“Well, don’t be that way,” the girl in the bathing suit said. “What is it?”
Ted said, “Two bodies.”
At that moment the golden-haired girl stirred uneasily, moaned, opened her eyes, and sat up. She stared vacantly at Ted, then with a purely mechanical reflex, clutched at her blouse and pulled it down over her body. “What... what...” Abruptly her eyes widened with panic. Her lips stretched until Ted could see the pink interior of her throat. Her scream knife-edged across the water.
“Shut up,” Ted said. “Take it easy. It’s all right.”
She looked at him again with unseeing eyes, and screamed once more.
Ted said, “Do that again, and you’ll pull my nerves out by the roots. Shut up.”
He saw by her eyes that his words had failed to reach through to her consciousness. She opened her mouth again. Ted leaned forward, and slapped her hard across the side of the jaw.
He heard the girl in the bathing suit give a quick exclamation. She stood up in the boat. “This is where I came in,” she said.
“Sit down,” Ted said. “You’ve got an appointment.”
“Oh, yes? With whom, may I ask?”
“The police.”
Chapter 2
Frank Duryea rolled over in bed, stretched, yawned, and turned so that he could see the face of the alarm clock.
From the pillow beside him, Milred said sleepily, “Go on back to sleep. It’s too early to wake up.”
Duryea looked at the clock, knuckled his eyes, said, “It’s nine o’clock.”
“Well, it’s Sunday.”
“Take a look outside, hon. See the sunlight around the edge of the window shade.”
His wife kept her back toward the window, refused to turn her head. She said, “That’s always the way. You start me arguing, and that wakes me up. Go back to sleep.”
Duryea got up, crossed over to the windows, and raised the shades, letting in a flood of sunlight. “Look, sweet, it’s the dawn of a new day. It’s Hollywood!”
“No, it isn’t. It’s the same day it was at two o’clock this morning when I wanted you to come home and you wouldn’t.”
“Come on, uppy-up! We’ll take a walk in the fresh air. How about a glass of tomato juice?”
Milred sat up in bed. “All right, we’ll argue about it.”
“About what? The tomato juice?”
“No, your marital manners. They’re very, very bad. Just because you wake up is no sign you should waken a bed mate.”
“Have you been reading books on bedroom etiquette, or are you drawing on your past experience?” he asked.
She stretched and yawned. The silk nightdress matched the skin of her supple body. She was good looking, brunette, twenty-seven, a tall girl with the knack of keeping her youth, her figure, and her husband.
Frank Duryea, taller and five years older, was beginning to put on weight. For three years now he had been district attorney of Santa Delbarra. He stood looking out of the window at the sun-swept vista. “How about that tomato juice?”
“You’ve made a sale, but don’t put too much Worcestershire in it.”
Duryea went into the kitchen, filled two large tumblers with tomato juice, and poured in a generous helping of Worcestershire.
“Some lemon in mine,” Milred called from the bedroom.
Duryea was adding the lemon when the phone rang.
“Want to get that, Millie? My hands are sticky.”
“Get them washed then because it’s some woman whose husband has left her, and she wants to invoke the law.”
Duryea washed his hands at the kitchen sink. “Don’t make my career sound so stodgy. Last Sunday it was the woman who had a stray horse on her front lawn. Remember?”
“At seven-fifteen,” Milred amended, and said into the telephone, “Hello... Yes... Oh, yes. Just a moment.”
She pushed the palm of her hand over the mouthpiece and said, “It’s Sheriff Lassen, Frank. He’s excited. Bring my tomato juice when you come.”
Duryea brought in a tray with the glasses of tomato juice. She sipped her drink while Duryea, standing with the telephone in his left hand, his tomato juice in his right, said, “Hello, Pete. This is Frank. What is it?”
Lassen said, “Been a double murder on a Los Angeles yacht, Frank. Man by the name of Stearne who owns the yacht, and a friend of his named Right. I’ve notified the coroner and the chief of police. Better get down here right away.”
“Where are you now?”
“At the yacht club.”
“What’s the yacht?”
“The Gypsy Queen II.”
Duryea said, “Okay, I’ll be down directly,” started to hang up, then said, “Oh, hello, Pete.”
“Yeah.”
“Where are the bodies, aboard the yacht?”
“Yes.”
“Who’s there? Anyone?”
“Yeah. Art Perrin, and... and here’s Sam Krause coming.”
Duryea said, “Don’t let them move anything until I get there. Any witnesses?”
“We’ve got three people who know something about it. They’ve all been in the drink.”
“All right, hold them,” Duryea said.
He hung up the telephone, and finished the last of his tomato juice.
“As important as all that?” Milred asked.
“Uh huh. A double murder.”
“All right, go ahead. I’ll be a dutiful wife, and give you first crack at the bathroom.”
“No shave, no shower,” Duryea said, peeling off the coat of his pajamas, and pulling his undershirt on over his head. “Pete Lassen has pulled his usual stunt of notifying me last. The coroner was just driving up as he telephoned, and Art Perrin, the chief of police, is already on the yacht. That means he called them about half an hour ago.”
Milred pulled Frank’s pillow over behind her head so that she could prop herself up in bed, and said, “Hasn’t he been doing a lot of that lately?”
“Uh huh,” Duryea said.
“Put some powder on your face if you’re not going to shave, Frank. You look ragged.”
“Can’t help it,” he said. “Three witnesses, and all of them have been in the water.”
“How did that happen?”
“I don’t know. Pete didn’t say.”
“Frank, is it true that Oscar Romley is going to run against you?”
“Darned if I know,” Duryea said, knotting his necktie. “There’s been some talk of it. There are half a dozen potential candidates who’d like the job.”
“Frank, that shirt’s been worn and looks it. Can’t you...”
“Haven’t time to break out a clean one,” he said, opening the closet door and jerking his coat off a hanger. “What about Romley?”
“Oh, nothing. Only I saw Romley and Jerry Bellinger holding a low-voiced conversation on the street. They gave the impression of having their heads together. They started when they saw me — a guilty start like small boys in the jam when mamma opens the pantry door. Better watch your step.”
“Okay. If I’m not back in a couple of hours, take the car if you want it.”
“I don’t want the car. I want to go back to sleep. You take the car.”
Duryea said, “Be seeing you.”
“You left your hat on top of the radio when we came in last night,” she told him, snuggling back down into the bed. “Are you going to pull down those shades, or do I have to?”
“You have to,” Duryea said. “If I’m gone all day, it’ll be the only exercise you’ll get.” He went out through the dining room, grabbing his hat off the radio, and slamming the front door.
Quite a crowd of people were gathered at the yacht club float, staring out at the yacht. One of the city police officers was on guard, saying occasionally, “Keep moving, folks. Keep moving. Don’t block the road here. Keep moving.”