Beagle Scented Murder

17

Angela lived in a living-room-bedroom-kitchen apartment on Las Palmas just off Sunset. It was a one-story building, shaped like a U and called, in Hollywood, a court.

She was already dressed and putting a final polish on her nails when Otis Beagle and Joe Peel arrived. In response to their ring she opened the door and threw herself into Beagle’s arms.

“Darling!” she cried. “This is simply wonderful…”

Beagle kissed her soundly, then held her off to introduce Joe Peel. “My friend, Joe Peel…”

Angela regarded Peel with considerable disappointment. “Otis, how could you! You said he was six feet tall…”

“What’s four inches, more or less…”

“Three,” Peel corrected. He smiled sourly at Angela. “Besides, I carry a portable stepladder in my pocket, for dames who insist on necking guys six feet tall.”

Angela laughed merrily. “He’s cute.”

Joe Peel thought Angela was cute too, but he didn’t say so.

“I’ll see what you’ve got in the icebox,” he said. He went into the kitchen while Angela went into another clinch with Beagle. He found a pint bottle or rye, only half-empty, got a tray of ice cubes and some ginger ale and fixed three drinks.

He carried them into the living room and Beagle and Angela were still in the clinch.

“Break it up, kids!”

Beagle released Angela and then the door bell rang.

“Oh, that’s Ethel!” cried Angela. “She lives here in the court.”

“All by herself?” Peel asked.

Angela took time to give him a dirty look before opening the door.

“Ethel!” she squealed, “you’re just in time. The boys are here…”

Ethel stood about five feet eleven in her high-heeled pumps. She was a blonde, a big girl but nicely streamlined. Otis Beagle’s eyes gleamed as he sized her up.

But Ethel wasn’t looking at him. Her eyes were on Joe Peel. Peel returned her look and a slow grin twisted his lips.

“Hello, Ethel,” he said.

“Hi,” Ethel replied.

Peel turned to Beagle. “Otis — meet Ethel.”

Beagle came forward. “It’s a pleasure, Ethel.”

“Is it?” asked Peel.

Beagle looked at him sharply. “What’s the matter with you, Joe?”

“I need a drink.” Peel looked at the glasses in his hands and set them down on a coffee table. “Need one more now. Angela — come, help me…”

He took her arm. She resisted for a moment, then allowed herself to be led into the kitchen. But there she whirled on Peel.

“What’s the idea? Ethel’s your date.”

“She’s too tall for me. I like ’em your size…” He suddenly grabbed Angela and kissed her. She shoved him away.

“Now, wa-ait a minute…”

“Beagle likes Ethel — and I like you…”

Angela glowered at the door leading to the living room. “The big babboon. I got a good notion to…” She suddenly turned back to Peel. “There’s something fishy about this. I saw the way you and Ethel looked at each other. Say… you know her…”

Peel chuckled. “You didn’t tell her our names when you asked her on the double-date?”

“No-no, I don’t think I did.” Angela looked sharply at Peel. “So you do know her. And Otis…”

“He doesn’t. But I… well, I’ve met her…”

“Where?”

Peel shrugged. “It’s quite a while ago.”

“You’re up to something!”

“Just fun,” said Peel. “So let Beagle have Ethel for tonight, huh?”

Angela sized up Peel for a moment. “For the whole evening?”

Peel took her in his arms and kissed her — hard. After a while Angela kissed back. Then Peel released her. “For the whole evening…”

“Well…”

Peel led her back into the living room, where Beagle and Ethel were now having a little tête-à-tête. “All right kids,” Peel announced. “We’re going to the Mocambo…” He grinned. “Otis has a drag there — he’ll get us a ringside table.”

“Naturally,” said Beagle.

It was a tight fit in the rear seat of the taxi, but Peel solved the seating problem by taking Angela on his lap. Beagle didn’t seem to mind. He was pretty engrossed with Ethel.

Arriving at the Mocambo, Beagle did his stuff. A ringside table was the result.

“With a table like this,” said Peel as they were seated, “we ought to have champagne.”

“Oh, goody,” cried Angela.

“Better stick to whiskey, Joe,” Beagle advised. “Remember, you’ve done a bit of drinking today.”

“I know, but this is a celebration.”

Angela promptly asked, “What’re we celebrating?”

“A case that Otis thinks we’ve solved.”

“Cut it out, Joe,” Beagle snapped.

But it was too late. Angela rose to the bait. “Oh, tell me about it. I’ve always wanted to hear the inside of a real mystery…”

“This wasn’t anything,” Beagle scowled. He turned to Ethel. “Like to dance, Baby?”

“After a while,” Baby said, looking steadily at Joe Peel. “I’d like to hear about the case you solved…”

“Go ahead, tell her, Otis,” Peel urged, grinning wickedly.

“You know it’s a policy of the office not to talk about cases.”

“But this is just among ourselves…”

“You tell us,” Angela pouted, “and if he doesn’t want to listen he doesn’t have to.”

“I won’t.” And Beagle turned his shoulder to Peel and Angela. He took Ethel’s hand, but she pulled it free.

“I want to hear it, too.”

“It’s about a guy named Jolliffe,” said Peel. “Wilbur Jolliffe. You probably read in the papers about him.”

“No,” said Angela, “but go ahead.”

Peel looked at Ethel. “You’ve heard about Jolliffe, haven’t you?”

“The name is familiar. Committed suicide, didn’t he?”

“Yeah. Jolliffe was one of the boys, you know. About sixty and liked them twenty or so. About six months ago he got mixed up with a dame—”

“If you’re to tell the story, Joe, tell it right,” cut in Beagle. “Jolliffe got caught in a badger game. We scared off the crooks for him and that’s all there was to it.” He glared at Joe Peel.

“But you just said he committed suicide,” protested Angela.

“That was last night,” Peel said, “the badger game was six months ago.”

“What’s a badger game?”

Beagle groaned, but Peel took Angela’s hand and patted it. “A badger game is something a girl like you shouldn’t know anything about.”

“Why not?”

“Because it isn’t nice.”

“I know games that aren’t — well, too nice.”

“Don’t ever get caught playing this one. They send you to jail for it.”

“This Joll-Jolliffe went to jail?”

Peel winced. “It isn’t the victim who goes to jail. It’s the woman — and the other man.” Then, as Angela’s face still remained blank, Peel appealed to Ethel. “You tell her, Ethel.”

Ethel’s eyes were flashing sparks. “I don’t know anything about this what is it you call it? — badger game?”

“No? I thought you might have heard of it.” Peel turned back to Angela. “I’ll make it simple, baby… a man and a woman are caught in a bedroom — well, let’s say, a compromising situation, by the woman’s husband. He threatens to tell the man’s wife…”

“The man’s wife? But isn’t she the one who’s caught?…”

Peel groaned. “The other man’s wife? He’s a married man, see…”

“They’re both married, is that it?” Angela frowned prettily. “But why should he want to tell the other man’s wife, when he’s caught his wife…”

“Forget it,” said Peel, in disgust.

“Let’s go somewhere else,” Ethel announced suddenly.

“But we just got here,” Beagle protested.

“There’s a new place up the street I’ve heard is very interesting. It’s cozy and…” she smiled tantalizingly, “…dim…”

“Let’s go!” exclaimed Beagle. He paid the check while the girls went to powder their noses.

The new place turned out to be the Bull Dog and Pussy Cat, where Peel had almost had lunch that day. Beagle was a stranger here, but a five-dollar bill made him an old friend of the headwaiter and they were shown to a booth near the rear — a cozy booth, lighted only by two stubby candles on the table. Beagle promptly blew out one of the candles.

“Don’t you like this much better?” Ethel asked as she cuddled up to Otis Beagle.

“Why, Mister Peel!” exclaimed a feminine voice.

It was Mary Lou Tanner.

“Uh, hello,” said Peel.

Mary Lou smiled sweetly. “And is that Mrs. Peel? I’m so glad to meet you. Mr. Peel has talked of you so often. And the baby…”

“Sit down,” said Peel, grimly. “Or do you have to run back to grandpa?”

Mary Lou laughed hollowly. “It’s been so nice meeting you, Mrs. Peel. I must run along now…” And she went back to her own table.

“I think I’ll go home,” Angela said, coldly.

“That was a rib,” Peel said.

“Will your wife think so?”

Peel appealed to Beagle. “Tell her if I’m married or not.”

“Of course not. We ran into her and the fellow she’s with at the Brown Derby. Joe pulled the same gag on the guy, so she was only getting even…”

“You’re quite a character, Mr. Peel, aren’t you?” Ethel said sweetly.

“Joe, Baby. Call me Joe.”

Ethel picked up her purse. “I’ve got to powder my nose. Want to come along, Angela?”

“Hey!” cried Otis Beagle. “What gives here? You powdered your nose only ten minutes ago.”

“I have to do it again, darling.” Ethel got up. Angela, who was still sulking, hesitated, then followed her friend. The moment the girls were out of sight, Beagle pounced on Peel.

“For the love of Mike, Joe, are you always like this with girls? No wonder you never get anywhere with them.”

“What’ve I done?”

“You were sniping at Ethel.”

“You like Ethel?”

“Of course I like her. She’s my type. I like them, ah, statuesque…”

“Then get ready for a shock, Otis. Ethel’s last name is Tower. Ethel Tower.”

“So what?”

“Don’t you remember the name?”

“Am I supposed to?”

“I thought you would tumble when I talked about the badger game… and Jolliffe…”

For a moment Beagle stared at Peel, then his mouth fell open and he sucked in air. “No!…”

“Yes, Otis, old boy. Miss Badger. I paid her off, remember?”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course. The minute she came into the apartment… you saw her look at me, didn’t you? She was afraid I was going to spill it…”

“Well, why didn’t you?”

“Oh, I thought I’d play along for awhile…”

“But Angela…”

“I don’t think she knows anything about it. She didn’t mention our names to Ethel when she told her she had a date for her.”

Beagle remained silent for a moment, then he finally shook his head and said, bitterly, “You can’t trust anybody. A fine looking girl like that…”

“That’s what Jolliffe thought.” Peel chuckled. He leaned out of the booth to look toward the wash rooms. “They’re taking a long time to powder their noses.”

A waiter came up. “Something, Mister?”

“The ladies who were with us…”

“Oh, didn’t you know? They left… by the side door.”

“Goddammit!” bellowed Beagle.

“She was a nice kid,” said Joe Peel. “Ethel?”

“No, Angela.” Peel sighed. “Well, shall we go?”

Beagle’s face set in stubborn lines, then the futility of it struck him and he groaned. He called for the check and paid it.

As they waited for a taxi outside the Bull Dog and Pussy Cat, Peel said, “And so home to bed.”

“My eye,” snapped Beagle. “I was all set for a good time tonight and I’m going to have it — girls or no girls.” A cab pulled up to the curb and they climbed in.

“Where to, gents?” the driver asked.

“Ivar and Hollywood Boulevard for me,” Peel said.

“You going to be a killjoy?” Beagle demanded.

“After the day I’ve had — yes!”

“Well, I’m going out to have some fun.”

“You go right ahead, but I’m going home and sleep.”

They were still wrangling about it when the cab pulled up at Ivar and Hollywood Boulevard and Peel climbed out. Beagle yelled after him, but Peel paid no attention.