Blood on the Stars (4 page)

“That’s good enough for me. You’ve made a sale if you can fix up a policy on that basis.”

Mr.
Voorland
chuckled and smacked over his gum. “Is Earl Randolph in town, Mike?”

“I saw him a couple of days ago.”

“Mr. Randolph is one of the shrewdest appraisers in the business,”
Voorland
told Dustin. “I showed him this bracelet two months ago when I was holding it at two hundred thousand, and he asked for a chance to write a policy on it when I sold it. I’ll get hold of him at once and I’m sure we’ll have no difficulty.”

“In that case, I presume you’d like to have a little cash on the line.” Mark Dustin’s voice was strained, as though he realized for the first time what he was letting himself in for. He reached in a side pocket of his slacks, adding, “Naturally, I don’t carry that kind of cash around with me.”

“Naturally not, Mr. Dustin.”
Voorland’s
voice was soothing and understanding.

“But the bangtails have been coming in for me,” Dustin explained as he withdrew a thick clip of bills. “Suppose I give you ten thousand down to bind the sale, and a check for the balance.”

“Perfectly all right, Mr. Dustin.”

“It will have to be a check on my bank in Denver. I’m just here for a short time.”

“I quite understand,”
Voorland
purred. “Of course you won’t expect to take possession until your check has cleared through my local bank.”

“Of course not.
Wait a minute.” Dustin turned to his wife. “When is that shindig in Miami? That fancy concert at the White Temple.”

“Next Friday, Mark. But it doesn’t matter—”

“The hell it doesn’t. The
Crowthers
will be there, and the
Buckleys
.
And old lady Bastrop with all her diamonds.
Do you think I can have it for my wife to wear Friday night?” he asked
Voorland
.

“This is Monday.”
Voorland
pursed his lips and looked doubtful. “I’m sure I can have the insurance coverage arranged by that time, but the check on Denver will scarcely have time to get back.”

“Nonsense,” said Dustin. “Give your bank instructions to send it through special.
By airmail.
And have the Denver bank wire when it clears.
Shouldn’t take more than two days.”
His manner evidenced the westerner’s contempt for the conservative pace of easterners, and it brought an indulgent smile to
Voorland’s
lips.

He nodded and said, “Very well. If you’ll step back to the office, Mr. Dustin, we’ll take care of it right away. Wander around and see what you’d like,” he added over his shoulder to Shayne as the three of them went toward his private office. “This will take only a few minutes.”

“Who
is
he?” Lucy exclaimed when they were out of hearing. “He looks like a cowboy—or something. I could live in luxury the rest of my life on the money he’s throwing away on that trinket.”

Shayne grinned and tweaked her ear. “You thought it was pretty in the beginning.”

“I still do, but a hundred and eighty thousand dollars! It’s criminal to spend money that way. Think how many loaves of bread that would buy for starving children all over the world.”

“Let’s not think about it.” Shayne led her toward the long row of showcases. “Start looking around, but don’t stop if you come to any star rubies.”

A WELL-PLANNED CRIME

MARK DUSTIN’S SPORTS ROADSTER was one of an unending parade of cars rolling across the Venetian Causeway toward Miami Beach. The last race of the day had been run at Tropical Park, and Dustin was content to relax while the procession crawled at a snail’s pace. He had hit a freak daily double at 420 to 1 with a ten-spot, and his four grand winnings made a comfortable wad in his pocket.

Celia was supremely happy beside her husband, pressing close against his shoulder and dreamily contemplating the shifting mass of fleecy clouds above the palm-fringed shore eastward. She was always happy when Mark won at the races. It gave her a deep-rooted sense of security to know that Mark was one of those people who are almost invariably lucky. She no longer worried when he gambled, and that part of her past when she was poverty-stricken had gradually become an unreality. Mark had snatched her away from it after a whirlwind courtship lasting exactly five days.

Tonight they would attend the society concert in Miami and she would wear the ruby bracelet. She, little Celia Hicks, would wear a piece of jewelry worth almost two hundred thousand dollars. She would make herself so beautiful for the occasion that Mark would never forget it, never be sorry he had paid so much for the bracelet.

A shiver of delight pulsed through her. She asked excitedly, “Will it come, Mark? Do you think it will be at the hotel when we get there?” A queer sense of dread suddenly mingled with her happiness.

Mark grinned tolerantly and chided, “Say star ruby bracelet when you mention your anniversary gift, Mrs. Dustin.
The idea—calling it
it
.”

They laughed together and she said, “Didn’t Mr.
Voorland
tell
you this morning?”

“He promised to deliver the bracelet by evening.” Mark’s voice was quietly emphatic. “His bank had a wire from Denver yesterday saying the check had cleared.”

“But didn’t he say he would rather have the actual money back here in his account first?”

“Naturally.
In a transaction like this where I’m completely unknown to him he wants to take all the precautions possible. He hopes the money will be credited to his account before his bank closes this afternoon, but even if it isn’t, he said over the phone that the telegraphic assurance would be enough. Don’t worry, darling, you’ll knock everybody’s eyes out with that bracelet tonight.”

“You should never have bought it, Mark,” she said earnestly. “I’ll be frightened to death every moment I have it on—just thinking about how much it cost.”

“You’ll get used to it,” he told her cheerfully. “Just remember it’s insured.”

“Some people keep expensive things like that locked up in a safe and never wear them,” she told him.

“I know. They have cheap replicas made and wear those instead. Of all the damn fool ideas I ever heard of,” said Mark explosively, “that’s the damnedest.”

They reached the end of the causeway and some of the cars ahead of them turned off to the right or left onto winding, palm-lined drives threading through the length of the peninsula. With the congestion eased, Mark Dustin sat up straight and darted expertly past laggard cars, gauging his speed and distances superbly to gain a couple of minutes in the short distance to the hotel.

In the hotel lobby Celia stood back and waited breathlessly while Mark went to the desk to inquire about the delivery of the package from the jeweler. Her heart sank when she saw the clerk shake his head emphatically, and saw the taut anger come into Mark’s face.

He strode back toward her and she made herself smile as she hurried to meet him. “Don’t you mind, darling. It really doesn’t matter whether I have it tonight or not.”

“The hell it doesn’t,” he said furiously. “That Dutchman promised to have it here, and by God he’s going to.” He hurried her to the elevator and up to their suite, strode to the telephone, and brusquely asked for a number.

When a voice replied at the other end, Dustin asked for Mr.
Voorland
. In a moment he said curtly, “
Voorland
? Dustin. Where the devil is that bracelet you promised to deliver this afternoon?”

He listened a moment, and the lines of anger gradually smoothed out of his face. “I see. Then we’ll expect it right away. Have him bring it straight up to our suite.” He hung up and said, “It’s all right, Ceil. Everything is fine. The check cleared through his bank this afternoon and he held up delivery until we were here to sign for it.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful, Mark,” she cried, and rushed into his arms.

Mark put her away from him, saying, “I’ll take a quick shower and be ready to sign when the bracelet comes,” and went into the bathroom. He returned to the living-room in a few minutes clothed in formal evening attire.

The buzzer sounded while Celia was in the tub. She listened to a mumble of voices in the outer room when Dustin answered it. She heard the door close firmly, and Mark came into the bathroom with the jewel case open.

The bracelet was more beautiful than Celia remembered. Tears of joy filled her blue eyes and spilled out to join the trickle of water on her face. Mark bent down to kiss her damp and flushed cheek before leaving the bathroom.

Celia dressed carefully in a new ice-blue evening gown she had chosen especially to wear with the bracelet—a clinging, lustrous gown, its strapless bodice supported only by her breasts, molding itself daringly about her hips. Her braids were a bright crown around her small head, her lips as red as the rubies themselves. She arose from the dressing-table and went over to the full-length mirror to clasp the bracelet on her wrist, then moved sedately into the living-room for Mark’s approval.

Mark was sitting in a deep chair, his head back, staring at the ceiling. Celia cleared her throat delicately. He looked at her, then sprang up and came to her to take both her outstretched hands. “You’re beautiful. The bracelet was made just for you.”

He wanted her to wear it to dinner, but Celia flatly refused. “I’m going to be sensible about wearing it, even if you aren’t,” she declared. Her tone was mature. She removed the jewel lingeringly and they went into the bedroom together to place it in the case. “I’m even afraid to leave it here while we go out to dinner,” she told him in a small, dismayed voice.

Mark Dustin laughed indulgently and took the tooled leather casket from her hands. “We’re going to put it right here in the top drawer of your dressing-table and forget about it. Good Lord, Ceil, you act as though you think a gang of international jewel thieves is lurking in the corridors outside just waiting for a chance to snatch it.”

“You don’t know but what they are,” she defended. “I don’t care how rich you are, we can’t afford to be careless with the bracelet. I think we should lock it in the hotel safe while we’re out to dinner.”

“Nonsense.
Get your wrap. Doing a thing like that would only draw attention to its value. We’ll put it in the safe after we come home tonight if that will make you happier.”

Celia had to be content with that promise, though the pleasure of having dinner at a table beside the ocean with Mark was spoiled. Neither the stars nor the faint moonlight nor the gay chatter all around her on the boardwalk cafe could dispel her fierce desire to get back upstairs and assure herself that her beautiful bracelet was safe in the drawer.

When they returned to the hotel suite, she ran swiftly to her dressing-table and breathed a long sigh of relief when she snapped the box open and saw the jewel inside the chest, just as Mark had placed it there.

Mark stood in the doorway grinning at her, but she knew he was secretly pleased that she cared so much for her anniversary gift. He said, “Well, put it on. It’s time we started to the concert.” He crossed over to her and took the bracelet from the case and fastened it around her arm.

She looked up and smiled and said, “Thanks for putting it on for me the very first time I wear it.” She picked up her white velvet evening wrap and put it around her shoulders. The shirred collar stood up around the back of her head, tapering down to form lapels in front. Celia looked in the
mirror,
her arm extended slightly, and decided she looked the prettiest she had ever looked in all her life. A joyous thrill ran through her when she saw Mark’s admiring eyes reflected in the mirror. He was proud of her proud to walk beside her and have her recognized as Mrs. Mark Dustin.

As they passed through the main lobby downstairs, people turned their heads to watch them. Celia walked slowly and sedately beside her husband, her right hand lightly touching his arm, the evening wrap open in front to display the bracelet on her left wrist. In the car, she relaxed with a happy little sigh, and could scarcely wait until they were beyond earshot of the doorman to say ecstatically, “Mr.
Voorland
was certainly right, darling. Did you see the way they stared at the bracelet as though they had never seen a star ruby before?”

“They were looking at you,” he told her with an indulgent chuckle as he swung onto Collins Avenue.

There was little southbound traffic, and a round moon hung low in the sky, shedding its silvery sheen over the ocean and the tropical verdure lining both sides of the avenue.

An automobile came up behind them swiftly. Dustin was driving far over in the right-hand lane, loafing along at twenty miles an hour, his left hand loosely on the steering-wheel and his right arm around Celia.

The oncoming car came abreast of them, much closer than was necessary on the almost deserted avenue, then swerved abruptly as though out of control to crash into the left front wheel of Dustin’s roadster.

The impact of the heavy limousine drove the roadster off the pavement to smash head-on into the trunk of a royal palm on the edge of the right-of-way.

Celia screamed and Mark Dustin cursed angrily as the steering-wheel spun out of his lax hand.

The limousine ground to a stop beyond them and both doors, swung open to disgorge three men who raced back to the roadster before either occupant could open a door to get out.

The three men were masked with handkerchiefs, and all three held pistols in their hands. The first to reach Dustin’s side jerked the door open and rammed a muzzle against his side. “Take it easy,” he said, “and you won’t get hurt.”

Dustin sat where he was, immobile but not unvocal. The other two men circled the car to Celia’s side. One of them opened the door and said, “Stick out your arm, lady.”

“Don’t do it, Ceil.” Dustin’s voice was thick with anger. “There’ll be someone along. They won’t dare—”

The man who had spoken to Celia leaned past her and smashed the barrel of his gun down the westerner’s face. The front sight had been filed to sharpness and it laid his cheek open from temple to jaw.

“Good going,” the man beside Dustin muttered as the victim slumped back with blood streaming from the gash. “Get the stuff off the girl fast.”

Celia was screaming hysterically and kicking. The two men jerked her out of the car and one of them used a pair of
snippers
on the linked platinum. It parted easily, and they threw her aside to the ground. The third man had been going through Dustin’s pockets. He found the wad of bills in a side pocket, held together with a silver clip. He extracted them as the others raced around to join him. They all leaped for the open doors of the limousine as Dustin half fell from the roadster and staggered after them, cursing incoherently. He was half-blinded with pain and with shock, but the life he had led had not fitted him to accept such an outrage without fighting back.

He stumbled forward as the three men jumped in and slammed the doors shut. The limousine jerked forward just as he reached it and caught the rear door handle. It turned in his hand and the latch released, but the door didn’t open and the car was picking up speed.

The man in the rear seat rolled down the glass and leaned out. He cursed and smashed his pistol barrel down on the hand clutching the door handle. Mark Dustin stumbled back and the limousine roared away toward downtown Miami Beach.

Celia ran to him, sobbing, as he swayed drunkenly in the headlights of the roadster. When she saw the blood streaming down his face and the crushed hand he was holding out stiffly, she cried out, “Oh, Mark, what have they done to you,” in an agonized voice.

He put her aside with his other hand. His face was stony and his voice harsh as he grated, “We’ve got to notify the police. Get under the wheel and see if you can back out.”

“But your face!
And your hand! You’ve got to get to a hospital!”

“Get in and drive to a phone.” He shoved her toward the roadster and walked around to get in the other side.

Celia didn’t waste time arguing. She had the car in gear, and as he slumped beside her she gunned the motor and let the clutch out with a jerk. The rear wheels spun momentarily, then took hold, and the roadster lurched backward onto the pavement. She put it in low and spun the steering-wheel. The left fender was crushed against the wheel and rubber screeched
protestingly
against steel as she swung in a short circle and headed toward the hotel.

Dustin started to protest that they could reach help faster by driving on to Fifth Street, but a look at the set of her jaw stopped him in mid-sentence.

The steering mechanism had evidently been injured, for the roadster wobbled drunkenly as she gained speed, but Celia kept the accelerator down and herded it down the pavement with grim concentration.

Mark Dustin held a handkerchief to his cut face. His injured hand lay on his knee. When they drove up to the hotel entrance the doorman opened the door and Dustin snapped, “Get the police. We’ve been robbed of a couple of hundred thousand dollars.”

“Send the doctor up to our suite. Please hurry.” She was out of the car and going around
to open
the door on Mark’s side. She put her arm around him and led him in through the lobby and on to an elevator.

The resident doctor had Dustin’s cheek bandaged and was putting a temporary splint on his injured hand when the first contingent of the law arrived, two city detectives and the chief of the Miami Beach detective bureau.