Twenty Plus Two

Chapter 17

Alder chuckled as he replaced A the phone on the prongs. He was reaching for it again, when it rang. He winced as he picked it up.

“Darling,” he said, “in five minutes.”

“You louse,” said Linda. “I’m sitting here waiting and I’m starved.”

“Order and I’ll be up before they bring the food.”

He pushed her door buzzer in ten minutes. She opened the door. She had put on a dress, a blue dress with a frilly skirt and a bodice that did nothing to conceal what she had under the dress.

“Wait’ll we’re married,” she said, biting his ear playfully. “I’ll teach you to keep a lady waiting.”

She had a two-room suite, a bedroom and the sitting room. Her eyes flicked to the bedroom, as he put his arms about her and held her tightly.

“Who the hell wants to eat?” she said.

“I’m hungry. I skipped lunch. A man was giving me a fitting for a cement overcoat and I didn’t get a chance to eat.”

“What in the world are you talking about? A cement overcoat.” Then her eyes widened. “Tom, you’re not — in trouble?”

“It doesn’t hurt,” he said, “only when I laugh.”

That one went over her head.

“I don’t know anything about your work. I put my foot in it the other night. I’m not going to do it again. But is it — dangerous?”

“Coming from the airport, the limousine ran a red light. We could have been killed. You can step off the curb outside the hotel and be hit by a car. My job’s as risky as crossing a street.”

“It is bad! That’s what you’re trying to say in your... your usual way.” She pushed away from him. “I... I cut out a piece from the papers about you, Tom. Away back in ’45. When they made you a Captain and gave you the medal. And then — when you were wounded—”

“Tarawa,” he said, “that’s where I almost got it. I got your letter on the ship the day before we hit the beach. The Dear John.”

She put the palm of her hand over his mouth. “If you say that again, I’ll scream. We made an agreement the other night — never to talk about that again.”

It takes two to make an agreement, a fact that Linda had overlooked. She had made the pact. He had not spoken at all.

“That dress,” he said, “it’s very attractive. There isn’t a more beautiful woman than you in the hotel. Let’s eat downstairs. I want to see the other women glaring at you.”

“But I’ve ordered, Tom. You said on the phone—”

“Call Room Service. Cancel it.”

“They’ll charge.”

“You can afford it.”

She looked at him, stepped forward and crushed her lips to his. Then she moved back. “I’ll get a wrap.” She went into the bedroom. He heard her in the closet, then she returned carrying a mink stole.

“What about Nikki? Suppose she calls?”

“Tell the operator we’ll be in the Persian Room.”

A few minutes later they crossed the lobby and entered the Persian Room. It was early, but there were already a number of patrons in the room. Most of them had been seated around the fringes of the room, but the headwaiter led them to a front and center table. They liked to exhibit the important looking patrons. And the beautiful ones, like Linda Foster.

At the adjoining table, alone, sat Leroy Dane.

His eyes flicked to Linda, then to Alder. “Hey, I know you!” he exclaimed. He snapped his fingers. “Hollywood — The Tuilleries — the other night.”

“That’s right. Miss Foster, a friend of mine, Mr. Leroy Dane.”

The motion picture star pushed back his table, sprang to his feet and clicked his heels together. He took Linda’s hand, bowed over it. “Ma’am, you come out to Hollywood and I’ll guarantee my studio’ll sign you pronto. Ain’t seen a more beautiful woman in a year of Tuesdays.”

Linda said, “Thank you, Mr. Dane. I’m a fan of yours and I believe you know my fi — a friend of mine, who belongs to the same golf club. Harris Toomey.”

“Old Harris? Hey, I sure do know him. Handicap of two. Me’n him made the rounds a couple or three times. Shoots a mighty sharp game.” He looked at Alder.

Alder said, “If you’re not meeting anybody, why don’t you join us?”

“Why, I believe I will. Proud, ma’am.”

He sat down and focused his attention on Linda. “How come, ma’am, I never saw you with old Harris? I get around a little once in a while and I’d sure know if I’d met you before.”

“I’m not the athletic type,” said Linda, “but we almost did meet the other evening. At The Tuilleries, the same time you were talking to — to Mr. Alder.”

“I musta been blinder’n a bat in a sack, if I didn’t see you, ma’am. I musta been.”

“You were with a young lady.”

“I was? Can’t remember— Oh, yeah, come to think of it, I was. Just a little something I picked up in a bar, or some such.” He grinned wickedly. He was very good when he showed his even teeth and he knew it. “Back home in West Texas we brand mavericks like that. So we can tell ’em apart from our own stuff. In Hollywood, they let ’em run loose. Just turn ’em out to pasture, let ’em graze wherever the grass is green.”

“You’re a Texan, Mr. Dane?” Alder said.

“Yep. The old Lone Star state’s my home. West of the Pecos, that’s what I used to call my stamping grounds. I was ridin’ cayuses before I could walk. I roped broncs and broke ’em when I was ten years old. And you know what kinda pictures my studio gives me? Big, technicolor Westerns? Not on your life! War stuff. I’m wearin’ uniforms so much I started to salute myself the other day. Air pictures, army pictures, marine pictures — even did a submarine picture. Fire One, Fire Two. Maybe you saw it?”

“You were magnificent in it,” said Linda.

“Nice of you to say it, ma’am. Whup!”

The headwaiter came up with a menu. “Mr. Dane, would you be so good as to sign this for the little lady over there in the corner?”

“My pleasure. When they stop asking me for my autograph, then’s the time to worry. Thank the little lady for me.”

The headwaiter went off with the autographed menu. Dane gave Alder a look then. “You’re an agent in Hollywood, ain’t you? Seems I’ve seen you around.”

Alder shook his head. “I’m not an agent.”

“Business fella?”

“You’re not even warm.”

“I give up.”

“You’ve played scavenger hunt? I’m one of those fellows. I’m a scavenger. I hunt people.”

“Mr. Alder likes to make a joke of everything,” said Linda. “He’s an investigator.”

“Investiga — a detective?”

“No. Nothing as glamorous as that. I search for missing heirs.”

“That’s a job? Missing heirs. I don’t get it.”

“The heirs I find like my work. They collect money.”

“Be damned!” Dane’s eyes flicked back to Linda. “Sorry, ma’am, my worst fault. I swear like a trooper. Habit I had to break when I got out of the Army. Well, I guess I never really did break it.”

“You were in the Air Force, I believe,” said Alder.

“Me a fly-baby? No, sirree. Tanks. Tin buggies. Three years with Omar Bradley’s Tank Corps.”

He was off, but he got only a few sentences further. Two men appeared in the dining room, looked around and came toward the table.

The men were Harris Toomey and Walter Collinson.

Shock froze Linda Foster for an instant. “Darling!” Then she started to get to her feet. She caught herself. Her startled eyes swept to Alder, then back to the approaching Harris Toomey.

“Harris,” she said. “Walt!”

“Linda,” said Walt Collinson.

Harris smiled frostily. “Surprised you.” His eyes went to Leroy Dane. “Mr. Dane—”

“Well, if it ain’t Old Harris,” exclaimed Leroy Dane. “We were just talkin’ about you.”

“Nothing good, I trust,” said Harris Toomey.

He was about forty-five. A tweed coat man. English woolens. He was big, had broad shoulders and a lean waist. A man who took care of himself and had the time.

Walter Collinson was a little shorter than his Princeton roommate. He was slight of build and was beginning to get just a little heavy around his middle. He wore a wrinkled black mohair suit. His hair was graying at the temples. Not so with Harris Toomey. He wore his dark hair long and wavy.

Harris put his hands on Linda’s shoulders, squeezed them. “Don’t get up, dear.”

“Join us,” said Leroy Dane. “We were just sittin’ here, cuttin’ up touches.” To Collinson, “I don’t believe we’ve met, sir.”

“I’m Walter Collinson,” said the multimillionaire simply.

“Collinson? The Walter Collinson? Ships — copper— It’s a pleasure, Mr. Collinson. Didn’t know you were a friend of Old Harris.”

He shook hands enthusiastically. That left Alder.

Toomey said to him, “You’re Linda’s old flame. I’m Harris Toomey.” He did not offer to shake hands, but Walter Collinson turned from Dane.

“How are you Mr. Alder?” He extended his hand. “I hope we’re not intruding.”

“You’re not,” said Alder.

“Thank you. When Linda told me about my wife — well, I had to come right away. Didn’t take time to... to get in shape. Linda, have you heard from her?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Ridiculous!” exclaimed Harris Toomey. “She can’t just disappear.”

“Your wife, Mr. Collinson?” asked Leroy Dane. “Something happen to her?”

“I’m overly alarmed. I’m certain everything will turn out all right. She just gave the wrong hotel, went to sleep, or is spending a day shopping. She always preferred Marshall Field’s to the Coast stores.”

Linda said, “She said the Palmer House. I wasn’t mistaken. She was upset when she called me. I know it.”

“Mr. Collinson,” said Leroy Dane, “I’d like to make a suggestion. Our friend Alder’s a detective. Why don’t we get his opinion?”

“You’re a detective, Alder?” asked Toomey thinly. “How interesting.” To Collinson, “Walt, don’t you think this is just a bit, ah, public? Why don’t we check in — well, talk it over and lay out a plan?”

“I’ll leave,” volunteered Alder.

“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” declared Linda.

“It’s all right,” said Alder. “I’ve a phone call to make.”

“If you go, I go with you!”

“It’s Walt’s feelings I’m considering, Linda,” said Toomey.

Linda pushed back her chair. “Go to hell, old Harris!” She turned, started out of the dining room.

Collinson’s eyes were on Alder as he rose. “I’m sorry, Alder.”

“Look, big boy,” began Harris Toomey.

Alder brushed past him. He followed Linda out of the dining room into the lobby. There he caught her arm. “That’s telling him.”

“I’ll never talk to him again as long as I live,” raged Linda. “He was being deliberately insulting.”

“What do you think I would have done if I’d met Newcombe about the time you and he were—”

She stopped.

“What I said to Harris goes for you. To hell with you — in spades!”

She headed for the elevators. Alder grinned. He had never been fonder of Linda than he was at that moment. He walked to the newsstand, looked at the headlines of the papers and bought a News. Then he strolled to the elevators and entered one of the cars.