This Girl for Hire (15 page)

“Time for us to go to work,” Danny said. “What are you going to be looking for?”

“You'll know if I find it” I said. “Come on, let's not miss the boat.”

We climbed aboard the glass-bottomed
Phoenix
and Danny took me to a small dressing room. He brought out two sets of long underwear and two orange rubber diving suits.

He smiled embarrassedly. “We usually dive off a tub called
Davey Jones
. She's got separate dressing quarters. Aboard the
Phoenix
this is it, and we don't have time to take turns.”

“That's convenient,” I said, “for you.”

He swallowed a large lump. “I won't look.”

“Danny,” I said. “I'm a big girl, remember?”

“Yeah,” he said uneasily. “That's what I'm trying to forget. I am human, you know!”

“So I noticed back at your cabin.”

With his jaw set tight, Danny turned
his back and we tugged on our long underwear. After we got into the rubber suits, he looked at me. He, was blushing enough color to paint the Empire State Building.

“The captain wants me to talk to the passengers on the public address system before we go down,” Danny said. “I'll introduce you as—Dolores West, a very experienced female skin diver. Do you think you can live up to the fanfare?”

“I'll try.”

The
Phoenix
's paddle wheel was churning us out into the bay by the time Dan and I came up topside in our orange suits. Despite a steady mist, the boat was crammed with eager passengers. We breezed over to a spot near Decker's schooner while Danny did his microphone bit. Then we plunged into the water.

Immediately I became tangled in Iodine Kelp but managed to extract myself with a few healthy kicks of the rubber flippers attached to my feet. Dan pointed out the bright colored fish to a watchful audience while I pretended to search for abalone. But my mind was not on any citizens of the briny deep. I was looking for something man-made; an article a killer might discard as he tossed over Rod's metal case. All that turned up were two soda bottles and a rusted beer can.

It was late afternoon before Dan and I got back to the villa. The sky had opened up into a heavy downpour and we ran all the way from the pier. The poor tourists were in for a foul trip home on the steamer.

I was in for a shock myself. Dan's pals were back from the mainland, apparently three-sheets-to-the-wind, glassy-eyed
and very belligerent. They took one look at me in the tiger-striped swimsuit and growled.

“Danny boy,” one bellowed, “you've been holding out on us. Let's spread the wealth.”

“This is off-limits,” I returned abruptly. “So stop undressing me with your eyes.”

“Wow!” howled another. “She's tough. How tough are you, baby?”

Quickly Danny moved in between us. “I'll answer that one,” he said. “She's tough enough to send you back to kindergarten, Hank, so take my advice and button your lip.”

“Fancy that,” Hank retorted. “Even our pal and soul-mate, Danny boy, is getting muscular around the larynx. Perhaps it will be necessary to perform a tonsilectomy, right Arch?”

Arch, a runt with a gutsy-looking face, arched his back. I could see we were going to have trouble. Real trouble. Danny's three friends were feeling no pain, but aching to create a little. It suddenly struck me that there were neither glasses, liquor bottles, nor the smell of alcohol in the small room. These kids were
high
, but from what? They all wore long-sleeve shirts. If there was any pos sibility they were on heroin, I had to bare their arms to check for needle marks.

“How about a game of strip poker?” I suggested quickly.

Arch unarched and grinned out of the side of his mouth. “Now you're beginning to talk like a lady,” he said.

The third member of the clan, a
mop-haired brute with buck-teeth, giggled girlishly. “You can say that again. I've got a deck of cards.”

Dan flashed me a suspicious look and started to argue with buck-teeth.

“That's fine,” I interrupted. “We'll play five-handed, one card apiece. Low man sheds, okay?”

Hank flipped open a card table as the trio grunted favorably. The odds were roughly thirty-to-one against me. One low card and I would lose my tiger stripes. But I wasn't going to leave my fate in the hands of luck.

“I'll deal,” Arch said, riffling the deck.

“Wait a minute!” I lifted the cards from his chubby fists. “Low man deals each hand. When I say low, I mean the person with the least amount of clothes. You all have me about seven to one at the moment. It's my deal.”

“Okay,” buck-teeth agreed. He was shaking so hard he would have agreed to anything. The rest followed suit. Only Danny tried to call off the game, but he was out-voted.

I shuffled, cut and flipped out five cards, face down. “All right,” Arch said. “You first Danny boy. Then me, then Hank, then Buck. The lady is last. Go ahead, turn it over.”

Dan had a queen. The trio grinned. Arch had a ten. They banged the table happily. Hank had a jack. They clapped each other on the back. Buck had a king. The place nearly flew apart.

“Now it's your turn, blondie,” Arch said, licking his chops. “Remember, this was your idea. No sore losers!”

I turned over my card. The
trio flattened out.

Ace of spades.

Grumbling bitterly, Arch took off his shoes.

I reshuffled and dealt a new hand. All four had jacks. Arch lined them up in a formidable row.

“Beat that!” he bragged.

I took all four jacks and stacked them one on top of the other. Then I flipped over my card and covered the pile with it. The trio flipped.

Queen of hearts.

All four of them removed a piece of clothing. But no shirts.

I dealt out five more cards. Arch was getting hot around the collar. “This time around,” he said, “the lady shows first. We'll reverse the table. I'll show last.” I nodded and turned up my card. The trio cackled like a bunch of old hens. Three of diamonds.

Hank had a king. Buck had an eight. Danny had an ace. Arch chuckled and flipped over his card.

Deuce!

Arch was down to his shorts and shirt.

After ten more hands the whole trio was in the same state of undress and I still had my tiger stripes. Danny had lost only his jacket. It was getting so dark, Hank had to turn on the lights.

“Hey, Arch,” buck-teeth moaned all of a sudden. “How come we keep losing?”

“I dunno,” Arch said. “But I'm beginning to get a pretty good idea. I think the little lady is dealing off the bottom.”

Arch demanded the next
deal. He shuffled and issued out five cards. I had a bad feeling. Especially since this was the first hand I hadn't dealt—and, as Arch had guessed, off the bottom of the deck.

The trio flipped over their cards. They groaned. Three treys. Dan had a ten of hearts.

My card was a black one. Very black. Deuce! The plan was wrecked. I'd wanted to see a few bare arms. Now they were clamoring to see a few parts of my anatomy.

“Well?” Arch roared, jumping up, “are you going to do it, or should I?”

“I've managed to undress myself since I was five,” I said, stalling. “I don't need any lessons now.”

“Okay,” Hank said impatiently. “Commence!”

The tiger-striped suit was held up by two shoulder straps. I shrugged and unfastened one, edging slowly toward the door. A big storm had turned the early evening pitch black and rain smashed heavily on the roof. The second strap finally gave. Holding up the front of my suit, I eased down the zipper, simultaneously stepping back and grasping the doorknob. Their glazed eyes saw nothing except the fabric easing away from my body as they waited for the unveiling.

As I was about to turn the knob, the lights went out. The cursing and screaming was riotous.

“Who did it?” roared the runt's voice out of pitch blackness. “Who did it? I'll kill 'em! I'll kill 'em!”

“Nobody done it, Arch,” boomed back the nasal voice of buck teeth. “It musta been the storm. The electricity is off.”

“Well, get it on again!” Arch screamed wildly.

I whirled around, flung open the
door and dashed out into the night. Rain drilled in my eyes. I stumbled, snagged my swimsuit on something sharp and tried to break loose. The fabric ripped apart below the zipper as I lunged free. Then a biting chill swept over me. My suit was gone!

I searched frantically for my cabin, but the rain and darkness obliterated everything. A hundred and fifty cabins and they all looked alike. I wound up on a side street, lost, angry and naked. The street was apparently deserted, but I couldn't be sure. Lights were out all over Avalon.

I stopped and listened. Drenching rain pelted against the pavement. There was one other sound, distant and weird. The chimes. They were pealing wildly up on the hillside.

I ran for the police station. It would be embarrassing, but I had no choice.

Chief Clements almost knocked me down in the door way of the police building. He wore a black slicker and apparently was in a big hurry. He gave me a quick run down with the flashlight and bellowed, “Miss West, for God's sake, don't you ever wear clothes?”

He swept me into his office and a warm blanket as I explained the circumstances. His face had an expression of exasperation and worry.

“We've been looking for you,” Clements said. “Decker's been found.”

“Where?” I demanded.

“Up in the chimes tower,” the police chief
said.

“What was he doing up there?”

Clement wiped a wet hand across his old face. “He was hanging by a thick rope. Decker's dead!”

I
NEARLY DROPPED MY BLANKET
. “H
OW'D YOU HAPPEN TO
find him up there?”

“The chimes started
ringing at five o'clock,” Clements said, “and they never stopped. One of the Island Company repair men went to check the trouble. Decker was strung up on a rod that controls the timing device.”

“But the electricity,” I said. “I thought there was a power failure.”

“There is,” the police chief explained. “Decker was hung up on a timing rod. His weight created a jam-up in the bell mechanism.”

“Where's the body now?”

“In the island morgue. He's had a .38 caliber bullet lodged in his heart. That's what really killed him.”

“It must be Swanson,” I said, shaking my head. “But it just doesn't add up.”

“How big is this TV actor, Swanson?” Clements asked.

“About average. He's in terrific shape, though. Strong
as a bull physically.”

“That's what I thought.”

“I don't get you.”

Clements produced a crumpled piece of paper and handed it to me. The typewritten note read,
MEET ME IN THE CHIMES TOWER AT FOUR-THIRTY THIS AFTERNOON. VITALLY IMPORTANT. B. S.

I examined the note. “Where'd you get this?”

The old police chief struck the table with a match and applied the flame to his cigarette. “We found it in Decker's coat pocket. Swanson's first name is Bob, isn't it?”

I nodded. This note looked exactly like the one Mark and I had found in Rod Caine's pocket. All capital letters and an unusual typeface. Both messages were probably from the same typewriter. Swanson had a portable in his stateroom aboard
Hell's Light
.

“Any trace of Swanson?” I asked.

“No. The storm's loused us up completely,” Clements said. “It's been pretty dusty around the tower. We might have followed his trail if the rain hadn't obliterated everything. I've got men covering the airport and both piers.”

Dusty! That coincided with Joe King's description of Swanson. Golden Boy could have investigated the chimes area before sending his message to Decker.

I studied the old police chiefs face, then said, “How would you guess it was done? It's no easy matter to hang a man who weighs three hundred and fifty pounds.”

“There's a ledge next to the timing rod,” Clements said. “I figure Swanson got Decker up on
that ledge at gun point, then ordered him to slip on the noose. The bullet did the rest.”

Clements loaned me some trousers and a shirt. “I'm going back to
Hell's Light
,” I said.

“You want a lift out to the yacht?”

“No thanks, I'll find a way. Do you have a flashlight you can spare?”

The grizzled police officer brought one out of a drawer. “Incidentally,” he said, “we still haven't been able to get to the mainland with those thumb impressions from Ann Claypool. All the airstrips are closed over there.”

I rolled my eyes dismally. “Listen, Chief, do me a favor. Check Decker's arms for needle marks. He might have been a narcotics addict.”

The chimes had stopped and raindrops slackened into a mist by the time I reached the Villa. My footsteps rang loudly on the wooden walkways as I searched for my own cabin. When I found number thirty-six the door was ajar.

Hadn't I locked it? My mind, conflicted with thoughts about Decker's murder, couldn't come up with a positive answer. I stepped inside and closed the door, automatically flicking the wall switch. Nothing happened. The power was still off.

Then a metal instrument flashed in the darkness. I ducked, but not far enough. The weapon caught me on the side of the head just as one of my fingernails tore into something. I crumpled to the
floor, rolled over and crawled for the door. A dark figure was stumbling clumsily down the walkway. Struggling to my feet, I started in pursuit, collapsing after a few steps. My head felt like a full-scale assault at Iwo Jima.

When I finally reached the street, it was deserted. My first impulse carried me to the Jolly Inn. Candles flickered on the tables and behind the bar. The place was alive with music, laughter and the jangled chorus of glasses, bottles and people bumping around on the dance floor.