The Case of the Haunted Husband

Chapter 4

Horty looked down at Stephane’s blonde hair spilled out on the Pillow. “You are a mess,” she said.

Stephane smiled. “I feel it. I ache everywhere.”

“You are lucky nothing is broken. Some bad bruises and a few stitches in your leg. A cut on your shoulder, but it has all patched up nicely.”

“Any scars?”

“Not where they will show, unless you take up fan dancing.”

“I might at that,” Stephane said, “My mouth feels like a hotel room after a salesmen’s convention has moved out. What happened?”

“You are in a jam” Horty said.

“I shall say I am. I came down here to get a job, and here I am laid up. How long will it be before I can get out, Horty? Give me the real low-down.”

Horty was in the late twenties, and weighed a hundred and fifty. Her figure didn’t bulge. She carried her weight in comfortable curves which attracted the masculine eye. There was bubbling good nature in her eyes, a smile always twisting the corners of her lips. She perpetually found something in life to laugh at. The broad-minded tolerance of her outlook enabled her to see humor in any situation. She was never insulted, never shocked, never annoyed. She took life in her stride, ate what she wanted when she wanted, and never worried. “Sure, men like slender, willowy figures,” she said. “They also like good nature. Good nature goes with upholstery. And I like food. So there you are.” And Horty never suffered for any lack of men friends. Men were always taking her out, starting in as good pals and winding up in the grip of fascination which made other women seem insipid.

“Come on, Horty,” Stephane said. “How long?”

Horty looked down at her. The smile quit trembling at the corners of her mouth, but her eyes still showed humor. “You must have been pretty high,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“Stealing the guy’s car.”

“Stealing a car! What are you talking about?”

“Didn’t you grab the buzz buggy?” Horty asked.

“Good heavens, no. I was riding...”

“There was liquor on your breath.”

“Yes, he kept after me until I took a drink.”

“But you were driving the car.”

“I was doing no such thing, Hortense Zitkousky.”

Horty’s eyes became grave. “You wouldn’t kid an old friend, would you?”

“Of course not.”

Horty looked around the room, lowered her voice. “It is okay, Stephane. The nurse is out.”

“I tell you I wasn’t driving that car.”

“When they found you, you were behind the wheel.”

Sudden realization came to Stephane’s mind. “I was, at that,” she admitted. “I remember that much. What happened to the man?”

“What man?”

“The man who was with me — who was driving the car.”

Horty shook her head.

“Anybody hurt?” Stephane asked.

“Lots of people. Some of them bad. You sideswiped into a car on the right, went directly toward a car coming in your direction, raked across its front, and sent it over into the other line of traffic. It was a hit head-on. Then you went on down the bank, turned over four or five times, and came to rest right on the edge of a sheer drop. It was a wonder you didn’t burn to a crisp.”

“But I wasn’t driving that car. Who owns it?”

“Some big shot in Hollywood. It was stolen yesterday afternoon.”

“Yesterday... What day is this?”

“Thursday.”

“It was really stolen, Horty?”

“Uh-huh.”

Stephane tried to sit up, then, as she felt the soreness in her muscles dropped back to the pillows. “What a mess,” she moaned.

Horty said, “Oh, it is not so bad. They can’t hook you for stealing the car, if you stick to your story. They can’t prove you were intoxicated. Reckless driving is the worst they can pin on you — unless... look here, Stephane, you didn’t really get high and don’t-careish and steal that car, did you?”

“Don’t be silly. I was thumbing my way down from San Francisco. I can prove I was in San Francisco yesterday morning. I picked up this ride in Bakersfield.”

“The fellow had been drinking?”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

“Not too little, not too much.”

“Pawing?”

“Uh-huh. He was trying to. That is what made the trouble.”

“Look here, Stephane, you wouldn’t kid me. You didn’t think he was drunk, and get him to let you drive? It isn’t someone you are protecting?”

“No, honest Injun.”

Horty’s eyes lost their twinkle. “Well,” she said, “it looks like you are going to need a lawyer.”