The ice cold nude

chapter eight

It was the same kind of day with the sun shining from a cloudless blue sky, a gentle breeze drifting in off the ocean—the whole bit. The split-level house hadn’t changed, I still had to walk up forty steps to get to it. I sniffed the scent of hibiscus as I pulled the rope that rang the antique brass bell. The same brown-skinned brunette greeted me, only today she was dressed differently. The blue-green satin swimsuit had been replaced by a beach dress made of white sharkskin, with a demure neckline, loose-fitting, and slit wide and high, revealing a disturbing length of bronzed thigh.

The sloe eyes looked at me almost keenly for a while, but this time the profile produced no flicker of approval. I had a sudden, sure feeling that for Myra Rutter, Danny Boyd was strictly past tense.

“Come on in,” she said finally. “James called and said you were coming out. You beat him out here, but I guess he’ll be along any time now.”

I followed her into the house, through to the enormous living room. “Sit down, Danny,” she said. “I’ll make the drinks this time, for a change.” There was a faint, mocking smile on her lips as she sauntered across to the bar. “I’m glad for your sake that you’re on time,” she went on, busy with the glasses. “James hates people who are late for business appointments—I think it’s always just as well to know people’s idiosyncracies, don’t you?”

87

She turned around and walked toward me, carrying the two glasses carefully. The smile on her face broadened. “Especially when you’re working for them. I mean, being nice to the boss is always terribly important to an employee, isn’t it?”

I took the drink from her outstretched hand, and she sat down beside me, but very much at the far end of the couch, and crossed her legs with a deliberate disdain of the startling length of thigh the action revealed.

“Do you find James a hard man to work for, Danny?” she asked casually. “I mean, do you have to call him ‘sir,’ or anything?”

She had given me a stinger without bothering to ask what I wanted. Yesterday I had been a free man and could make my own drinks—today I was her husband’s hired man and I’d damn well drink what I was given. Now I knew why the profile had suddenly lost its appeal.

“Mostly I call him ‘Mr. Rutter, sir’ ” I said idly. “He seems to like that—and I don’t want to lose a wonderful job like this. The fringe benefits are enormous—once I’d signed a declaration promising I wouldn’t try and seduce his wife any more, I got an expense account and six credit cards, a large block of stock, and four weeks every year in Las Vegas with the receptionist, all expenses paid.”

Myra sipped her drink slowly, then shrugged. “I’m disappointed in you, Danny. I was impressed with that act you put on at the pool yesterday. For the first time in my life I thought I’d met a man who wasn’t scared of my husband. Then I found out James used one of the oldest techniques going—if you can’t beat them, buy them—and now you’re just another employee!”

I heard the front door open and close, then the sound of swift, confident footsteps coming down the hall. A moment later Rutter came into the room, saving me the chore of countering Myra’s interpretation of the deal I’d made with her husband.

“Glad you got here, Boyd.” The slate-gray eyes stared at me with their usual arctic warmth. “One thing I always insist on is punctuality.”

“Yes, Mr. Rutter, sir,” I said politely, and Myra giggled suddenly.

His eyes narrowed and a faint flush showed up under his tanned skin. “Are you trying to be funny?” he grated harshly.

“Your wife was just explaining to me, before you came in, that you always like an employee who’s both punctual and polite,” I said easily. “I was on time already, so now I’m trying the politeness jazz because I’m plugging for a raise and promotion to an executive level where I can get to make my secretary on company time.”

“What kind of crap is this?” he rasped. “You don’t work for me and you never will—Hell can freeze over first! We agreed on a proposition, that’s all. If it works out, you get paid—and if it doesn’t, then the hell with you, Boyd! Understand?”

I nodded gravely, then looked at Myra with a deadpan face. “Understand?” I asked her.

“Understood!” She nodded gravely in return, but there was a sudden flicker of interest in her eyes.

“Are you two fried already?” Rutter asked in a bewildered voice. “At midday, by God! Just how long have you been here, Boyd?”

“Maybe ten minutes,” I said, “but I’m a fast drinker.” “But not on stingers,” Myra added. She got onto her feet gracefully and lifted the glass out of my hand. “What would you like to drink, Danny?”

“A vodka martini would be fine,” I answered, “with no fruit or vegetables.”

“You can get me the same,” Rutter growled. He watched her walk across to the bar, the comers of his mouth turning down at the studied deliberation of her swiveling hips. “Why can’t you ever get dressed properly in the daytime?” he asked irritably. “What the hell is that thing you’re wearing, anyway? It’s indecent!”

“It’s a beach dress, darling,” she said, with her back turned toward him as she made the drinks. “An awful lot of people wear them—mostly girls, of course.”

“Is that supposed to be funny?” he snarled.

“Just factual.” Her voice was unconcerned. “What would you like me to wear around the house?—a ball gown?”

“Something like most of the other women wear—a blouse and skirt maybe—I don’t give a goddamn, just so you don’t expose quite so much of yourself the whole time.”

“You want me to play Louise Lamont for you, darling?” she purred silkily. “I’m flattered! I guess a girl has to be in a blouse and skirt before she looks sexy to you. If you like, I’ll carry a pad and pencil around with me all the time I’m in the house, and we can make love in shorthand—that’s your special kick, isn’t it?”

“You filthy slut!” he said thickly. “Just keep right on going and you know what you’ll get, don’t you?”

She turned around with a drink in each hand and smiled at him with open derision. “Are you going to be athletic again, darling, and slap me in the teeth?”

I figured this was about where I came in the previous day, and working through that routine again held no enchantment in store.

“What was it you wanted to talk to me about anyway?” I asked quickly.

Rutter snatched the drink out of his wife’s hand, then glared at me while he tried to contain his fury. “About what happened last night,” he said finally. “I read what the papers said, but that wasn’t too much. You were right in the middle of it, weren’t you?”

“Too close for comfort,” I agreed.

“So I wanted to hear it from you—in detail.”

Myra put the fresh drink in my hand, then sat down, real close beside me this time, with her thigh pressed firmly against mine. I shifted uneasily, then launched into the story I was getting tired of hearing myself.

Rutter gaped at me for a few seconds when I finally got through with all the detail. “My God! It’s fantastic.” “You’re not telling me a thing,” I said feelingly.

“So all the time Louise was working with this Byers character,” he said slowly. “Then after they*d gotten the tiara, Byers found out she was cheating on him with Estell? So he killed her and last night when Estell couldn’t find the tiara in Byers’ apartment he got so mad about it he killed him. Is that the way you see it, Boyd?”

“It’s logical,” I said. “But where’s the real tiara?”

“How the hell would I know!” he snapped.

“It was a rhetorical question,” I said wearily, “but never mind. What I mean is, you’d expect Byers to have it. The police ripped his apartment into small pieces but they haven’t found it.”

“Maybe he hid it somewhere?” Rutter said vaguely. “The hell with the damn thing. I’m not concerned about that. What I want to know is how the police feel about it? Has Byers being murdered taken me off the hook?” Having lost one client already that morning because he figured he didn’t need me any more, I wasn’t about to create the same feeling in the only client I had left.

“No,” I said shaking my head regretfully. “The way Schell sees it, you killed Louise okay, but she’d already told Byers too much about you and how she’d blackmailed you into the contest deal. So he figures you had to shut Byers’ mouth permanently before he decided to talk to the police.”

“He must be out of his mind!” Rutter said uncertainly. Then a sudden suspicion showed in his eyes. “Wait a minute—if Schell’s so goddamned convinced I did it, why didn’t he question me about it? I haven’t heard from him even in twenty-four hours—he hasn’t even asked me for an alibi for whenever Byers was killed!”

I shook my head admiringly. “That Schell! He’s a very subtle cop. You see how cute he’s playing it? He figures he wants you feeling nice and safe—confident you’ve gotten away with it and all—then at exactly the right psychological moment he’ll jump on you with both feet!”

Some of the color ebbed from Rutter’s face, and he finished his martini in two quick gulps. “The man’s a maniac!” he said thickly. “You’ll have to work fast, Boyd! Either prove that Byers killed Louise and Estell killed Byers, or come up with whoever killed both of them. Either way I don’t give a damn—just prove my innocence, that’s all!”

“I’m working on it,” I said with a hell of a lot more confidence than I felt. “While I’m here, I’d like to check a couple of facts over with you.”

“Sure,” he said eagerly. “Anything, anything at all.” “Yesterday you said the beauty contest was your idea maybe, or maybe it was Louise’s idea in the first place. You didn’t remember, you said, and you got awful vague very quick—like the question embarrassed you somehow.”

“Is it that important—who came up with the idea first?” he snarled.

“I think it is,” I snarled back at him. “But it’s your neck we’re trying to save, not mine!”

“All right,” he said reluctantly. “It was an embarrassing question and I guess I’ll have to tell you why. One morning I went to see Machin in his office and he was out. I got talking to his secretary—Patty Lamont— Louise’s sister. She suddenly came up with the idea of a beauty contest as a promotional gimmick and it sounded good to me. I told her what I thought, and she should tell Machin about it. Maybe her boss didn’t rate with her right then, because she kind of giggled nervously, then said why didn’t I tell Machin about it, and pretend it was my own idea. The obvious implication was it would worry the hell out of Machin that he hadn’t thought of it first. So that’s what I did—I have to admit the idea of putting one over did appeal—”

“Naturally,” Myra said.

“What about the promotional tie-in with Elmo’s jewelry store? was that Patty’s, too?” I asked.

“No, sir!” He shook his head firmly. “Like I told you yesterday, that was definitely Machin’s.” His chest expanded suddenly as he took a deep breath. “Is all this so terribly significant?”

“Very,” I said, making like mysterious. “I have a feeling it’s vital.”

Rutter suddenly thrust his empty glass toward Myra. “Get me another drink,” he said shortly. “I need it.”

She got up from the couch, took the glass from his hand, and did a slow-motion jiggle across to the bar, it was wasted on Rutter—he didn’t even notice it.

“Did you ever get to see any of Louise’s paintings?” I asked him.

He shook his head. “She never had any—liked to keep her walls clear, she always said.”

“I mean anything she painted herself while she was going to those art classes?” I persisted.

He did a double take. “Louise—art classes!” He laughed shortly. “You’ve got the wrong girl, Boyd. Television was a little too intellectual for her, even. She never went to an art class in her life!”

“Sure, she did,” I said. “That’s where she met Byers.” “You can prove that?” he asked eagerly.

“Sure—I checked with the academy yesterday. They have her name on the register.”

“That’s good.” He took the fresh drink offered him by Myra without even noticing it, and drank greedily. “That’s good work, Boyd! Keep at it—I want results before that fool of a lieutenant does anything stupid.” “Sure I will,” I said solemnly.

He finished the drink and put the empty glass back into Myra’s hand. “Another?” Her voice was sardonic.

“No”—he glanced at his watch—“I have to get back to the plant. Any more questions, Boyd?”

“No, that’s all,” I told him.

“Well,” he smiled, almost happily. “I can see you’re making progress and I’m impressed!”

“I even made lunch for you,” Myra said coolly. “You might as well stay and have it, now you’re here.”

He checked his watch again, then shook his head. “No time. I’ve got an appointment at two and this guy’s important to me—can’t afford to be late. I’ll have to run.” “All right.” Myra shrugged resignedly. “I tried to be the good little housewife.”

“And you did very well, my dear,” he said, good-hum-oredly. “I should get home around seven tonight.” He started toward the door at a fast pace.

“Hold it!” I got onto my feet. “I’ll walk down with you, Rutter.”

He hesitated for a moment, without turning his head to look at me. “No need to do that, Boyd.” His voice was immensely casual. “I brought you all the way out here in the first place—it doesn’t seem fair to hound you right back, somehow. Why don’t you stay for a while and eat some of that lunch Myra’s got all ready?” His laugh was fine, but a fraction off key, “You’re my private army, Boyd, and an army always marches on its stomach, right?” He’d reached the door by then and kept right on going, walking very quickly. A second later I heard the front door shut.

The room was suddenly very quiet. I sat down on the couch again, lit a cigarette, picked up my half-finished drink, and finally looked up to meet the steady gaze of those sloe eyes.

“So what’s for lunch?” I said awkwardly.

Myra smiled slowly, her eyes wryly amused at the embarrassed nervousness of my voice.

“Congratulations,” she said. “You just got promoted to be an executive of the company!”

“You mean you have an executive lunch waiting in the kitchen?”

“You know damn well exactly what I mean, Danny Boyd,” she said calmly, “and it has nothing to do with lunch.”

Her eyes were getting that transparent look again revealing the well-banked furnace that must bum unceasingly in back of them. She came across to the couch and sat down beside me, her hands folded in her lap. “I’ll wait,” she said in a demure voice.

“Huh?”

“Until you’ve finished your cigarette—and your drink.” “Then what?”

She thought about it for a moment then stood up again. “I’ll give you a little demonstration and maybe you won’t take so long about that drink.”

She folded one arm behind her back and unzipped the beach dress, shrugged her arms clear, then let the dress fall slowly to the floor. That left her wearing a white bra and nylon briefs that fit snug and were very brief.

“Now you get the idea?” she said, grinning at me satani-cally. “Don’t try to kid me you didn’t get the idea right from the start?”

“How could I miss?” I said. “It was handed to me on a large plate.”

“James isn’t exactly the subde type, is he?” She was genuinely amused. “Suddenly he has great faith in you —the thought of that big rough lieutenant is enough to make him turn green!—and right now you’ve got him convinced that you’re the only one who can save him. So for the moment anything you want is yours for the asking, or like now, you don’t have to ask, even!”

I finished the drink, mashed the cigarette, and got onto my feet. Myra swayed a little toward me, enough to throw her off balance so she had to lean her whole body hard against mine.

“Why don’t we go into the guest room?” she asked in a soft voice. “I guarantee this time there will be no interruptions!”

“It’s a wonderful thought, honey,” I said sincerely, “and I could only wish there had been no interruptions yesterday.”

A puzzled look showed on her face for a moment. “What are you talking about, Danny?”

I put my hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her back into an upright position again. “I’m sorry about the lunch,” I said lightly, “but I have to go now.” She still didn’t get it. “What’s the matter with you?” Her voice was tolerant. “Didn’t you get all the signals loud and clear? James gave you the royal invitation along with the royal approval. This is official, Danny! You have the master’s consent.”

“I know,” I said regretfully. “That’s the trouble with it.” Myra frowned. “Trouble?”

“I’ve met some sons of bitches in my time,” I grated, “but I’ll be damned if I’ll take any favors from the biggest I ever met—one who figures he’ll make me a present of his wife without even consulting her first!”

She laughed with tolerant amusement. “Who the hell cares one way or the other, Danny? Never mind James— if I didn’t go along with the deal, it wouldn’t work whatever he said. So forget him!”

“It’s not that easy, honey,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

The smile slowly faded from her face. “You mean you’re not going to—you won’t?”

“I’m sorry,” I repeated, “and I won’t.”

“I’ve met some strange ones in my time,” she said slowly, “But, brother! You top them all.”

I walked around her and kept on going toward the hall and had reached the front door when I heard the soft patter of feet coming along behind me. I had the door open when she called out, “Danny!”

I turned my head and looked at her. Her face was very pale under the tan, and there was nothing in her eyes but a sudden unsureness.

“Danny,” she said tautly, “it won’t make any difference—you know that? He’ll believe it happened, anyway.” “I know,” I said dully.

“Well, then?” She faltered for a moment. “Why are you running out on me?”

“I’m not sure I can explain it to make sense,” I said carefully. “I know he’ll believe it happened, anyway— and I want him to.”

“I just don’t understand you at all, Danny Boyd,” she said bleakly. “Maybe I don’t appeal to you any more, is that it?”

“I feel the same way about you as I did yesterday,” I said truthfully. “And my feelings toward you have nothing to do with it at all.”

“Then—why?”

“Can’t you understand?” I snarled. “I don’t want that son of a bitch doing me any favors!”