The Talmage Powell Crime MEGAPACK™: 20 Classic Mysteries!

Rivals

Originally published in Manhunt, October 1958.

In the deck chair Lissa stretched her long, slim legs before her and wondered why she loved Carl enough to kill for him.

He was at the helm of the speeding cruiser, his yachting cap at a rakish angle, his white t-shirt stretched tight across the muscles of his shoulders, back, and upper arms. He wore white trousers to match the shirt and white duck shoes to match the trousers.

As the cruiser sliced through the salty green water of the Gulf, Lissa studied Carl, knowing she would find no reason for her decision in the outer man. He was not a really handsome man. His features were all too pronounced and coldly blunt. His lips were heavy, his eyes almost cruel. He was a very dark man, and very hairy. The long black hair gleamed in the brilliant sun on the backs of his hands and arms.

Lissa felt the animal magnetism of the man even as she sat looking at him. And he became handsome. Feeling the inner power of him, his features took on a softer cut. But still, he was remote. And perhaps there lay the reason. He was a world unto himself. Lissa had felt that the first moment she’d met him. He could be completely selfish. He could make the slightest concession or gesture of tenderness to a woman seem like an act of earth-shaking importance. Somehow, he could make a woman weak with gratitude just for a gentle touch of his hand.

He was also very wealthy. But that was only a part of it. He had been born with money, and with his physical strength and the money to back him up, he could afford to be an arrogant, overbearing man.

But I could be his without so much money, Lissa thought, although it’s nice to live in a world of luxury.

He was generous, but he handed out his money only because there was so much of it. But his kind of generosity didn’t underline her reasons for committing murder.

He despised just about all people. He saw their weaknesses, where he had none. He met a great number of people who groveled before his money, and he had never groveled to any man.

He possessed no great humanitarian traits to inspire a woman to the supreme act for his sake.

The question was a knife in her mind now. Why do I intend to kill Jocelin?

Because he’s mine.

There the crux of the thing lay. There’d been a steady parade of women, like toys, in Carl’s life. He could have his pick. He’d never married and probably never would. Women like Jocelin were always seeking him out. He looked upon them with a mingling of cynicism and contempt; and they were too stupid to realize it.

No woman had ever interested him for long.

Except me, Lissa thought.

He’s mine.

I simply intend to keep him.

That’s all there was to it.

She lifted her gaze to Jocelin, who lay on her stomach on the foredecking.

You have about one hour of life left, dear.

Jocelin was a strikingly beautiful woman even in the Gulf Coast resort city of Sarasota where beauty, spawned in luxury, is little more than commonplace.

Jocelin was tall, slender, and dark. With the figure of a Venus, the face of a madonna, and the morals of an alley cat. She was the kind of woman who lived enwrapped in her sleek inner satisfaction. She petted herself with a self-delight and self-assurance that was unholy.

Right now she was wearing a white bathing suit that was startling against her deep tan. She turned slowly and sat up, almost as if she had felt the weight of Lissa’s gaze.

The eyes of the two women met and a thin smile came to life on Jocelin’s full red mouth. She looked at the golden blonde beauty with a sneer for something that was second rate. A little gleam of triumph was in her eyes.

A small red explosion took place inside Lissa’s head as the silent communication of rivalry and hate continued.

Lissa was trembling with hatred.

Never had she hated anyone so much.

And there was the second part of the reason. Killing Jocelin was going to be a pleasure.

Under the bright sun and kind beauty of the deep blue sky the cruiser cut its way past Longboat key. There in the distance, solid and pleasant, stood the pastel houses and private docks with bobbing cruisers. The surf whispered lazily against the pure whiteness of the beach. The cruiser turned in a long arc away from the key, its prow showering glittering jewels of spray, its wake a path of silver. A swooping pelican gliding over the cruiser spread his webbed feet and came to a skiing contact with the water. He folded his wings, shook himself, and bobbed contentedly, as if the beauty of the whole scene were plucked out of heaven itself.

Lissa felt the wave of redness leave her brain, and her vision cleared. Her head still pounded a little at the temples.

She broke the interlocking of gazes and glanced at Carl. A pulse jumped in her throat. He was looking at her, then at Jocelin, as if the two-way silent conversation of hate had become a three-way communication. His eyes were narrow and cold.

“Fix me a drink,” he said.

“Yes, Carl,” Lissa said, getting out of the deck chair.

Jocelin smiled faintly and patted a yawn with the back of her hand. “I’ll have scotch on the rocks, darling.”

Lissa was trembling when she went into the small, gleaming stainless steel and chrome galley below deck. “I’ll have scotch, darling,” she mimicked as she raged inwardly. “Enjoy your scotch, you cheap pig. Enjoy every last moment you’ve got left.”

Lissa fixed the drinks and carried them up on deck. As she came up, the breeze, light as feathers, ran its fingers through her hair and touched her fevered cheek lightly.

The breeze helped. So did the drink.

She wouldn’t have another. She must have a completely clear head and all her resources for the act ahead.

It would be very simple.

Lissa had the agility of a tawny amphibious animal in the water, and an ability to hold her breath that would have brought admiration from a pearl-diving South Seas native.

Once they were in the water, Jocelin simply couldn’t match her.

“Here you are, darling,” she handed Carl his drink. She could feel the weight of his eyes on her. She gave him a smile. It brought no change to his face.

With a forced lightness, she turned and rounded the flying bridge of the cruiser to pass a drink to Jocelin.

“Is it poisoned, darling?” Jocelin asked softly, not loud enough for Carl, at the helm, to hear.

“Of course it is,” Lissa said.

Jocelin laughed, sipped the drink, and said, “Why don’t you give up? You haven’t a chance, you know.”

“I don’t care to discuss it.”

“Why not? You’ll have to sometime — unless you are capable of bowing out with grace.” Jocelin looked at her over the rim of her glass. “Don’t be such a greedy minx, Lissa. You’ve had him far longer than anyone else.”

“Long enough for it to become an unbreakable habit,” Lissa said.

Jocelin sighed. “It’s really going to be quite painful for you, poor dear.”

Uninterested in any reply Lissa might make, Jocelin turned forward, lay on her stomach, propped on her elbows, her drink held in her two hands.

Lissa looked at the dark tanned back and felt dizzy for a moment. It’s going to be sweet, she thought, so very damned sweet.

She didn’t return to her deck chair. She stood on the foredeck a moment, little droplets of spray catching on her tight blue bathing suit like rhinestones.

She held the thought of the future moment in her mind. It had been easy to arrange it. Jocelin had been more than willing to go when Lissa had suggested the jaunt last night.

Lissa turned, went to the bridge and stood beside Carl. He was remote, giving no indication he knew she was there. He stood solidly on his rather short muscular legs, handling the boat with the touch of a master, like a man who feels stronger than the sea itself.

She wished he would say something. Anything. He said nothing, and the old burn began to grow in her. It was a devil inside her. It lashed her senses and seethed within her flesh. It made her willing to do anything to have him admit she was there, flesh and blood. A desirable woman. A human being.

She laid her hand lightly on his arm.

He looked at her. “Having fun?”

“I always do.”

“That’s one thing I’ve always liked about you, Lissa.”

“Boredom and me,” she said. “We don’t mix.”

She went aft and sat down, feeling buoyed up, as if from a victory.

Carl looked back long enough to take a sighting from two landmarks. He turned the boat a little, until he had the angle he wanted between the tall, white water tower, a tiny bulb in the distance on its spidery stilts, and the final channel marker. Then he headed the boat into the open Gulf and the land fell below the horizon.

They were quite alone on the endless, swelling, falling sea. The other boats had gone further north today, to the waters off Mullet Key, where mackerel had been reported running.

No friends around. No other eyes.

Just the three of us.

Carl throttled down the cruiser’s twin Continentals. The engines putted softly and the boat rose and fell with the gentle sighing of the Gulf.

“I guess this is it,” he said.

Lissa’s heart throbbed with fear and anticipation.

Jocelin had come aft and put on a face mask. “Sure I can get a giant snapper?”

“No guarantee,” Carl said. “But you’ve got a good chance. A lot of snapper and sheepshead around the old wreck down there. Really monstrous sheepshead.”

“I’ll leave them for Lissa,” Jocelin said, the veneer of a smile on her face as she glanced at Lissa.

Sheepshead, Lissa thought. I know what she means. Lissa can have the sheep.

Side by side they stood on the aft decking, over the baitwells. The baitwells were always empty. They’d never been filled since Carl had bought the boat. Carl had only contempt for tackle fishing.

Carl stayed at the helm, keeping the drift of the boat corrected.

“One shot only,” he said. “Then I’ll show you how to haul the granddaddy of all snappers out.” Lissa stood inhaling through her mouth, deeply and rapidly, charging her blood with oxygen. Jocelin went into the water like a sleek blade. Lissa counted four seconds and followed her dive.

As she shot down through the clean green world of water, Lissa saw Jocelin ahead of her.

Ten, fifteen, twenty feet down. Lissa felt the pressure on her eardrums and the little needles that reached out into her brain. A small fish backed off and stared at her.

Below were the shadowy outlines of the old wreck. She lay on her side, covered with moss, half buried in sand, one broken mast sticking out like a finger, yawning holes in her decks and planking. She’d been a proud one, sailing these waters when Florida was young.

The driving flippers on her feet drove Lissa closer to Jocelin. Jocelin was intent on the wreck below, as if determined to get in the first shot and bring the first snapper to surface.

A sheepshead, enormous for his breed, drifted up out of the old hull through a hole in the deck. He was big game, but Jocelin ignored him, and Lissa stayed close behind Jocelin.

The big snapper came drifting over the prow of the wreck. He floated gently, in curiosity. He backed away with slow movements of his fins as Jocelin glided to a standstill in the water.

Jocelin fired, missed, and the big fish wheeled with, great speed and was gone in the greenery of water and waving seaweed.

Now, Lissa thought.

She fired.

Straight into the old timbers. The missile struck and embedded its barbed steel head deeply. Lissa snapped the line tight around her left wrist.

Now that she was anchored to the bottom, she threw herself against Jocelin and clamped Jocelin’s slender neck tight in the crook of her right elbow.

We shall see who is stronger...

Jocelin froze, stunned by Lissa’s attack. Then she came to explosive life. She twisted her body. She clawed at Lissa’s arm. She was a thrashing fish. Much bigger game than a sheepshead.

Lissa felt the struggling body grow limp. Jocelin made a last feeble attempt to pull Lissa’s arm free of her throat. Then Jocelin was draped over her arm, arms, head, and legs dangling, her hair a black cloud floating about her face.

A ringing had begun in Lissa’s ears, but she couldn’t surface yet.

With the line, she pulled herself and Jocelin down to the rotting hole. Where timbers had broken jaggedly, she wedged Jocelin’s ankle until it was secure. Jocelin bobbed against the wreckage like a figurehead that had come to life only to go down with the ship she had adorned.

Lissa felt the blood boiling in her veins. Everything was growing dim and far away. Hard steel spikes were being driven through her chest.

For a moment, she was lost.

She almost opened her mouth to suck in a great gasp of air.

Panic hit her, and cleared her head.

She freed her wrist of the line and started up. She could see sunlight shafting down into the water. It seemed so very far away...

Her face broke water, and air burned into her lungs. She closed her eyes, gulping greedily.

If I’d been five feet further down, I never would have made it. I haven’t the strength left to swim a single stroke. Now Carl will help me into the boat and I shall tell him about the accident.

She opened her eyes and looked around. Then she screamed. Her wild gaze followed the wake of the boat. She saw Carl look back and give her a tired, bored wave. Then Carl and the boat were gone.