“Thank you very much, have to cancel the order. By the way, did Shelton have a new car recently?”
She let out a shrill cackle, revealing a cheap set of false teeth. “Him with a car? Why he wore a suit till it was threadbare, scrimped on everything he...”
I tipped my hat again—carefully—said I had to run... and walked out, her chatter following me. My theory sounded so damn good, yet something was wrong—there had to be a pile of jack some place.
10
Bobo and I started driving around, looking for the tennis courts I'd seen from Will's window. When I finally found them, they were empty except for a girl in white shorts hitting a ball against the side of a one-story building. I watched her legs moving around, realized this was the same gal I'd seen through Will's binoculars... and that she must be Laurie Shelton. Merely looking at her was a pleasure... she was short, but unlike most short girls wasn't bony or overfat, rather she was a lot of hard, healthy curves, and so well proportioned, she looked tall. Her face was almost pretty, dark hair cut close around the clean features. But it was a tired face, a little strained and hard—with the deadpan look of an athlete going through the monotony of the daily training grind.
Watching the smooth ripple of muscles as she moved about, the small pointed breasts shaking under her tight blouse... left me confused. There wasn't anything sexy about her. I almost suspected she had a lot of man in her —yet I found myself completely forgetting Louise, had that tight-hot feeling inside me I get when I want a girl real bad. I was as warm as a...
Bobo nudged me in the ribs. “That little hunk of fine stuff on our suspect list?”
“I'm sure going to find out,” I called over my shoulder as I stepped out of the car. Walking through the wire-fence doorway, I stopped about ten feet from her, watching the sure way her legs moved, the determined expression on her face as she whacked the ball—and she could really punish the pill.
The ball hit a warped plank of the wooden wall, went off at an angle. She reached too far to her right for it, lost her balance. As she fell, she neatly tossed the racket aside, broke the fall by slapping the hard court with her outstretched right hand, and with her left hand down by her strong hips. I ran over as she sat up, asked, “Hurt, Miss Shelton?”
She shook her head, jumped up. I got the racket. “Where did you learn how to fall? Judo?”
“You know judo?” she asked, looking me over coolly.
“Black Belt, First Degree,” I said and her eyes said she thought I was a liar.
“How did you know my name? Tennis fan?”
“Going to be. I'm Hal Darling. The janitor at your house said I'd find you here.”
She went over to a bench in the shade of the shack she'd been bouncing the ball against, brushed herself off, tossed a sweater on her shoulders as she sat down. She was sweating a little, but not as much as she should, a sign she was overtrained. But even her sweat smelt like perfume to me.
“All right, Mr. Darling—what is it?” Her voice was hard and tough, yet I had a feeling it was all a sham—an old act.
“I'm a detective and...”
“Christ, I've seen enough detectives.”
“Private dick. Have ideas about your father's murder.”
“Not interested in hiring you. The police are handling the hold-up and...”
I wanted to jar her. “I didn't ask you to hire me. And it wasn't a hold-up, it was deliberate murder.”
Nothing happened, except her eyes narrowed and her large mouth tightened. “The police will be interested in you—your ideas.”
“Going to the police when I can prove my... eh... ideas. Look, I was working on another case, but it keeps crisscrossing your father's murder, so I...”
“Murder?” she snapped. “I guess a hold-up killing can be called that.”
I wanted to reach over and stroke her tense face, or slap the coldness out of it. “Two more killings make it out-and-out murder. Interested in finding the killer...?”
“Yes!” she said with a savage fierceness that made me jump. “I must find the killers!”
I waved my hands. “We have a lot in common, same size, judo, now this. I'd like to ask you some questions, frank ones that may...”
“Be as frank as you wish.”
“Thanks. Mr. Shelton come into any money before he died? Talk of expecting any?”
“No.”
“Did he gamble, play the market, seem in debt... have any women...?”
She looked away as she said, “If you knew my father....”
“Hear he was a tight guy with a buck. Was he in any kind of money trouble?”
“Never.”
“Did a phony detective search your place week or so before the shooting?”
Now she stared at me. “Why, yes, a man from some insurance company. How did you know?”
“Upset your father a lot?”
She nodded. “His life followed a certain mold, anything out of way upset him.”
“Then why didn't he report it to the banks, to the cops?”
“Dad wasn't the kind to start trouble.”
I had to take a quick guess. “Why didn't you tell the cops this after the shooting?”
She stared at me with hard eyes, her mouth a sullen smear... and I was so nervous my legs were trembling. “What are you getting at?”
“That your father was dipping in the till, was shot because of that,” I said, giving it to her without any gloves.
She jumped up. “If this is your idea of a joke....”
Our eyes were on the same level. It was a relief not to have to look up at a girl. “Two dead women are hardly a joke.”
“I don't know what you're talking about. But I'll tell you about my father: he was a good man, devoted his life to me. Everything he did was for me. We played tennis, went hiking, hunting, fishing together. Ever since mother died, all we had was each other. Does that sound like a man who would rob?”
“Nope, but that's how the thing has to add up. Unless... you have a boyfriend in a jam or...?”
“I have no time for... boys.”
I smiled at her.
“What's so damn funny, Mister...?”
“Darling. I like you.”
“Now isn't that just peachy! You walk on the court, tell me Father was murdered, that he was a thief, and now that you like met What am I supposed to do, turn handsprings!”
“Bet you can, too. Look, Laurie, we're both driving at the same goal, and we can either work together or bat our heads together and...”
“You'll get nowheres thinking Father was a crook!”
“I can be wrong, but you still haven't explained why he didn't go to the police after that phony detective searched your flat. The point is, I don't care what he was—I only want to find the killer... want to find him worse than you do.”
“No one wants to find the killer worse than I...”
“Two women are dead, I got both of them mixed up in this mess. Feel responsible for...”
“I know how you must feel,” she said, her voice changing suddenly, becoming gentle. “All right, we have to work together, trust each other. What do you want me to do?”
“I have things about figured out—except for one piece: there has to be a bundle of green some place. Certain you never heard of...?”
“If we're going to work together, get one thing straight, Pop would never steal a bank blotter, much less money. Had a fetish about honesty, the value of money. Why the bank was part of him, in his blood.”
“One more question, did he ever mention an Ed Franklin? 'Cat' Franklin?”
“No.”
“If you're done bouncing balls around, let's have lunch, talk some more.”
She hesitated. “All right, but one thing more; there's nothing personal in our... eh... relationship. I mean don't start...”