This Girl for Hire (7 page)

He ran out of the cabin and the wind lashed the door shut behind him. It was a furious gale leadened with rain. If Lori hadn't found shelter, her chances for survival in this kind of storm were about as good as a hundred-mile-an-hour approach to a hairpin curve with no warning signs. I wondered how
Hell's Light
was taking the blow. Probably the customers in the swimming-pool bar were so frightened, they were drinking with both hands and getting stiffer than boards. I hoped Sam Aces wasn't too stiff. His kind of stiffness could turn out to be permanent if he didn't keep a weather eye open.

I searched around for some clothes. In the closet was an old pair of white dungarees with the cuffs rolled up. There was quite a space to make up for around the middle, but an old piece of rope helped cinch in the waist A red-striped cotton shirt, minus any buttons, hung on the same hook. I slipped it on
and tucked the tails inside the trousers to keep the shirt together.

Smith returned a few minutes later soaked to the skin and breathing heavily. “I slipped on a rock down near the boat cave and went in up to my shoulders,” he explained. “Didn't make much difference. I was drenched by that time anyway.”

“See anything?”

“Yeah. One of the permanent buildings down on the YMCA site lost part of a roof. Same thing may happen to us if it gets any worse.”

I winced. “Nothing of Lori Aces?”

He stripped off his wet shirt. “Maybe she made it to one of the caves at the south end of the beach. She'd be safe there.” He knelt before the fire. “How about something to eat? You must be starved!”

“What about yourself?” I studied him carefully. His body was deeply bronzed from the sun. Then I said, “You'd better get out of those wet pants.”

He grinned and pulled me down next to him in front of the fireplace.

“I don't take orders from
nobody
,” he said quietly. “Especially a female investigator who packs a .32.”

“How'd you know I carry a .32?”

“I don't know.” He shrugged his shoulders. “A .32 seems about the right caliber for a woman.” Then his lips touched mine, and they were warm and soft. He lifted his head finally and whispered, “I told you I was fresh out of clothes. Where'd you get these?”

“In the closet,” I said.

He touched the opening at the top of
my shirt and kissed me again.

I felt my legs wobble slightly as I forced myself up. “What'll it be? Bacon and eggs, hot cakes, waffles—?” He came after me and his hands pulled me close to him.

“Aren't—aren't you hungry?” I stammered. His mouth kissed the bruise on my chin. “You—must have worked up a big appetite wandering around in the rain—”

“Yeah, I did,” he said.

“I'd—better get into the kitchen then—”

His lips moved over my mouth shutting out the words. He picked me up and carried me into the bedroom.

“Look,” I said, “I don't even know you—”

Wind suddenly bit furiously into the cabin. The roof trembled and screeched as shingles ripped loose into the stormy sky. One of them hit the bedroom window splintering glass across the room.

He put me on my feet hurriedly, grabbed his slicker and vanished into the night.

I glanced down at the front of my shirt.

The flesh underneath was crimson and I was trembling.

It was still raining when I awakened. The bedroom window had been boarded up, but Ralph Smith was nowhere in view. Wind rustled softly in the distant dark.

In the living room I found him curled up like a big dog in front of the fireplace. I shook my head and crossed into the kitchen. The clock said it
was a few minutes after midnight.

The old-fashioned wood stove was all set for a fire. I lit a match to it, started some bacon sizzling in a skillet and looked for a fork. The kitchen drawers were filled with everything except silverware.

I walked into the living room, rummaged around in a desk drawer and came up with a couple of knives and forks. Leave it to a man to keep books and papers in the kitchen and silver in the desk!

Something else in that drawer startled me. A photograph of Lori Aces! Sweet, little, childlike Lori Aces. She got around more than measles. There was a signature on the front of the picture.
I Love You Passionately—Lori.
She obviously was as crazy for Sam Aces as a detonator hooked up to a ton of dynamite. First Rod Caine, now Ralph Smith. No wonder he got excited at the mention of her name.

I shoved the picture back and started toward the kitchen when I saw the bronze statuette of an Emmy, television's equivalent to motion picture's Academy Award Oscar.

The inscription read,
For outstanding achievement in the development and creation of the Bob Swanson Show, WBS Network.

The winner's name was etched on the face of the plate in fancy letters.
Rod Caine.

I
RAMMED THE STATUETTE DOWN HARD BREAKING A GLASS
bowl. The sound brought him to his feet, a startled expression on his face. “What in hell's the matter?” he yelled. “The roof coming off?”

“You can say that again!” I
boomed. “The roof, two floors of furniture and the kitchen sink.”

He glanced around. “You out of your mind?”

“Yes, I am,
Mr. Caine!
”

The puzzled expression drained out of his handsome face. He took the statuette and placed it back on the shelf. “So, you found out? You've been looking for me, haven't you? Well, here I am!”

“Thanks,” I said.

“I suppose I should have told you right away. But I'm not trying to hide anything. Ralph Smith is my
nom de plume
.”

“What?”

“Pen name. Fictitious.”

“You mean fake, don't you?” I realized I was shouting. “That's you all over. Just about as fake as
they come!”

He shook his head.

“How come no facial scars?” I asked. “Plastic surgery?”

“Some,” Caine said. “The wounds weren't as bad as they looked. I was practically healed inside of two weeks.”

“Why didn't you go back to Television Riviera?”

“I was fired. Besides, I was glad to be out of there. This new novel's much more important to me. Aces actually did me a favor.”

“Now you'd like to return the favor,” I said.

“Not the way you think!”

“Did you call Lori three weeks ago and ask if Aces still drinks screwdrivers?”

“Don't be idiotic.”

“Did you say you'd like to get Aces for what he did to you?”

“No!” Rod insisted. “I haven't seen or talked to Lori Aces for over four months.”

“This is important,” I said. “Whose idea was it—the martinis, the kisses, bed?”

“Lori's idea. The whole thing. She invited me up with the understanding Sam was out of town for a couple of days. I was floored when he walked in.”

“Imbedded is a better word,” I said. “Where'd you go after you ran out?”

“Into the bay.”

“Then where?”

“To a small yacht that was anchored about a half mile down from Lori's place. There was a doctor on board. I told him I'd been attacked by something in
the water. He stitched me up and that was that.”

“No questions about why you were naked?”

“No more than I asked you!” He grinned again. Rod Caine had a most infectious smile.

“How long have you been living on the island?”

“About three months. I moved to Catalina after the plastic surgery, bought this cabin and started working on the novel.”

“Have you ever been back to the mainland?”

“Sure. A month later for a final examination of my face.”

“Any other time?”

“Two weeks ago. I picked up a few supplies and came right back.”

“Did you go to Hollywood?”

Rod hesitated, then said, “Yeah. I wanted to see my agent, but it was too late. He'd already left the office.”

“Go any place else?”

He shrugged. “Sure, I stopped for a couple of drinks.”

“Where?”

He hesitated again. “The Golden Slipper. That was my old hangout before—”

“Did you see anyone you know?”

Rod laughed half-heartedly. “Are you kidding? You couldn't recognize a Siamese twin in that place, even if it belonged to you.”

“What time was it?”

“I don't know!” Rod said harshly. He crossed toward the kitchen, then whirled around. “All right, I did see Swanson. He was sitting at the bar. I talked
to him for a few minutes. He was so swacked I doubt if he remembered it afterward. He was taking a drink back to Aces at the studio. I wouldn't have thought a thing about it except Bob kidded me about the broken-glass incident. He said it was lucky I wasn't taking the drink to Sam or I might slip in a little poison to even the score.” Rod stopped and wiped his hands over his face. “Hell, that's insane!”

“Maybe,” I said. “Have you ever been back to the Golden Slipper since that night?”

“No.”

“You're certain?”

“Dammit! Of course, I'm certain.”

“Have you been in Television Riviera?”

“No!”

“Not even the day after the last Swanson show?”

“No! What would I be doing there?”

I said quietly, “You originated the show. Doesn't it bother you not to be part of it any more.”

Rod shook his head. “Aces gave me a raw deal, sure. Okay. But I never should have been in bed with his wife, so we're even.”

“Are you in love with her?”

“If I were, don't you think I'd be out looking for her right now?”

“Depends on what kind of a man you are.”

“Try me sometime!”

“I already have. You saved my
life. I still haven't thanked you for that.”

“You can return the favor by taking me off the hook. I don't want to kill anyone.”

I stared at him and in the distance, through one of the windows, lightning touched the dark sea and then disintegrated. I closed my eyes, but the picture clung to my retina like the image of Herb Nelson's body, which was imprinted indelibly upon the mirror of my mind.

“Answer me one thing,” I said. “Have you ever worked with Herb Nelson?”

He hesitated for an instant. “Too bad about him, wasn't it? I—I thought he was one tremendous actor. No, I never worked with him on anything. I only wish I had. The last I saw or heard of Herb Nelson, he was working as a bartender's assistant at the Golden Slipper.”

“What time is it?”

Rod peered at the kitchen clock. “Twelve-thirty.”

“Have you got a boat?”

“Sure,” Rod said. “I got a boat. What about it?”

“Could you get us out to
Hell's Light
?”

He did a double-take and then grinned. “Are you kidding? In this storm? We wouldn't stand a chance.”

“Sounds as if the wind's eased up.”

Rod walked outside to check the weather. I knew I'd better get back to the ship as soon as possible. In all the confusion of wind, rain and whiskey, Sam Aces stood a good chance of getting what someone had been trying to give him for several weeks. A lesson in not breathing!

Rod came in from his weather inspection. “You're right,” he said. “The wind's down considerably. So's the water. I think we can make the yacht if you want to try.”

“What are we waiting for? Let's go!”

We dressed warmly and started down the face of the hill toward the water. Rain sifted through a
sky cross-patched with thick black clouds and intermittent stars. His boat, a small cabin cruiser, was stored in a deep ocean cave below the house. Rod lowered her into the water by pulley and cable and we climbed aboard, nearly being thrown into the water, as a big wave smashed into the cave. It took a few minutes to navigate out into the open sea, then we turned toward the faint, distant lights of Aces' floating funland.

Waves, blown gayly by the wind, crested over our bow, but Rod kept the cruiser straight on course. We approached the yacht from the stern. She was impressive in the storm, her gleaming white sides sloping up into the dark sky. Somebody lowered the landing for us.

It was wild, but between Rod and several of the yacht's crew, they managed to secure the boat and raise her up out of the water. The float was lifted again.

The swimming-pool bar was jammed. We didn't even make a dent in the mad conglomeration. Max Decker, flushed, filled and fat, squandered his weighty load on two bar stools, spilling over both. Ann Claypool was providing most of the entertainment with a rock-and-roll version of the bump and grind.

Ann was dancing on top of the bar and her wiggle was a smash hit. All she wore was a blue denim yachting cap. The headdress looked familiar. It had the
word CAPTAIN sewn across the front. Sam Aces had been wearing that cap earlier, but there was no sign of the producer. There was no sign of Bob Swanson either.

Joe Meeler seemed to be the only sober one in the place. I asked him about Aces.

“Last thing I know,” Joe said, trying to talk above the din, “Swanson and Aces took off for a little stroll around the deck. Lord, you woulda' thought they were a couple of queers, they were so palsy-walsy.”

“Have you seen Lori Aces?” I asked.

“Sure,” Joe said. “She came back with the camera crew late this afternoon. They had one helluva time in this storm, believe you me.”

When I got back to the edge of the pool, even Rod Caine was gone. I started for Aces' cabin. This looked bad. Swanson was out for a promenade with Sam while Rod Caine was rendezvousing with Lori.

I suddenly felt as ridiculous as a jockey seeing his horse break from the starting gate and finding with horror he's still in the chute.

I banged on the producer's cabin door. There were no lights on inside and the door was locked. I ran forward, hammering on doors, trying knobs. One opened and I entered hurriedly. The bed was occupied by two-bit players scrambled together like two crisp pieces of bacon fried into an egg. They didn't even look up. I raced out. The wind was rising again and so was the sea. Whitecaps crackled in the churning water below. I wondered if Sam Aces were down there.