Murder Takes No Holiday

2

Paul Slater scrubbed his hand through his fair hair. It was the color of driftwood, cropped very close. He wore only a pair of walking shorts. He was built like an athlete, and his movements were quick and graceful. He was beautifully tanned.

He ground out a cigarette viciously and looked at the girl lying on the bed, propped on one elbow. She was dark, with tousled black hair that looked as though it had been disarranged by a high wind. This was a deliberate effect, produced with care. She was both lithe and lush, an interesting combination which was readily apparent, as she was covered only by one corner of the sheet. That was where it was not because of modesty, but simply because that was where it had ended up.

She blinked up at Slater lazily. “But what was it like?”

“You don’t know, Vivienne,” he said with feeling. “You just don’t know. I’ve never been through anything remotely like it. The physical search-it was thorough and professional and humiliating, of course. Never mind. That I could stand. It was their attitude. I was dirt under their feet.”

“But you fool them, eh?” the girl said indifferently, speaking with a strong French accent.

“Oh, yes,” Slater said gloomily. “It worked like a charm. There’s no doubt about it, I’m a genius. But the one thing that I didn’t expect was the way I felt. At first they were polite and respectful. Not really polite, but they treated me as one professional to another. It was my job to fool them, it was their job not to be fooled. Then they found those miserable watch movements. I’ve been hauling them around in my suitcase ever since the duty went up, just waiting for this moment. Positively brilliant. And all at once I became ludicrous. Fifty watch movements! I wasn’t a professional after all, I was a bungling, half-witted amateur. After that they treated me with contempt. Naturally the judge couldn’t let me go without a tongue lashing. He did a good job of it, too. I was wriggling like a schoolboy.”

“If it had been me,” the girl said, “I would have been laughing at them inside the whole time.”

“That’s the way I always thought I’d feel,” he said, puzzled. He lit a fresh cigarette and breathed smoke out slowly. “But when you come to the point, all of a sudden it dawns on you-sure, they may be fools, but they also have the power to put you in prison for a long, long time. When you’re standing up in front of a judge who doesn’t think much of you, it isn’t quite so amusing. I walked out of the courthouse, and I should have been feeling fine. Everybody said their lines exactly the way they were supposed to. But what if they hadn’t? What if some eager type had wondered if I was as dumb as I looked, and really started dogging me around?” A slight shudder passed over his handsome body. “It makes me cold to think about it. The odds were about fifty to one. That’s a very good bet. But even fifty-to-one shots sometimes come in. It’s been known to happen.”

He stared at the glowing tip of the cigarette. He sat down on the edge of the bed beside her and dropped one hand lightly onto her hip.

“Anyway,” he said, “that’s the last time I go through anything like that. I’m resigning, as of now. That’s what I’ve been leading up to. I want you to know how I feel about it.”

Her eyes glinted for a moment. Then her lids came down and hid the shrewd look that had appeared in them briefly. She raised her arms and stretched, her body moving underneath his hand.

“Of course you must stop if you feel that way, cheri. It is not too serious. There are other ways of getting money.”

“Name three,” Slater said grimly. “I don’t see myself selling enough baskets to gift shops to put me up with Rockefeller. No, I can’t quite picture it. God knows there’s money around. Look at these damned tourists. Where they get it, I don’t know. None of it seems to stick to me.”

“Then I’ll tell you what I think,” she said. “I think we must bid each other goodbye. Not at this precise minute! No, in a little while. I am without money or family, with my way to make in the world. Poor Paul, I am such a terrible extravagance for you. So say goodbye to me like a good friend. It will be simple.”

“Simple! “he said.

“But of course. You must cut down on expenses. You have me, you have your wife. Everything double. I am not asking you to divorce her. Absolutely not. That is altogether your affair.”

Slater breathed out heavily.

“I am ashamed, you know,” she said. “Not about our love, that is a very beautiful thing. But because of me, you must do something you dislike. You are unhappy. I say it will be simple, but not easy. It will be hard. For me as well. But I am very, very bad for you, Paul. I will leave your life, then again you can be happy in the old way, no more of this silly business of taking things to America against the law.”

“God, Vivienne,” he protested.

She moved restlessly. “I like you more than any man I have ever known. You make me feel-so-” She stopped. “I cannot say it in this stiff and awkward language, English. But you know it. You know it well. What am I to do? My other American friend says he can find a way to take me to your country, where I so much long to be. I am tired of these hot, horrible little towns. I want to see New York! The cars, the beautiful clothes, the tall buildings. To be looked at, admired. I am stifling here.”

She came up on both elbows and said quickly, “I know how you feel. But listen to me, Paul. You said the next time would be really big. I mean, you would make more than ever before. And after that, then you could stop, and we could still-” The light in her face faded and she lay back. “No, it is impossible. There is always that one chance in fifty, and it would be horrible if-”

“Ten years in jail,” he said. “God, I just don’t know. Maybe-”

She smiled suddenly and reached out for him with both arms. “Let us forget about money and such things. We are together. Who knows? If it is the last time, we will always regret wasting it in talking.”

“It won’t be the last,” he said fiercely.

She moistened her lips, and a sort of veil fell over her eyes. “You are also wasting time smoking a cigarette. You can smoke cigarettes by the carton after your wife returns. Paul, my darling.”

A sound escaped him, almost a groan. He waited while her eyes closed and her tongue moved impatiently across her lips. She was snapping her fingers silently, as she did when she was hunting for an English word.

Putting his burning cigarette deliberately on the edge of the bedside table, he came down to her. The cigarette continued to smolder, leaving a scar on the varnish, overlapping other burn-marks left by other careless guests of the hotel. Soon there was nothing left but ash. The breeze from the open window struck it. It sifted to the floor.

Suddenly the phone rang.

Slater lifted his head. They looked at each other in dismay.

“She couldn’t be-” he said.

The phone rang again. He snatched it up.

“Yes? She is? My God! Yes. Thanks.”

He hurled the phone at the cradle. “Martha’s back! She’s in the lobby now. You’ve got to-”

Sitting up, the girl pushed at her hair. “This would be a good time to tell her, no? That is, if you have made up your mind to tell her.”

“Not like this!” Slater said, appalled. “If she walks in on-” He gestured at the tumbled bed, the untidy room. “It’s out of the question. Goddamn it, will you hurry?”

He seized her arms and pulled her off the bed. She felt among her clothes, which were lying in a heap on a chair.

“So you did not mean the things you said in my ear one minute ago? I am not surprised. I have experience with this habit of men. Promises-”

“I meant it all! It’s just-my God, no, there’s no time, never mind those things. Just your dress and shoes. Vivienne, darling, please. I can’t hurt her this way. She’s been hurt so badly already.”

“And I?” Vivienne asked, with surprising dignity considering the fact that she was lifting her dress to pull it over her head.

“Nobody can hurt you,” he said. “That’s one of the things I like about you.”

“I am hard, am I?” she cried. She wriggled her dress down over her hips and tugged at the zipper. “I am not flesh and bone, I am made of metal. That is what you think.”

“Don’t be dumb, baby. I know what you’re made of, and it isn’t metal. Leave that zipper. Fix it outside.”

He handed her a shoe. Hopping on one foot, she put it on, suddenly seeming about to cry. “You have this wonderful idea, you, for making money. Most safe. And good God, how badly we need this money, you and I! Perhaps it settles nothing, but we need it, to have time to decide. And suddenly you are frightened because they ask you a few questions. Because a judge scolds you. All the thought, the planning-”

Holding the foot of the bed, she thrust her foot into her second shoe. “But Paul, with everything else you are so nice to me! Why are all rich Americans fat and bald and tiresome? Can you answer that?”

“Not right now,” he said, pushing the remainder of her clothing at her. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Now for God’s sake hurry. Here’s your garter belt! Christ, if you left that! Go around the corner of the corridor. You can hear the elevator. And don’t get the clever idea of coming out ahead of time so she sees you, to settle things that way. It wouldn’t be clever at all.”

He kissed her forehead quickly and propelled her out the door. There was one good thing, he thought, about this crummy hotel. When the elevator was in operation it clanked horribly, but thank God it still was silent. He watched the French girl. One heel wasn’t all the way inside her shoe, and she had to hop. Her dress was tight about the hips. Going or coming, clothed or unclothed, it was a wonderful thing to see the way she moved, and Slater rubbed the back of one hand across his lips, which suddenly seemed very dry. How in heaven’s name could he be expected to give that up?

“God,” he said softly, and swallowed.

Stepping back, he closed the door and looked around the room quickly. He put the bed in order, drawing the sheets tight and plumping up the pillows. He took out a colorful short-sleeved sports shirt. After he put it on, he examined his face in the mirror. He rubbed lipstick from the corner of his mouth, using a Kleenex which he was careful to flush away. His hair was short enough so it needed no attention.

He forced himself to stand still and look around the room, taking it one section at a time. The careful scrutiny showed him a lipstick-tipped cigarette. He field-stripped it and threw way the reddened paper. Satisfied, he stretched out on the bed and picked up that week’s issue of the Island Times, which was still, he saw, almost entirely taken up with the murder of the Englishman, Albert Watts.

But he was too unsettled to read. He threw the paper aside. To disarm suspicion completely, he should be doing something normal and routine. Going to the bathroom, he tucked a towel inside his shirt collar and lathered his face. He had shaved before Vivienne came, and scraping off the lather with long sweeping strokes took only a few seconds. His hand jerked as he finally heard the labored clanking of the elevator. He was pretending to work on the stubborn spot on his upper lip when a key turned in the lock.

“Darling?” he called. “I’m in here.”

He went to the bathroom door, the razor in his hand. His wife Martha, an ash-blonde with gray eyes and well-marked cheekbones, put down her overnight bag.

“Paul.”

She brushed back her hair with a weary gesture, went to the bureau and took a cigarette out of the package there. She held herself with her usual erectness, but she seemed very tired.

She tapped the cigarette on the bureau. “Well, it was a wild-goose chase, I’m afraid. The woman who used to make those wonderful woven trays has been sick for three months, and she didn’t have a thing for me. After that there didn’t seem to be much point in going on to the other village for a few baskets. I turned tail and came home. I suppose I was a little discouraged, Paul. I’ve been counting heavily on those trays. Well, one of these days our luck will change.”

She succeeded in smiling. Slater looked at her for a long moment. He wiped off what was left of the lather and threw the towel into the bathtub. Coming into the bedroom, he put both arms around her.

“Never mind, dear,” he said, holding her very tight. “It doesn’t matter. But we can’t go on scraping and patching like this. It isn’t fair to you. You don’t deserve to live this way, and I’m going to do something about it.”

He felt her body stiffen. “And I don’t mean what you think, either. If I can’t make some legitimate money I’ll drown myself and put an end to it. There won’t be any more of those dirty little errands through the customs. I’m through. They can find themselves another sucker.”

She pulled back. “Do you mean that, Paul?” she said eagerly, searching his face.

“Damn right I mean it,” he told her. “I’ve been teetering. They scared me, I don’t mind admitting, but I didn’t want to give it up just because I was scared. It seemed like a lousy reason. I’ve been fooling with the idea of doing it once more before I quit. But I know what would happen. I’d do it once more after that, and then once more, and I’d go on doing it till finally that fifty-to-one shot came in and they caught me. The time to stop is now. I made up my mind when you tried to smile.”

“Thank God, Paul,” she said softly. “You don’t know what I’ve been going through. I honestly don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you.” She laughed ruefully. “It’s absurd to be so emotionally dependent, but that seems to be the way I’m put together.”

He kissed her hard, pulling her in tight against his chest. “It’s not absurd. It’s wonderful, and you know it. I don’t know what’s got into me lately. I’ve had a kind of desperate feeling-I can’t describe it. But it’s over now, and suddenly I wonder what I’ve been worried about. I’m young and able-bodied. I’m not deformed. I have a reasonably good education and good table manners. Somewhere in this world there’s a philanthropist who’s going to offer me a job.”

“Of course there is, darling,” she whispered. “The only thing you need is confidence. Thank God you’ve come to your senses. I was so afraid-”

“Come and sit down. You must be tired.”

He took her to the bed. She kicked off her shoes and sat back against the stacked pillows. “You can be so sweet, Paul. What did I do with my cigarette?”

He retrieved it and looked for a match.

“You really are getting absent-minded,” she said gaily. “You let another cigarette go out on the table. Before we go looking for your philanthropist, I’m going to break you of the habit of putting a cigarette down wherever you happen to be.”

He muttered something. She leaned forward for the light, holding the cigarette between two fingers. Her nostrils flared slightly.

“Aren’t you using a new after-shaving lotion, darling?” She sniffed again and said judiciously, “I don’t know if I approve or not. It’s pretty strong for a man.”

“Just trying it out,” Slater said, leaning forward so she couldn’t see his face. His hands felt damp, and he wiped them on his shorts.

She put the tip of one finger against a mark on his neck, inside the open collar of the sports shirt. There were several slightly irregular indentations there, that might have been made by teeth. Again her nostrils flared. She was frowning slightly.

Airplane engines were throbbing high in the sky. Slater looked nervously at his watch.

“That must be the plane from Miami,” he said. “It’s late.”