The Case of the Negligent Nymph

Chapter 13

A FAT MEXICAN, SMILING FIXEDLY IN A TRAVESTY OF CAREfree good nature, a serape thrown over his shoulders, a big straw sombrero on his head, played a guitar.

He was seated in front of the entrance which went down a short flight of stairs to the basement restaurant and the smile had long since ceased to be anything more than the facial distortion of wearied muscles.

Mason, Della Street on his arm, trying to give the impression of sauntering along, hesitated momentarily in front of the restaurant, then went down the stairs into a dimly lighted dining room where there was a heavy accent on local color.

Tables, covered with red and white checkered tablecloths, were grouped around a dance floor which could not have been over fifteen feet square.

At one end was a microphone, and four men with serapes and sombreros furnished music for four or five couples who were dancing. Out of some three dozen tables in the place, about half were filled.

Waitresses in Mexican costume carried food and drinks. A fortuneteller moved about from table to table, smiling impersonally and with a fixed grimace purely as mechanical as that of the lonely guitar player on the outside.

Paul Drake’s man moved up to Mason’s side, said in a low voice, “She came in about fifteen minutes ago.”

“She’s the fortuneteller?”

“That’s right. This is her aunt coming now. The aunt owns the joint.”

The big woman Drake’s man had pointed out came sweeping toward them, a smile of welcome on her face, her eyes shrewdly searching.

“Friend of mine,” Drake’s operative said. “I’m over here in the booth. He’ll join me.”

“Oh, that ees fine,” the hostess purred. “Your frien’, no?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, that ees so nice. He an’ the serwrita weel be weeth you. I am glad you haf come.”

Mason walked over to the booth indicated by Drake’s operative and sat down.

“Had your fortune told?” Mason asked.

“No,” the man said. “She only came in fifteen minutes ago, and Paul’s orders were to case the joint, keep her spotted, find out everything we could about her background, and wait for you.”

“Well wait a minute and see what’s doing.”

Drake’s man said, “The Spanish rice is about the best bet if you’re going to eat. The other stuff is pretty heavy. Gosh, when you’ve once known the real Mexican friendly hospitality, this tourist stuff is ghastly. If you order beer they give you about ten minutes before the waiter comes around, picks up the empty bottle suggestively and gives you the benefit of a silent suggestion to order another one … Watch the dancing, it’s good.”

Mason seated himself and watched the couples on the floor.

“The two girls with the older guys are a kick,” the detective said. “Evidently they’re stuck with entertaining some out-of-town buyers. They’re not party girls, probably stenographers in the office, and they don’t like the job. The men are all organized to go great guns, but are cutting loose and being devilish. The girls would like to have it all over with, and are wondering just what’s going to happen when it comes time for good nights. They duck out to the powder room every twenty minutes or so for a conference, and as soon as they go, the men get their heads together and start plotting in low voices.

“Notice the snaky-looking gal with the tall chap. She has her eye on the situation with the two out-of-town buyers. I’m betting even money that the next time the two girls duck out to the powder room the snaky gal will do something to attract attention. Notice the way she dances. You’d think she was trying to crawl inside the guy’s coat.

“Then notice the guy who’s taking his wife out for a celebration. That’s more dancing and exercise than he’s had in ten years. She’s enjoying herself, but they’re both going to be stiff in die morning and by tomorrow night at this time the doctor will coil up the stethoscope, shake his head gravely, and tell the fellow he has to remember he’s thirty-five years older and forty pounds heavier than he was when he was voted the best dancer in his college class.

“I always like to watch people in a joint like this and…”

A waitress handed Perry Mason a menu.

Mason said, “Bring me some beer and some of those little corn doodads to go with it. Then well order.”

The waitress brought beer and Fritos, paused for their orders. Mason persuaded Della to try the Spanish rice and tortillas.

Della Street said, “She’s coming now, Chief.”

Carmen Monterrey, with a smile, moved over to the table. “Do you wish your fortunes told?” she asked, arching her eyebrows, glancing at the men but concentrating on Della Street.

“Oh,” Della Street exclaimed enthusiastically, “that would be …” She broke off abruptly and glanced apprehensively at Perry Mason.

Mason, acting the part said expansively, “Sure, sine. If you want it, go right ahead.”

Della Street said contritely, “Oh, I didn’t mean—is it all right?”

“Sure it’s all right,” Mason said. He handed Carmen Monterrey three folded dollar bills. “Here,” he said. “Give her a good reading.”

Carmen Monterrey slipped the money down the front of her blouse, moved into the vacant seat opposite Della Street, said, “Let me have your hand.”

For several moments she studied Della Street’s hands,’ then she said, “You work. You have a very important position. No?”

“That depends on what you mean by important,” DeQa Street said modestly.

“You love your work,” she said, “but perhaps that is because you love someone who is connected with the work.

She raised her eyebrows.

Della Street, suddenly embarrassed, said, “Well, after all…”

Carmen Monterrey glanced comprehendingly at Perry Mason. “Oh,” she said, and then added quickly, “You have such a great loyalty to your work. Perhaps that is because the man you work for is a big man, a noble man. He inspires confidence.”

Mason gravely peeled off another dollar bill and handed it to Carmen Monterrey. “You’re doing fine,” he said.

There were dimples on her face as she laughingly added that dollar bill to the others.

She said, “You work very hard, long hours, but you feel that you are a part of this work that you love. And this love will bear fruit—no?”

Della Street started to say something, then checked herself.

“Nice fruit,” Carmen Monterrey said. “Beautiful fruit First there comes the blossom, then the fruit… There are times when you wish to rest but you do not wish to leave your work. You have been alone in the world for a long time. Your mother died when you were young and your father … Perhaps there was a separation before your mother died and your mother died from a broken heart-no?

“And this thing has made an impression on you. You have been aware that when a woman gives her heart she gives everything… Perhaps…”

Della Street suddenly jerked her hand away.

“That’s plenty,” she said, laughing nervously.

Carmen Monterrey looked at her understandingly. “The future,” she said, “is perhaps even now shaped by the past. The ship that never leaves port because it is afraid of the storms.cannot bring back a wealthy cargo—no?”

“No,” Della Street agreed.

Carmen Monterrey glanced at Perry Mason, started to reach for his hand, but turned instead to Harry Frink. “Do you wish your fortune told—no?”

“No,” Frink said, shortly and emphatically.

Mason said, “I think you’re a pretty good fortuneteller, Miss…”

“Carmen,” she said, “call me Carmen.”

“You’re good.”

“I have always been psychic. I can see things. And sometimes in the lines of the hand …”

“Do you really believe that?” Mason asked.

She shrugged and laughed. “How do I know what I believe? When one believes something it is a part of one. I only know that when I take the hand of a person I feel something come to me. It flows from that hand into mine, then into my blood and into my brain, and ideas come. I look at the lines on the hand and I hold the hand, but the things form in my brain. That is what you call psychic-no?”

“I suppose so,” Mason said dubiously. “Were you born here?”

She shook her head. “I was born in Mexico.”

“You are wise,” Mason said. “You have traveled—no?”

She laughed and said, “Already you have acquired the Mexican custom of ending a sentence with a question. My aunt laughs at me about that habit but she has it herself. We will make a question and say ‘no’ on the end when perhaps the answer, of course, is ‘yes,’ but we say ‘no’ as a question to make it easy for the person who answers.”

“Where were you educated?” Mason asked.

“I have traveled,” she said, somewhat wistfully.

“Europe?”

“No.”

“South America?”

She nodded.

Mason said, “I have always wanted to go to South America. Tell me, is it beautiful?”

Carmen rolled her eyes. “Oh, Senor, it is beeeeeautiful.”

“It is long since you have been there?”

“I have but just returned.”

“Indeed.”

“This thing which enables me to tell fortunes, works for others, but in my own case I cannot see things so clear. My one great friend, she disappeared and no one knows where she has gone. Some say she must be dead. But they cannot say when she died or how she died. For myself I can only admit I do not know.

“Sometimes I feel she is alive and very close, but sometimes I feel she is dead and very close. It is a puzzle. She had trouble with her mind before she died, and when a friend whom she trusted betrayed her confidence it was a great shock.

“But we talk about me too much. It is better to talk about you. You have many talents, you have things for which others may well envy you, but you are in great danger—no?”

“No,” Mason said, smiling.

“Oh, but I think you are. I think even now there are … But you perhaps do not wish to have your fortune told—no?”

Mason threw back his head and laughed. “Your salesmanship is charming. Certainly I wish my fortune told.”

She took his hand, held it for a moment.

Suddenly Frink coughed wamingly, caught Mason’s eye and gestured.

Mason looked up to see two men, broad-shouldered, wary in their bearing, yet aggressively important, enter the restaurant.

The Mexican woman who ran the place came to them cordially, then, as she saw the unmistakable stamp of official importance on their faces, the smile froze on her Hps.

One of the men said something in a low voice.

The woman pointed toward the booth.

The two men walked over, one of them pulled back his coat, showed his star. “All right, Carmen,” he said, “that’s enough. Get your things on. You’re coming with us. Someone wants to ask you questions.”

He looked impersonally at Mason, said, “Sorry to interrupt your party, Mister,” and put his hand on Carmen’s shoulder.

“Let’s get going, Carmen,” he said.

“But I do not understand…”

“Never mind, come on.”

The woman who ran the place was solicitous. “Please, Carmen, queek,” she said, and then broke into a rattle of Spanish, which galvanized Carmen into action.

“Well,” Mason said as the men escorted Carmen to a car, “it was good while it lasted. Ill call Paul Drake and see if he knows about this angle.”

He went to the phone booth, dialed Drake’s number, and when he had the detective on the line said, “They just picked Carmen up, Paul. Know anything about it?”

‘I don’t know, Perry, but I think the authorities have that letter in the bottle and they’re intending to launch an investigation. However, I have some other news. Did Carmen tell your fortune?”

“Yes.”

“How was it?”

“She’s good, Paul—a natural psychic.”

“Was it a good fortune?”

“What there was of it. She was interrupted.”

“If it was good,” Drake said, “she’s a rotten psychic. The word has just been passed that the sheriff has a dead-opeu-and-shut case against Dorothy Fenner and that he’s prepared to prove you were the accomplice who waited for her in the canoe when she tried to steal evidence from George Alder’s house Saturday night”