The Case of the Blonde Bonanza

CHAPTER ONE

Because Della Street, Perry Mason's confidential secretary, was spending a two-week vacation with an aunt who lived at Bolero Beach, the lawyer, having consulted with a client in San Diego, drove by on the way home. Since it was Saturday, and a beautiful day, a little persuasion on Della Street 's part, plus a dinner invitation from Aunt Mae, caused the lawyer to stop over at the Bolero Hotel.

"Moreover," Della Street had pointed out, "you can then drive me back on Monday morning."

"Is this a pitch to get a ride back," Mason asked, "or a scheme on the part of you and Mae to get me to take a vacation?"

"Both," she retorted. "Any lawyer who gets so busy he regards a Saturday afternoon and a Sunday as being a vacation needs to be taken in hand. Aunt Mae has promised one of her chicken and dumpling dinners, the beach will be thronged with bathing beauties, and I have, moreover, a mystery."

"You won't need the mystery," Mason said. "Surf, sand, sunshine, bathing beauties, and one of Mae's chicken-dumpling dinners make the law business seem drab and uninviting, the air of the office stale and the perusal of law books a chore. I'll stay over."

"Then," she said, her eyes twinkling, "you're not interested in the mystery."

"I didn't say that," Mason said. "I said you had already established the proper inducement. The mystery is the frosting on the cake-not essential but delightful."

"Put on your trunks and meet me on the beach in half an hour," she said, "and I'll introduce you to the mystery."

"It's animate?"

"It's animate."

"Two legs or four?"

"Two-and wait until you see them."

"I'll be there in twenty minutes," Mason promised, and actually made it in eighteen.

He found Della Street stretched out on the sand under the shade of a beach umbrella.

"And now?" he asked, surveying her sun-tanned figure approvingly.

"She should be along any minute now," Della Street said. "It's almost noon… Are you hungry?"

"Ravenous," he said, "but in view of Mae's promise of chicken and dumplings I want to restrain my appetite for the time being."

"I'm afraid," she said, "you're going to have to eat something- Wait a minute, here she comes now."

Della Street indicated a curvaceous blonde walking slowly down the strip of wet sand at the margin of the waves.

"See it?" she asked.

"Every visible inch of it," Mason said.

"Did I misjudge the legs?"

"Second most beautiful pair on the beach. I presume the mystery is, why does she always walk alone?"

"That's only one of the mysteries. Would you like to leave our things here and follow her?"

"Are they safe?"

"It's a private beach and I haven't had any trouble. Terry-cloth robes, sandals and reading material seem to remain in place."

"Let's go," Mason said.

"The young woman in question," Della Street said, "is wending her way to the lunchroom."

"And we follow?"

"We follow. It's a snack bar and open-air lunchroom for bathers. You can get very good food."

"And how do we pay for it?" Mason asked, looking down at his bathing trunks.

"If you're registered at the hotel, you sign a chit. If you're not registered, but are a member of the beach club, you can also sign."

"You promised to introduce me to the mystery," Mason said, as they moved toward the lunchroom.

"Notice," she said, "that I promised to introduce you to the mystery-not to the young woman."

"There's a distinction?"

"Very much so. Like that between the corpus delicti and the corpse. As you have pointed out so many times, the average individual thinks that the corpus delicti in a murder case is the corpse. Actually, the expression, if I remember your statements correctly, relates to the body of the crime rather than the body of the victim."

"And so," Mason said, "I take it I am introduced only to the mystery and not to the body to which the mystery pertains."

"From this point on," Della Street said, as they entered the lunchroom, "you're on your own. However, I may point out that during the whole ten days I have been watching her she has remained unescorted. This is indicative of the fact she is not easy."

"And of what does the mystery consist?" Mason asked.

"What do you think of her figure?"

"I believe the expression," Mason said, "is wellstacked."

"You would gather that perhaps she was fighting a weight problem?"

"One would say that weight and whistles were her two major problems in life."

"All right," Della Street said, "she's seated in that booth over there. If you'll sit in this one, you can look across and see what she orders. You won't believe it," she warned.

Mason and Della Street ordered toasted baked ham sandwiches and coffee, settled back on the waterproof cushions, and, after a few minutes" wait, saw the voluptuous blonde in the booth across the way being served with what seemed to be a glass of milk.

"That certainly seems abstemious enough," Mason said.

"For your information," Della Street said, "that is a glass of half milk and half cream. I bribed the information from the waitress-and you haven't seen anything yet."

The blonde in the bathing suit slowly drank the contents of the glass. Then the waitress brought her a sizzling steak, French fried potatoes and a salad, followed by apple pie alamode and two candy bars.

"I presume the candy bars are to keep her from getting hungry until tea time," Mason said.

"You don't know the half of it," Della Street said. "She'll be back here at about four o'clock for tea. She'll have a chocolate sundae and a piece of rich cake. Her tea will consist of a chocolate malted milk."

Mason cocked a quizzical eyebrow. "You seem to have taken an undue interest."

"Undue!" she exclaimed, "I'm fascinated! I told you I bribed the waitress. They're talking about it in the kitchen. The help have totaled the calories consumed each day and the result is what would be referred to in Hollywood as supercolossal."

"It takes that to keep the figure at its proper level?" Mason asked.

"Level is not exactly the word," she said. "The figure is noticeably growing. But wait until she signs the chit and leaves the booth-then see what she does."

The blonde finished with her dessert, signed the check, picked up the two candy bars, and walked toward the entrance. On the way, she detoured long enough to stand on a pair of scales which had a huge dial with a rotating hand.

Della Street said, "That's nearly five pounds in the last eight days."

"You've been watching?"

"I've been watching and marveling. The girl seems to be making a desperate, deadly, determined effort to put on weight, and she's carrying plenty already."

"How long has this been going on, Miss Sherlock Holmes?" Mason asked.

"For about two weeks, according to the waitress."

"This information was readily volunteered?" Mason asked.

"In return for a five-dollar tip."

Mason said musingly, "It's a situation that's worth looking into."

"You've certainly looked the situation over," Della Street said, as the blonde went through the door.

"And what does she do now?" Mason asked.

"She has a beach umbrella and she lies down, dozes and reads."

"No exercise?"

"Oh, yes-enough exercise to give her a healthy appetite. And while your untrained masculine eye may not appreciate the fact, Mr. Perry Mason, her bathing suit is being stretched to the limit. It was tight enough to begin with, and now it seems to be about to burst-in both directions."

"You've told your Aunt Mae about this?" Mason asked.

"I discussed it with her two or three times, and Mae came down with me yesterday to see it for herself."

"Mae doesn't know her?" Mason asked.

Della Street said thoughtfully, "I think she does, Perry. She had a smug smile on her face. She kept her dark glasses on while we were in the booth and sat back under my umbrella. I think she was trying to keep the blonde from seeing and recognizing her."

"But Mae didn't admit anything?"

"Nothing. She's been busy planning the details of the chicken-dumpling feed with all of the fixings."

Mason signed the chit for their meal, said, "There must be a gag tied in with it somewhere, some sort of a publicity stunt."

"I know," Della Street said, "but what in the world could it be?"

"She is always alone?"

"She keeps away from all of the beach wolves. And that," Della Street announced, "is rather difficult."

"I take it," Mason said, "that you haven't been entirely successful."

"Perhaps," she said, "I haven't tried quite so determinedly. However, I let everyone know I was keeping Saturday and Sunday wide open for you."

"Evidently you felt sure you could persuade me to stay over," Mason said.

She smiled. "Let's put it this way, Mr. Perry Mason. I felt certain that if you didn't stay over I wouldn't have a completely disastrous afternoon or a danceless evening."

Mason said musingly, "Apple pie alamode… chocolate malted milk… there simply has to be a catch in it somewhere, Della-and there's an irresistible body meeting an immovable bathing suit. Something is bound to happen."

"We could, of course, open a branch office here at the beach."

"I'm afraid our clients wouldn't come that far, Della."

"Well," Della Street predicted, "a bathing suit can only stretch so far."