An Evil Guest (22 page)

Cassie shook her head. “I’m not answering questions.”

“Suppose your stubborn refusal to cooperate costs her life?” Aaberg grinned. “You don’t have to answer that one.”

“I don’t have to answer anything. I can demand a lawyer, and tell you to take a hike until I get one. But I’ll say this. I’ve told every last thing I know to two officers already. I don’t think they listened to most of my answers, and I don’t think you will either. Want to hear my question?”

He nodded.

“Three or four months ago, while I was still in my apartment, I spotted a man across the street who seemed to be watching my building. When he lit a cigarette, I could see his face—your face. What were you up to?”

“You’ll cooperate if I give you a full, honest answer to that?”

Cassie nodded.

“Then I will. I don’t think we’re being overheard, but I’m going to try to do it without telling anybody who might be listening more than they ought to know. One time a friend of ours asked me to pick you up at an ice cream parlor and drive you to the place where he’d parked his car. I won’t ask whether you remember that. I know you do.”

Reluctantly, Cassie nodded.

“He was worried about you, and after he told me why he was worried, so was I. I assigned a couple of men to look after you, and I joined them myself whenever I could, and stayed around as long as I could, too. Nothing happened, so eventually I took my men off. Mind if I smoke?”

“Mind if I cough?”

“Not at all.” Aaberg’s lighter flared; he inhaled, and blew smoke to one side. “Have I answered?”

“Not quite. Are you working for our friend?”

“Getting paid, you mean?” Aaberg shook his head. “The city pays me. Our friend helps me out sometimes, and I repay him whenever I can. There’s a lot of that in my business.”

“I understand.” Cassie hesitated. “All right. Yes, Margaret works for me. She’s my dresser. Yes, I like her a lot. I’d be turning the whole city upside down to look for her right now, if I could. You could, but you’re not doing it.”

“We are, but we’re keeping it as quiet as we can. If they’re still here—which I doubt—we don’t want them to know how hard we’re looking for them.”

“You don’t think she’s here? Why not?”

“That’s not very interesting, even to me. What I want to know is whether you’ve got a good reason to think I’m wrong. Do you?”

“I guess not.”

“I wish you did. It might be helpful. Make up one.”

“Are you kidding?”

Aaberg shook his head. “You saw them and I didn’t. You know Mrs. Briggs. I don’t. Let’s hear you make some sort of reason up.”

“I suppose it would have to be because of something she could do here that she couldn’t do anyplace else.”

“That sounds good. Keep going.”

“She’s been a dresser for years and years, and she lives here. She knows the theaters here, and knows a lot of theatrical people. She’s bound to.”

“Right. Go on.”

“I can’t. I can’t even imagine what they’re trying to do.”

One of the three telephones on the large, modern desk rang. Aaberg picked it up, listened for a moment, and said, “That’s right, sir. Yes, she is.” After listening again he added, “I will,” and hung up.

Turning back to Cassie, he smiled. “That was the mayor. He’s afraid I’m planning to take you down to the basement and beat a confession out of you.”

“But you’re not?”

“Of course not. If you mean literally, we never do that. If you mean figuratively, we’re certainly not going to try sweating a confession out of you. A confession to what?”

Cassie shrugged. “I’ve noticed you guys can always find something.”

“I suppose that’s right. But believe me, we can’t always make it stick. Let’s start back at Springfield. You were in a show there last night?”

She nodded.

“How did you get here?”

“In Zelda’s hopper. Zelda’s my agent, and she just got one. It’s little, but all five of us managed to get into it.”

“Name the other four, please.”

“I’ve answered all this.”

“Sure. But it will take us a lot longer to argue about it than it will for you to answer. You promised to cooperate, remember?”

“I did, and I will. I’m just sorry I’ve got to cooperate with an idiot.”

“Okay, here’s one you haven’t been asked. Who else is in your show? An actress, if there is another one.”

“There is. Norma Peiper.”

“Suppose you and Norma read the same line. Would you sound alike?”

“No. Not even if we tried to.”

“Sweet. I want to hear you say the names, Miss Casey, not read them on my screen. I need to see your face as you hear my questions, and I need to watch you as you answer them.”

“I’m an actress. I could screw you up.”

“But you won’t. Not if you want your employee back alive.”

“All right, you’ve got me. Zelda drove. Or flew the hopper. Whatever you call it.”

Aaberg nodded. “Zelda’s last name is . . . ?”

“Youmans. I sat beside her in the shotgun seat. Ebony White sat in back of her. Ebony’s our assistant director.”

“Keep going.”

“Margaret sat behind me. Margaret Briggs. She’s my dresser. Have I said that?”

“We’ll get back to her. Go on.”

“Would it be all right if I opened my purse and got out my hankie? I’d like to tie it in knots while I talk. It might relieve my feelings.”

Aaberg grinned. “Got a gun in there?”

“No, I don’t. Honest Injun.”

“Then go ahead. I like to watch your bracelet move, anyway.”

“Gee. I thought it was me.”

He nodded, although it was not clear to what he was agreeing. “Go on.”

“Gil Corby sat in the luggage space behind the backseat.”

“Tell me about Corby.”

“He’s a tenor. That’s what Ebony says. He was supposed to sing the duets with me when we recorded.”

“What else?”

“Nothing else. I’d never seen him until today. India picked him to sing with me, so I assume he’s pretty good.”

Aaberg grunted. “I should have made him sing while I had him in here. I fell down on that. Maybe later. You’d never seen him until today?”

“Right.”

“But you—never mind, I’m getting ahead of myself. Zelda’s hopper landed here, at the airport.”

Cassie nodded.

“Couldn’t she have landed on top of the building that houses Sy-More Studios?”

“What?” Her eyebrows rose. “Can they do that?”

“I’m asking the questions. Could she?”

“I don’t know. I never even thought of it.”

“I see.” Aaberg leaned back, his fingers forming a steeple. “For your information, Miss Casey, a hopper can land just about anywhere. They don’t do it because it’s against the law. The law says they’ve got to land at airports. That’s because there can be midair collisions with other hoppers. With planes, too. For safety’s sake, the law wants them to land and take off where they’ll be under air-traffic controllers.”

“Makes sense.”

“Criminals don’t obey the law. If the men who took Margaret Briggs had a hopper, they wouldn’t have to take her to the airport, and they could be anywhere by now.”

“I see. I didn’t realize it was so—hopeless.”

“I don’t think it is. Just tough. Where were you the first time you saw Corby?”

“In the airport lounge. That was where we met. Gil and Ebony came separately, I don’t know how but probably in a cab. Margaret and I rode out with Zelda. She had a rented car. Avis? I think that was it.”

“Sweet. You said he had to ride in back.”

Cassie nodded.

“Did he argue about it? Object?”

“No. He’s not a big man, of course, so it was pretty easy for him. You’ve seen him. He’s not nearly as big as you are.”

“You like him?”

“Are you asking if I’m in love with him? No.”

“I meant nothing more than what I said. Would you say he’s likable?”

“Yes, very much so. He’s nice-looking, friendly, and polite. Knowledgeable, too.”

“Knowledgeable about what?”

“Hoppers, actually. I didn’t know a thing about them. Zelda’s the first person I’ve ever known who owned one. He explained a lot of stuff to me.”

“The first person you’ve known who owned one? You’re sure of that?”

“Why . . . ?” For a second Cassie froze, her mouth open. “No. You’re right. I don’t know this man very well, but I’m sure he must own one. Maybe several.”

Aaberg grunted. “What’s his name?”

“Wallace Rosenquist. He’s backing our show.”

“So I’ve heard. Read, too. You don’t know him well?”

Cassie shook her head. “I’ve dated him a few times. I’ve accepted gifts from him. But that’s all.”

“I’m going to ask you a very frank question.” Aaberg paused to clear his throat. “Before I do I want to remind you that you promised to cooperate fully.”

“You’re right, I did. Besides, I’ve been asked a bunch of rude questions.”

“I suppose you have. Try to understand that I’ve got a good reason for asking it. Have you ever gotten into bed with Rosenquist?”

“This is the bracelet, isn’t it?” Cassie raised her arm and watched it sparkle in the light streaming through Aaberg’s windows. “All right, I can see how you might think that. No, I’ve never had sex with Wally.”

“Would you?”

“I don’t understand how this can help you find Margaret.”

“It may not. Are you going to answer?”

“I can’t. Not really. But probably not.”

“It isn’t out of the question?”

Cassie took in air. “I’m going to tell you more than you want to know. It won’t help you, but it may help me.”

“Shoot.”

“He’s older than I am, he’s kind of fat, and he’s big. I told you once that you look like my ex, Scott. Scott was big, and I’ve had it with big men. Wally’s bossy, too—the in-charge guy. But . . .”

“Go on.” Aaberg had leaned back in his chair. “I’m interested.”

“People say money’s an aphrodisiac, and maybe they’re right. Wally’s been very successful. Everybody says so. He’s a tough businessman, but that’s not such a bad thing. Scott was an awful businessman—so bad that even I could see he was simply awful, and I don’t know anything about business.”

“And . . . ?”

“Wally’s strong, really strong. We’re not supposed to like strong men, but we do. Or most of us do. I do. I know too many wimps already. Wally says he loves me, and he means it. I can tell. It’s hard not to like somebody who loves you.”

Aaberg nodded. “It is. You see, Miss Casey, I’m trying to find out why these men wanted Margaret Briggs. You saw them. How many were there?”

“Four, I think. It could’ve been three, but I think four. Of course one could have been out of sight.”

“How were they dressed?”

Cassie paused to think. “One had on a suit, I think it was a birch suit with those black stripes. I don’t know about the rest.”

“Might you recognize them if you saw them again?”

She shook her head.

“Not would you. Might you.”

“No. I barely saw them. I don’t know how long it was, but it couldn’t have been more than half a second. Probably less.”

“I’ve got it. Corby said pretty much the same thing.”

“Another detective—I’ve forgotten her name—told me Zelda and Ebony were all right. She said you had them and they hadn’t been hurt.”

Aaberg glanced at his cigarette and ground it out. “I wasn’t going to get into this now, but I will.”

Another telephone rang. He listened for perhaps two minutes, then said, “Tell them to go to hell. She’s not under arrest, and she’s not going to be. She’s cooperating voluntarily, and I’m going to send her back to Springfield in ten or fifteen minutes.” He hung up.

“That was about me, wasn’t it?”

He nodded. “Corby’s back with a lawyer. They seem to think we’ve got you in a cell.”

“You said you weren’t going to do that.”

“I’m not. I’m going to explain a few things, ask a few more questions, and let you go. You may not think you can trust me, Miss Casey, but you can.”

“That’s nice.”

“About Miss Youmans and Miss White. You’re right—they got a good look at those four men. They talked to them and heard their voices. I told them I was going to put them in protective custody unless they promised to stay in town and agree to bodyguards for as long as I felt it was necessary. Youmans agreed. She’s been released with a policewoman to look after her. White won’t agree, so we’ve got her in custody.”

“But not me?”

“No, Miss Casey. Not you. I’m sending you and Corby back to Springfield.” Aaberg paused to get out a fresh cigarette. “Corby bothers me. Why were you in that cab with him? Why not Youmans’s car?”

“Zelda must have told you.”

“I want to hear you tell me.”

“All right. It was going to be jammed with all of us in it, and Gil said he and I would take a cab. I see what you mean. It looks like he knew what was coming. I don’t believe that, but that’s how it looks.”

Aaberg nodded as he flicked his lighter. “It does. It looks like he was tipped. He says he wasn’t.”

“I believe him.”

“What did they want, Miss Casey? We know what they got. They got a sixty-year-old woman nobody ever heard of. A woman with just enough money to feed herself and rent a hall bedroom. I can’t believe that’s what they were after, so what were they?”

“You’re the detective.”

“Right, and I’ve been thinking a lot about this one. What was it? I’ve got two answers, and it seems to me it has to be one of the two. They were after your bracelet or they were after you. It’s real?”

“I don’t know,” Cassie said. “I think so. . . .”

“So do I. I’ve been looking at it every time you hold your arm so I can see it. After the third look—”

“Yes?”

“It wasn’t important. You thought of something just now. What was it?”

“Am I that transparent, Scott?”

Aaberg grinned. “Not to most people, Bubbles.”

“He called me Cassie.”

“Fine. So will I. What was it?”

“I told you Wally gave me this. Well, he’d given me another bracelet earlier. A big gold bracelet. I wasn’t sure I wanted to keep it, so I gave it to Margaret. Gave it to her to take care of, I mean. To hold for me.”

“So they might have thought Margaret had the one you’re wearing?”

“Yes . . . yes, that could be it.”