The Bamboo Blonde (8 page)

His eyebrows rose quizzically. "Why the disguise?"

"It seemed—wiser. Better than trying to explain." .She moved her hands. "I knew her in New York, slightly. One of my lame ducks perhaps you'd call it. It doesn't matter. She hasn't been around for some years, not since she left to try Hollywood."

Con asked, "Was Hollywood avid?"

"Rather not. But such trifles would never faze a Shelley Huffaker. She hadn't much ambition. All she wanted was a golden bed to lie on."

"She found that." Con stated it.

"Doubt not. Shelley knew her way around as far as that was concerned."

Dare held long fingers for a cigarette. Griselda noticed they were not controlled; they rattled like bones. "Monday night she telephoned me from Hollywood. How she knew where I was, where to reach me, I hadn't a notion. She wanted to know if she could come spend a day or two with me."

"You accepted her invitation."

Dare said, "I couldn't do anything else on the spur of the moment. It was a demand in her own inimitable blatant fashion. And remembering her, I knew it wasn't I she was interested in. She either wanted a place to hide out for a few days, or she wanted to make some contact through me. I suspected Navy."

"And it was that?" Con's eyes were keen now.

Dare shrugged. "I never knew why she came. She arrived Tuesday morning in a cab, a local one. She said she'd traveled by interurban. Simply incredible, if true. She preferred a good Duesenberg any hour. She didn't go out at all that day, just puttered around in some black chiffon she called a wrapper. And I left for Avalon Wednesday morning. That's one reason I let her come. I knew I wouldn't have to endure her. I told her on the phone I had the yacht-party thing on my hands."

Kew put in, "She must have had something to say to you if she was underfoot all day Tuesday."

"But I wasn't there," Dare rebutted quickly. "I left almost as soon as she arrived. I was with the Swales all morning, lunched with them, and most of the afternoon. I saw her when I went back to change for dinner."

Con drank. "How do you know she didn't go out if you weren't there?"

"My China boy told me."

"But maybe she used the phone."

"She did. But to no avail. According to Bing."

"Bing?"

"After his hero." She said. "I've had him two years now, ever since I came to California. He wouldn't lie to me."

Why had Dare made these inquiries of her servant concerning her guest? She must have known something of Shelley Huffaker's purpose in coming, more than she admitted. At least she had, by tacit admission, been suspicious.

"The only call we know that she had was from Kathie Travis while I was dressing for dinner."

He was quick. "Was that what she had been waiting for?"

"I don't believe so." Dare spoke thoughtfully. "If so, she put on a good scene. She didn't want anyone to know she was in town and some way this girl that was always bothering her to meet Hollywood nabobs had found out. Now she'd have to waste time lunching with a woman and getting rid of her afterwards. A long dull tirade to which I didn't listen." She shrugged her uncovered shoulder again. "That's all there is. I went to Catalina. Came back when the police called me."

Kew insisted, "You never ran into Shelley at all in Hollywood?"

She protested. "I'm speaking God's truth, Kew. I'd not heard her name in years." That was possible, even probable. The multitudinous cliques in the cinema capital seldom overlapped.

Con asked, "You don't know who she'd been golden-bedding it with?" Dare shook her head. Con's eyelids dropped. "Could it have been Mannie Martin?"

"No." It was Kew who answered. "He lived alone and played the field. That's been doubly checked."

"Shelley would insist on steady employment," said Dare. "And get it." She looked at her mouth in an enormous circlet of mirror and white jade. It was early, barely midnight. But she said, "I'm tired. Take me home, Kew." She stood.

Kew covered her with the flaming wool.

She laid her gems against Con's cheek. "Busy tomorrow?"

"Yes. Tied up all day."

Kew grinned deliberately. "Lunch tomorrow, Griselda?"

Her answer was as deliberate: "Delighted. It's going to be awfully dull tomorrow at the Satterlees."

Even Con laughed. But he put his arm about her in possession. "She is stuff, isn't she, Kew? Don't blame you for wanting her. But she's posted, you know."

They all laughed again. But Con wasn't laughing as they trailed the others to the street. He was ironical. "You don't think Kew's asking you out because of your bellissima eyes, do you, baby?"

She looked at him curiously. It wasn't like Con to be obvious about anything, even jealousy.

He wasn't smiling. "It's to keep tabs on me," he said.

He started to help her into the shabby car while Kew was helping Dare into the far from shabby one parked in front of theirs. But Dare was hesitant. She waved her escort aside, came along back to Con.

She said quietly, "I'm going to Avalon tomorrow. There was a wire at the apartment."

Con didn't say anything but his look was significant. Griselda put two with two and the answer left her shaken. Dare wasn't mixed up with Shelley's death alone; Major Pembrooke was returning to Catalina the night of the murder; he had mentioned waiting guests; Dare had been on the island. Dare's lashes unveiled the green eyes. "Why don't you come along? Albert George would welcome a diversion. Although he won't be there until evening."

"What about Kew?"

"I'm not telling him." Her mouth was small. "I don't want an argument tonight. He's always so particular about what I do. And he doesn't care for the major."

Con yawned. "Regrets to the deah fellow but Mr. Satterlee is in partial custody to that worthy son of the sea and land, old Cap'n Thusby."

Dare laughed, "You want me to relay that?"

Con threw back his head and crowed. "Don't care if you do. Or tell your friend I'm honeymooning and don't like crowds."

Griselda murmured, "You'd never guess it."

Con grinned at her.

Dare asked, "You mean you won't go?"

"I mean that. Doesn't interest me." Griselda froze as he belied the truth. "Where is said house party held?"

"On his elegant yacht,
The Falcon.
Lying at anchor just off the coast of Catalina—St. Catherine's Landing. Manned by the duckiest Oriental navy. The kind that fine-comb your luggage—so sorry."

Con's mouth pursed. "If I should run over to the St. Catherine for the week end, how do I get hold of you?"

"Telephone from the hotel." She turned, hesitated. "I've been thinking about it. Shelley might have been killed because she was with you. It might have been to put you away safe for a couple of months."

Con's face was dark. Then he rejected. "No one would kill an innocent girl to strike at me." He was looking at Griselda, staring at her. If it had been anyone else she would have said there was horror dawning on his face.

Dare said, "I'm sending Bing to Hollywood tomorrow. He needs a vacation."

Griselda wouldn't let Con send her away; she didn't want to be safe if he weren't. Without further words, Dare wheeled abruptly, returned to Kew. Con watched the big car slide away. He had that scowl still between his brows as he took her arm, put her in their car.

She spoke urgently, "Con, Con, you don't have to be in on this, do you? You don't know anything about that girl?" If he'd only be willing to leave now, tonight.

He stepped on the starter. "It's a dirty trick on you, angel, but we'll get that honeymoon yet." She knew by his voice that there was no hope he would agree to departure.

If she had to endure this new danger she must know more about it; she must have information for a shield. She insisted, "I want to know all of it, Con, everything. What are you planning to do? You mustn't treat me like an idiot child."

He didn't look at her. "I don't think you're either idiot or child, but I won't have you in this thing."

That darkness had shadowed his face again and now the horror came into her being. Stupidly she hadn't realized it before. If a strange girl had been threatened by being seen with Con, how much more did she, his wife, stand in danger? But he was wrong. Why couldn't he see it? She couldn't protect herself without knowledge. "You can't keep me out of what you're mixed up in. I'm your wife. It's better to know than go around this way, hearing patches of it, guessing. Isn't it?"

His reply was quiet but she heard it as if it were shouted above the fuming engine. He said definitely, "No, it isn't."

* * *

Griselda opened one eye the smallest crack possible. Something had waked her and she didn't want to wake; she was sleepy. She opened the eye wide, the other eye wider. She was right. Con was out of bed. She called tentatively, "Con," louder, "Con." The silence of the cottage closed in on her. For a moment she lay there in unreasoning fear before she caught up the golden fleece of her robe. He wasn't in the living room; he wasn't in the kitchen. His dinner jacket wasn't in the wardrobe behind the curtain of pink fish. His bag wasn't in the corner by the bureau.

She knew it last night. She knew it when he told Dare he wasn't going. But she hadn't wanted to know. She didn't want him to go to Catalina.

She couldn't let Con walk alone to meet possible danger. Her place was beside him. The clock said noon. She would take the afternoon plane and find him.

She packed like an automaton, swiftly but with slight realization of her movements. Evening clothes. The black froth of lace. She could face Dare in that without qualm. Her canary flannel suit and crimson sweater to warm her. She drank coffee while she packed. Two cups. Then a third. The sound of steps on the creaking porch froze the steaming cup in midair. She moved warily into the living room where she could see out. It was Captain Thusby's apple face, his knuckles on the door.

She opened it, spoke more cheerfully than she felt, "Good morning."

He looked at the crimson hat flaring on her head. He looked at the cup in her hand. "Morning, ma'am. Mr. Satterlee here?"

"No." Wisdom crowded in on her and it didn't give her reassurance. Thusby had told Con not to leave Long Beach. She must speak carefully. "He isn't in now."

He couldn't know Con had left, that she was planning to follow. A woman would dress to go into town shopping or for lunch.

"Figgered maybe neither one of you was here. Tried to call earlier but there wasn't any answer. Thought I'd just run up and find out. Vinnie might as well be sitting out in the car reading his Superman as in the office."

And if neither had been here, what would he have done? Sent out a short-wave call for them as if they were criminals? She stiffened but she smiled at him. "The phone evidently waked me but too late."

Her half-packed grip in the bedroom suddenly loomed so large in her mind that she wondered he could not see it printed on her face. She didn't know if it were visible from the chair in which he was and she didn't dare turn to see. She knew she'd left the door ajar; she always did. She could hear time ticking away on the bed table.

She sprang up. "Won't you have some coffee with me?" The percolator was on the bureau. She could let the door follow her carelessly when she came out.

He said, "No, thanks. Never eat between meals."

She couldn't suggest another cup for-herself, not until this was downed. And she couldn't swallow now. She sat down again.

He rubbed his fuzz. "Funny about all you folks knowing Mannie Martin."

She said defensively, "I didn't know Mannie Martin, I'd not heard his name in ages until—" Until Major Pembrooke spoke it. But she didn't want to mention that. She said honestly, "I wish you'd tell me about Mannie Martin." She felt a little sorry for herself. "I don't know what's happened to him or why everyone's so interested in him or anything."

Thusby said complacently, "Nobody knows what's happened to him. And I don't know myself why everyone's so interested. I only know why I am. The Los Angeles police have asked all the lower coast towns to keep an eye out for him."

She wondered. "Where did he disappear?"

He grimaced at her. "That's kind of like losing the dollar, ma'am. If I knew where I'd lost it, I'd go get it. Nobody knows exactly. The police weren't called in on it until the trail was cold."

Major Pembrooke had said those very words, said them with scorn.

"He took his boat—a speed launch—from the Santa Monica Club Monday afternoon. Two weeks ago last Monday. It was found at Navy Landing, across the bridge down here, the next morning. Hadn't any business being docked there but it was. Nobody's seen him. At least nobody's said anything about seeing him around here. Nobody's said why he'd want to disappear either."

She forced brightness into her voice again. "Well, we couldn't have seen him, could we, Captain Thusby? We didn't come to Long Beach until a week ago. And Kew's only been here a few days." She didn't mention Dare; she didn't know.

He was calm. "None of you further away than Hollywood. And seems like you all moved in fast enough when the investigation started."

He couldn't, actually he couldn't, believe any of them had caused a man to disappear. They weren't magicians—or murderers. Her heart beat more quickly. He had connected Con with the blonde's murder; he might incredibly extend it to this other unsolved case. He couldn't; it was rank stupidity; she wouldn't allow it. But she must get rid of him and find Con. Con must know about this visit. Pointedly she looked at her watch.

He rose to the hint. "I'm keeping you, ma'am. You don't know where Mr. Satterlee is, do you?"

She said. "No." That was truth. "He went out before I wakened."

"Don't matter anyhow. Tell him I'll drop by tonight to see him." He rolled jauntily away.

She sank down again on the lumpy cushions. He had checkmated her departure. He had seen the preparations. She moved to his chair. There was no doubt. The opened grip was framed in the doorway. She'd have to be here tonight; give some explanation for Con's absence. She'd have to stay, not knowing what danger Con was forging into. She felt so futile; her hand holding the cup trembled.