When we got out there the house was dark and the cab driver wanted to wait, but I assured him that my friends would be home shortly, paid him off, and, after he had gone, walked the block and a half down to 1925.
The homes in this vicinity had cost money to put up. It wasn’t the swanky neighbourhood of extreme wealth, but it was definitely above the average. It was a new sub-division. The houses were modern, with lots of glass, and were, for the most part, low, one-storied affairs that had sweeping curves, intriguing designs and patios. They weren’t quite in the private swimming pool class, but they were getting close to it.
The house I wanted had curving lines around the living-room, then the house swept back to a garage. On the other side there was a long wing which stretched out to protect a patio.
I thought I’d like to have a look at that patio before I went in.
There was a bit of lawn, some ornamental shrubbery and a hedge.
I walked along the edge of the hedge, crowded past the shrubbery, skirted around behind the garage and came to the patio.
I wished I’d had a flashlight to help me find my way. Part of the patio was cement, part of it was where someone had recently planted a lawn. I blundered in the soft soil before I realised where I was and back out to the hard cement.
The house was so constructed that out here in the patio there was absolute privacy, so far as the bedrooms on this wing of the house were concerned. The girl who was standing in the lighted bedroom hadn’t bothered with the blinds on the bedroom windows.
It was modern construction, with steel sash, leaded glass french windows, wide steel-framed windows which opened and closed by simply turning a crank on the inside. It was a bedroom designed for a maximum of sunlight and fresh air. Privacy could have been insured by running heavy curtains across the entire side of the bedroom, but now these curtains were to one side, neglected.
The taffy-haired blonde who was standing in front of the mirror, surveying her partially clothed figure with quite evident approval, was the girl who had picked me up the night before as her escort, and had taken me to the motor court.
I hesitated a moment, then decided it was time for a showdown and kept on walking.
She heard my steps on the cement when I was close to the little balcony which led out to the patio, the balcony on which the french windows opened. She raised a hand mirror, caught reflected motion, and whirled round, surveying me with wide eyes. She started to scream and then checked herself.
With incredulous dismay, she watched me climb the four brick stairs which led to the little balcony.
“May I come in?” I asked.
Wordlessly, as though in a hypnotic trance, she opened the french windows. “How... how did you find me?”
I said, “It took a little work. Want to talk?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think you would, but I think you’d better.”
She said, “I... I’ve been thinking of you,” and then suddenly raised her finger to her lips and motioned me to be quiet, “My sister can hear us if we talk loud,” she said. And then, with a little nervous laugh picked up a robe that was on the foot of the bed and slipped it over her shoulders. “I’m afraid,” she said, “I’m making up in scenic generosity for anything I…”
“Deprived me of last night?” I prompted.
“Yes,” she said, and smiled. “I guess you think I was a terrible heel.”
“It isn’t what I think; it’s what the police think.”
“The police? What have they to do with it?”
I said, “You played it pretty carefully. You went to the parking lot and got Dover Fulton’s automobile. Then you started looking for a sucker. You picked on me. You got me out to the KOZY DELL SLUMBER COURT. You knew that I would register under the name of Dover Fulton. You knew that Dover Fulton and Minerva Carlton were in one of the cottages. You pretended to be drunk. You…”
“I was drunk.”
“You’re lying.”
She flushed.
I said, “Don’t be silly. We were both playing a game. You gave the waiter five dollars to bring you straight ginger ale every time you ordered Scotch and soda. I gave him ten dollars to tell me what your game was and bring me straight ginger ale every time I ordered Scotch and soda.”
“Why, you... you…”
“Exactly,” I said.
She sat down on the edge of the bed. Suddenly she laughed.
I came over and sat down beside her. She reached over and took one of my hands. “Donald, please don’t be angry,” she said. “It wasn’t the way you’re thinking it was.”
I didn’t say anything.
She crossed her knees. The robe slid away from the smooth flesh. She made no effort to pull it back, but sat there kicking her foot back and forth, a few inches at a time, nervous, seductive, trying to think, the robe sliding provocatively each time she kicked.
I said, “The truth will be a lot better for you right now than any lie you can think up. You have just one stab at rehearsal and then you’re going to be talking to the police.”
“Not to the police, Donald.”
“To the police,” I said.
“But what have I done, for the police to bother me?”
“Murder, for one thing.”
“Murder?” she exclaimed, and then suddenly put her hand over her lips, as though to push the word back in when she realized how loud her exclamation had been.
“Donald, you’re crazy!”
I said, “You left me there in the auto camp. You went out and prowled around the place until you found the cabin you wanted. You knocked on the door. You went in and started to make a scene. Dover Fulton pulled his gun and took a shot at you. You…”
“Donald, you’re crazy! Absolutely stark crazy!”
“All right,” I said, “suppose you tell me.”
“All right, I will,” she said. “I’m going to tell you the truth. You’ll hate me for it. I don’t want you to hate me, Donald. I... I like you. I…”
“Yes, I know,” I said. “Another scene of well-modulated seduction. You have a sweet little body. It’s done a lot of work for you. It gets what you want as you go through life. You gave me a great come-on last night. Let’s try the truth tonight.”
I reached across the bare flesh, picked up the end of the robe. She sat motionless, waiting, not resisting. I pulled the robe back up and tucked it under the leg.
She laughed. “You can’t take it.”
“No,” I said.
“You’re a funny boy.”
“I suppose I am. I’m quaint. I’m old-fashioned. I like to hear the truth once in a while. Legs confuse the issue.”
She said. “All right. I’m going to tell you the truth because... because... damn it, because right now I can’t think of any convincing lie. Your presence disturbs my equanimity as much as my legs disturb yours.”
I said, “Go ahead. Shoot the works while you’re in the mood.”
She said, “I’ll give you the whole story. My real name is Lucille Hollister. I’ve been married. I didn’t like it. I had a property settlement from my husband when we split up. I have money and…”
“Never mind the biographical sketch,” I told her. “Get down to what happened last night. You’re sparring for time. That makes me more and more suspicious. If you wanted to tell the truth you’d plunge right into it.”
“I am telling the truth, Donald, but I want you to understand me. I want you to — I like you more than I’ve liked anyone in a long time. You — well, you give a girl a break. You were wonderful to me last night.”
I said, “Let’s quit stalling and start talking.”
“But that’s what I’m trying to explain — that it’s not a stall.”