  Carruthers chuckled, remarked about weird inventions and vanished into the night. A short time later Rod ap peared, breathless and wet from the rain.

  “I don’t get it,” he said. “There was somebody out there, but he vanished before I could catch up with him.”

  I showed Rod the trick knife and gave Carruthers’ account of the discovery on B Deck. “What do you make of the gadget?” I asked.

  “It’s what they call a breakaway. Must be a Swanson TV prop.” Rod examined the instrument. “Wonder how it got down there. I understood from Lud Norman that all props are kept on main deck in back of the swimming pool.”

  “Looks exactly like the one we found in Meeler,” I said.

  “Yeah, but that was no breakaway.”

  I pointed to the handle. “Did you notice this brown stain?”

  “Makeup,” Rod nodded. “TV people just don’t know when to stop with the stuff. Ann Claypool’s one of the worst. She spreads it on every part of her that shows.”

  “Speaking of Ann Claypool, what gives between you two?”

  “What do you mean?” Rod demanded. “I—I’m an old friend. Vince Claypool and I went to college together.”

  “Vince was her husband?”

  “Yeah. A nice guy. We opened up a sporting-goods shop together after graduation. That’s when Vince met Ann. I never liked her—must have told him a thousand times she was no good. But he married her anyway.”

  “Was Ann really crazy about him?”

  “Are you kidding? She’s crazy about only two things—Ann Claypool and sex. She’s one of those physical com binations that spells dynamite. Little woman, big bust. She’s always out to prove something. Little people usually are. I imagine you can guess what she’s trying to prove.”

  “You don’t think she was sorry to see her husband die?”

  “Hell, no! Vince had a ten-thousand dollar G.I. term policy. She’s been having a ball on that poor bastard. If he only knew.”

  “But Ann gave me the impression she hated Aces’ guts for sending Vince Claypool out on that underwater assignment.”

  “Sounds like Ann all right. Always with the sad story when she’s in the chips and living high. The time to be careful of Annie is when she acts deliriously, sexapat ingly happy like she did last night.”

  “Do you think she and Swanson could be in this together?”

  “Who knows?” Rod shrugged his shoulders. “What would Ann get out of it?”

  “The female lead in the Swanson show.”

  A stunned look sprang onto Rod’s face. “Hell! I’d for gotten about Decker replacing you with Claypool!”

  “It was apparently a joint decision introduced by Swanson and approved by Decker,” I added.

  “And meted out the morning after Aces disappeared.” Rod rubbed his hands together vigorously. “I think you’ve got something, Honey. Something big.”

  “Think back,” I suggested. “It would have been pretty tough for Swanson to poison Aces’ drink. He was around only a few seconds. But with Annie it was different. A lot different.”

  “You can say that again,” Rod agreed. “She was all over the bar. It wouldn’t have been easy, but nothing’s too tough for little Annie if there’s money in the deal.”

  I picked up the breakaway knife again. “But why murder Joe Meeler? Do you suppose he saw Ann or Golden Boy slip something in Aces’ drink?”

  “Could be!”

  “Maybe Meeler was mixed up in the plot himself.”

  Rod shook his head. “Not Joe Meeler. He wouldn’t hurt a gnat if he could help it.”

  “Joe never drank, did he?”

  “Used to,” Rod said. “Plenty. He cut off the alcohol after his operation.”

  “What was his trouble?”

  “Peptic ulcers. Bad. Damn near killed him.”

  “If that’s the case, why was he always hanging around the bar?”

  Rod said, “Habit, I guess. In the old days he always did his best writing in bars. Liked the atmosphere.”

  “Seems almost prophetic he had to die in one.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What time is it?” I asked.

  “Little after three. Why are you always so interested in the time?”

  I stepped into the bathroom, slipped out of my negligee and into a swimsuit. “If the swimming-pool area is cleared out, I’d like to try to reenact Meeler’s murder. Are you game?”

  Rod’s forehead ridged slightly. “I don’t know. What do you want me to do?”

  “Play the murderer.”

  “Will you cut it out?” he said angrily.

  “All right, I’ll play
the murderer if it makes you any happier.”

  Just as long as you don’t substitute that breakaway knife for the real thing.”

  I whirled around and grabbed Rod. “That’s it!” I exclaimed. “That’s how it was done!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Somebody who knew Meeler could have substituted a real knife for the phony while they were discussing a scene.”

  I tossed a sweater over my shoulders and took his arm. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

  The bar and swimming pool were dark. I switched on some lights and led Rod through the water to the exact stool where Meeler was found.

  “You sit here,” I said.

  He followed my instructions resignedly. “Okay, now what?”

  I waded back to the edge of the pool. “Now, I’m Swanson. You’re Meeler. The bar is filled with people having a wild time.”

  “Yeah,” Rod said. “Only if you’re Swanson and these characters have been looking for you all day, don’t you think you’d better come in with a tent over your head? Nothing would be more obvious than Golden Boy’s chubby jowls and thick arms.”

  That made sense. Swanson couldn’t have walked in unnoticed. He’d have attracted as much attention as a man wearing kilts and playing a bagpipe in the ladies’ lounge of the Statler Hotel.

  “Check,” I said, circling around the edge of the pool. At the deep end, I stopped to survey the bar. “How about an approach from this direction? He could dive in and swim underwater. Swanson’s a crackerjack at that sort of thing.”

  Rod pointed out a very important factor. There was no way into the pool area from the deep end. Swanson still would have had to pass through the game zone on the shallow side in order to reach the nine-foot depth.

  I took off my sweater and plunged into the water. In the middle of the deep end wall I noticed a small porthole. Through the thick glass I could see a narrow passageway on B Deck. Then I saw something else. There was a lifeboat suspended along the side of the corridor. I surfaced.

  “Rod!”

  He almost fell off his stool. “‘What’s the matter? You find another body?”

  “No!” I yelled, swimming quickly to the bar. “I think I’ve got the answer to how the murderer entered and left unnoticed.”

  “Don’t tell me he was in the pool all the time using a snorkel and pretending to be the Creature from the Black Lagoon!”