“Have a car that comes complete with a chaperon. Get dressed. That outfit is a bit brief for the street, although I like it.”
“I hardly give a damn whether you like it or not!” she said, disappearing into the shack.
11
Laurie came out a minute later, wearing plaid slacks, the same blouse. As we walked toward the car I asked, “They leave these tennis courts open all day, nobody around?”
“The manager is inside, restringing some rackets. Why?”
“Merely curious as to what's left guarded and unguarded in this world. Here's your chaperon. Bobo Martinez, meet Laurie Shelton.”
They said hello and the three of us squeezed into the front seat. As I drove I kept watching the windshield mirror to see if any other car took off at the same time; didn't see a thing.
I parked in front of the first decent-looking luncheonette we passed, told Bobo, who was in the midst of explaining his face to Laurie that we were going to have lunch. He said, “I'll wait.”
It was nearly one. “Best you go back to the office. Shirley said she'd return around three and I'm not keen on leaving her alone. I'll call in later, but if you don't hear from me by five, both of you take off.”
“Sure thing, Hal. Well, so long, Miss Shelton.”
“Goodbye, chaperon.”
Bobo did a slight double-take, then walked away. Laurie said, “Large fellow, good shoulders. Was he really a famous fighter?”
“Yeah. You go for large men?” I asked, as we went inside, sat down in one of the booths.
“Only an idiot picks a man by size,” she said smugly.
The fat counterman waddled over to us with water and silverware and we each ordered a sandwich and iced tea. Sitting directly opposite her I examined Laurie's face with great care. She had high cheek bones and the angles of her face were so severe, they gave her an exotic look. It was an exciting face, but also strained and unhappy, the eyes restless. And every movement, even raising a glass of water to her mouth, was a movement of supple muscles. There wasn't anything “feminine” about her, not a thing that could be called sultry or sexy, yet she had me on edge.
As we ate, I kept examining her face, wondering why she gave me a fever, and glad she did.
She suddenly put her sandwich down, said, “If you don't stop staring at me, I'll throw my tea in your face!”
“Stop the tough act, Laurie, you don't have to impress me or...”
“Impress you? Why you...” She was so mad she couldn't talk. She started to get up but I grabbed her hand, held it on the table, hard. “Just stop it,” I said. “Remember, we're out to get a murderer—that's all that matters, for now.” I let go of her hand.
She rubbed the top of her hand, touched the callus on the side of my hand with her short nails. “You really are a judo man.”
“Told you, Black Belt...”
“I don't believe everything you tell me, Darling... Hal. Can't stand calling you darling! As I said before, don't try any mush stuff with me, this is purely business.”
“Sure is, and one of us has to be honest all down the line. I'm telling you I like you, and I'm going to try as much... mush stuff... with you as I can.”
“How dare you!”
“Laurie, cut the corn. 'Mush stuff' and 'how dare you.' We said we'd play it on the level, fine, but let's get two things straight: First, and most important, I want to get the killer. Second, I like you. That's no crime. Any relationship is a fifty-fifty deal. My fifty per cent goes for you, if your fifty per cent says no, then that's that. But it doesn't stop me from trying. Now, let's get down to cases. You sure...”
“Let's get to cases, in the romance department you're wasting your time.”
“But it's my time, so let me worry. Think carefully, anything you haven't told me?”
“I have a feeling I'm being watched all the time. Also, think my apartment has been searched. I can't prove this, but small items don't seem to be in their proper places.”
“Tell this to the cops?”
She shook her head.
“Why not?”
“Told you,” she said too quickly, “I'm not sure about these things. Could be all my imagination.”
I didn't believe that, but let it go. She finished her sandwich, asked, “What's the next step in finding the murderers?”
“Murderer—one guy. I know who he is, what I don't know is the motive—yet.”
Her eyes turned animal—hard and bright. “You know? Who is he?”
“Tell you in time.”
“Thought we were going to be oh so honest with each other?”
“We have to be, remember that,” I told her gently. “Not telling you who he is because the less you know the safer you are. Don't forget, I'm two killings and a couple of pastings up on you. Tell me, your father leave you any money?
“I fail to see what business that.... Oh, you keep harping on money! Yes he had a few hundred in the bank, a Long Island plot he always wanted to build on—and never got up stick one—and a fifteen-hundred-dollar policy the bank broke its heart by giving all its employees.”
“You don't like the bank?”
“They sucked my father's life dry. Oh, I suppose it wasn't all their fault. Pop was too... conservative.”
“You work?”
“I work damn hard—I'm a tennis bum.” She almost smiled and it did wonders to her face, made me realize Laurie was only a scared kid, made me want to reach over and hug her. “I'm not on the big time, but I will be. But there aren't too many women players, so I get an invite to most of the tournaments—with expense money.”
“Tennis must mean a lot to you. I never...”
“I'm sick and tired of it!” she said in that odd, explosive way she had of blurting out things. “Day after day, the same dull grind. But I'm twenty-two and tennis is all I really know, so I keep at it.”
She told me about playing tennis with her father when she was a youngster, becoming a star in high school. When I asked why she'd never gone to college, she said, “Couldn't afford it. Anyway, Father had old-fashioned ideas about education and women.”
“Couldn't your tennis bring you a scholarship?”
“Did get one offer, from a California university, but that meant I'd have to be away from Father and that... was that.”
“Poppa ever talk about retiring soon?”
“Will you please stop insinuating my father was a thief!”
“Laurie, detective work means running down each and every minor clue. There has to be a wad of dough in this, and I have to find it. That's why...”
What about those two girls you said were... were killed?” she asked, not so neatly changing the subject.
One of them was in the papers yesterday, Anita Rogers, my secretary. The other—police haven't found her body yet, but I did, and that's why I have to get this solved, but on the double.”
“You found the body...? Aren't you afraid I'll tell the police?”
I looked her square in the eyes, said, “No,” and wondered if I'd gone completely looney, trusting her and knowing she was lying to me!
She flushed, her sun-tanned face turning dark. “Stop staring at me like a kid. What do we do now?”
“I don't know. See what breaks in the next couple hours.” She stood up. “I'm going home to get some sleep, then back to the court.”
I paid the check. As we got into my car I asked, “Still feel you're being watched?” I looked around, casually. The street was too busy to make a tail.
“Yes. I've felt it all the time, since the... killing.”
“Yet you live alone. Sometimes being brave is the same as being stupid.”
“What else can I do?” Laurie said, almost desperately. “No family, no friends.”
I had to stop myself from going into a routine about the one friend she had now. It would have sounded very corny. I drove her home, didn't spot anybody following us. Outside her house I gave her my card, said, “Anything comes up, call me. Give me your phone number, I'll check with you around six.”