“No,” said Alder. “It never occurred to me — Leroy Dane may not be his real name. Lots of actors change their names.”
“Well, get me his real name and I’ll try again. But get it during the day — not in the middle of the night.”
“I’ll try. How’s the wife, Chuck — and the kids?”
“Great, all of them. When’re you coming East?”
“Today,” Alder said on impulse. “I may call you from New York.”
“Run down, if you get that near.”
“I’ll try, General!”
Alder hung up and went into the bathroom. He was lathering his face when the phone rang again. He went into the bedroom.
“Darling,” purred Linda’s voice, “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Neither could I,” said Alder. “I was going to call you as soon as it was a decent time.”
“It’s decent now.”
“I’m not decent. I’m in shorts and I’ve got lather on my face.”
“It’s... it’s all right between us, Tom? I have to know.”
“Last night was good, Linda. But the sun’s up now. Let’s look at it in broad daylight.”
“Morning, noon, and night, darling. In the rain, in the sun — it’s got to be all right. You’re not going to slip back into that shell. I won’t let you. I’m going to get dressed right now and come out.”
“No — don’t!”
“We’ve got to settle it, once and for all.”
“I can’t now. I’m in the middle of something.”
“That grave-robbing job of yours?” she exclaimed poignantly. “I’m sorry, darling, really sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t want to interfere with your work. Lunch?”
“I’ll call you.”
“No, don’t put me off like that. Lunch — the Beverly Hills Brown Derby.”
He hesitated. “All right.” It was the simplest way.
He finished shaving, then telephoned the International Airport. Forty minutes later he left the house, carrying a large aluminum air traveling case. It was touch and go at the airport, but he boarded the four-motor plane with a minute and a half to spare.
Chapter 6
The stewardess led him to the only vacant chair, an aisle seat in the center of the plane. A woman, who had apparently also just boarded the plane, was settling down, adjusting her seat belt. She was a strikingly beautiful woman. In her expensive gray suit, she seemed different from the person Alder had seen the night before at The Tuilleries.
He seated himself beside her. “You’re Nikki Collinson...”
She regarded him steadily a moment before replying. Then: “Yes.”
“My name is Tom Alder. I was at The Tuilleries last night.”
“I know. You’re Linda Foster’s—” the faintest crinkle of a smile creased the smooth lines of her lips, “—friend.”
The stewardess’ voice came over the speaker. “Fasten your seat belts, please.”
The plane was racing across the long runway before Alder spoke to his seat companion again. “I seem to have a feeling that we’ve met before.”
“We didn’t exactly meet last night.”
“I was thinking it was before last night.”
“I don’t think that’s possible. I don’t live in Los Angeles.”
“You visit Los Angeles often?”
“Yesterday was the first time. We live in Burlingame. My husband’s interests take him to New York more often than to Los Angeles.”
“You’re going to New York, then?”
There was the slightest hesitation before she replied, “I get off at Chicago.”
There was a magazine on her lap. She picked it up. She did not open it but her handling of the magazine itself was an indication to Alder that she preferred not to strike up a lengthy conversation. She had responded to his greeting, had replied to the obvious questions. She was aloof, a fellow passenger on a fairly short, rather routine trip. That was as much as she wanted it to be.
The plane was flying smoothly at twenty thousand feet, nearing the mountains, before she spoke.
“I didn’t mean to be short with you, Mr. Alder. Linda and I are very good friends. I know all about you.”
Did she know about last night? It suddenly became important to Alder to know.
He said, “Until last night, I had not seen Linda since 1942.”
“I know.”
“Just how much do you know?”
The faint smile again played over her mouth. “I know that she developed a migraine headache last night. Harris was quite annoyed.”
“And?”
“She got over the headache, didn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“I thought so. Harris had a nightcap with us at the hotel. He phoned Linda — and didn’t get her.” She looked at him sideways. “Harris and my husband were roommates at Princeton.”
“That’s how you met Linda — through him?”
She nodded. “Linda’s a real beauty. Of course, you know that.”
He looked at her fully. “Yes, she’s beautiful — but, tell me, have you looked into a mirror lately?”
The blunt flattery did not produce coyness on her part and it pleased him, because he hadn’t expected that it would.
She said, “Of course I know how I look. But let’s not talk about it. Let me guess your profession. Lawyer?”
“You had help on that one from Linda. No, I never became a lawyer.”
“You’re not a stockbroker, because Harris would have known your name. You were at the bar talking to a motion picture actor?”
“Leroy Dane.”
“I’m not much of a moviegoer, but of course I’ve seen him on the screen. He’s very good.”
“Also a very handsome man, which he knows.”
“You have something to do with the picture business?”
“You’re getting cold.” Alder grinned.
“That leaves out television. Business — no, I don’t think you’re a businessman.”
“Why not?”
“You just don’t look like a businessman.”
“And how does a businessman look?”
“All right, I give up. What do you do?”
“Linda called me a ghoul.”
“What?”
“I find missing heirs.”
She turned in her seat and her clear hazel eyes looked into his. “You’re a... a detective?”
“Not exactly. I have no license, but in a way, I am an investigator. A free lance. I look for missing heirs.”
The faintest cloud dimmed the lustre of her eyes. “You earn a living doing that?”
He nodded. “Essentially, I’m a lazy man. I work only when I have to — when a case is interesting.”
She pursed up her lips. “You didn’t become a lawyer, although you were a law student. You’re still a bachelor, and you search for missing heirs, because it gives you much leisure — to think about Linda. To feel sorry for yourself. No, sorry’s not the right word.”
“To cry in my beer.”
“Bluntly put, but yes — to cry in your beer.”
He grinned again. “Got me nicely catalogued, eh? Well, let’s dissect you for a moment.”
“No!”
“You’re married to one of the rich men of the country. There’s a very high fence all around you, and you think you like it inside the fence because it’s so safe. So very safe and quiet. You’re afraid of what’s outside the fence because — well, you tell me why.”
“You couldn’t be more wrong. There are doors in my fence. The doors aren’t padlocked. I can go in and out. I’m out now. I live behind that fence because I like it that way. I happen to love my husband and our way of life.”