It's a Sin to Kill (18 page)

Ames's knees felt weak. He cradled the phone and sat on the edge of the bed. Now he had something new about which to worry. The phone call could be on the level. It could be a stall. Maybe the credit man had just seen his picture in the
Times
and was checking for the police. A hunted man had so many things to worry about. Everything was suspicious to him.

Ames lay back on the bed but couldn't rest. He took off his shirt and kicked off his shoes. It didn't help. He got up and paced the floor. Either way he was hooked. He had to stay where he was. So he was playing a long shot; it was the only hope that he and Mary Lou had. He was tooting his own little horn in a big time combo and he had to play
it by ear. The other two members of the band had written the arrangement.

Ames walked from the bed to the window, then back to the bed, then back to the window again.

It was going to be a long day.

C
AMDEN'S
face was a multi-colored thing of battered flesh. He refilled his shot glass and resumed his staring out the open casement window.

There was an unreal quality to the night. It was like a too-vivid scene on a penny post card, the kind printed for the tourist trade to send back to Des Moines or Minneapolis or Montpelier, the cards to arrive in the middle of a blizzard with the temperature hovering on the wrong side of thirty-two degrees.
Having a wonderful time. Wish you were here
.

Tonight the stars hung low and the sky was filled with them. A south moon under rested lightly on the feathery fronds of the tallest palms rising out of the Camden grounds. The lawn was sheer black velvet ornamented with twinkling fire flies. The air was warm and scented with the fragrance of orange blossoms. The purr of the traffic on the beach road was a soothing sound in the distance.

“Pretty, huh?” Ferris asked.

Camden looked at him sourly. “I can't eat ‘pretty.'”

“No,” Ferris admitted. “You can't.”

“Supper,” Phillips announced, “is served.”

“The hell with it,” Camden said. He left the window and sprawled in an easy chair.

Phillips stood uncertainly in the doorway.

“We'll eat a little later,” Ferris told him.

“Yes, sir,” the butler said. His leather heels made a solid sound down the long tiled hallway.

Camden gulped the drink in his glass. “You're positive that five hundred dollars is all that Helene has in her personal checking account?”

“I'm positive,” Ferris said. “I called the bank, didn't I?”

“But where did the money go?”

Ferris spread his hands. “There you have me. But you
know as well as I that Helene had expensive tastes. She spent a lot of money.”

Camden refilled his glass. “No one woman could spend that much.”

Ferris hesitated then said, “I don't want to ride guard on you, Hal, or attempt to tell you your business, but I'd lay off that stuff if I were you. You know what happened last night.”

Camden shrugged. “It wouldn't have made any difference. I couldn't have licked the guy if I'd been cold sober. He was too much for me. I still don't see how you got that gun away from him.”

Ferris stroked his wisp of a mustache. “I suppose I was just lucky.”

Camden touched his battered face with the tips of his fingers. “Believe me, fellow, you were. He was hell determined that I was going to confess that I had killed Helene.”

“Ha,” Ferris laughed. “That's funny.”

A bell chimed musically in the rear of the house. Phillips' heels made their solid sound again. “Who now?” Camden asked, as the butler passed through the living room.

“I'm certain I wouldn't know, sir,” Phillips said. He turned on the light in the patio and looked through the screen door. “Yes?”

“I'd like to see Mr. Camden if I can,” Ben Sheldon said. “Tell him it's about the
Sea Bird
. I'd like to make an offer for it.”

Phillips turned and said, “It's a Mr. Sheldon, sir. He's calling about the
Sea Bird
.”

“I heard him,” Camden said, impatiently. “Don't keep him standing out there under that light. The mosquitoes will eat him alive. Tell him to come in.”

“Yes, sir.” The butler opened the screen door. “Come in, Mr. Sheldon.”

Immaculate in a freshly laundered white linen suit, the fat man took off his panama and stood just inside the door rolling a fat cigar from one side of his mouth to the other.

Ferris was disappointed. “I hoped it was the police. I hoped they'd caught Ames.”

Sheldon spoke around his cigar. “They ain't got Charlie yet, eh? He's putting up a good run for it.”

“And all so needless,” Ferris said. “They had him once. If White hadn't been so stupid he'd have kept him.”

Sheldon was philosophical about it “Those things happen.”

Camden pointed to the bottles and the glasses on a tray. “Fix yourself a drink if you want one.”

Moving lightly for so big a man, Sheldon crossed the room to the tray. “Thanks. I don't mind if I do. I'll take one on the rocks,”

Camden waited until Sheldon had sloshed whiskey on the ice cubes in his glass. “Now, what's this about the
Sea Bird?
”

Sheldon settled himself in a chair before he spoke. “You know my business?”

“I do. You're the local ship chandler.”

“That's right. I also do a little yacht brokerage on the side. You going to keep the house?”

“No.”

“Then I imagine the boat is for sale.”

“It is.”

“Good,” Sheldon said. “I'll give you eight thousand for it.”

Ferris hooted. “You're out of your mind, Sheldon. The
Sea Bird
cost Helene fifty thousand dollars.”

The fat man looked at the lawyer over the rim of his glass. “So what? The Taj Mahal cost a couple of million, maybe even more, but I wouldn't give you a hundred dollars for it. Boats as large as the
Sea Bird
are a drug on the market. Very few people have the kind of money it takes to support a forty-eight foot Diesel-powered cruiser. About all I could do with it is rip out all that fancy stuff and convert it into a commercial fishing boat or possibly sell it to some local captain who wants to attract the higher class charter boat trade.”

“Make it ten thousand,” Camden said.

“Well, ten then,” Sheldon agreed.

“Sell it to him, Tom,” Camden said. “Make out a bill of sale right now.”

Ferris got to his feet. “You're out of your mind, Hal,” he said hotly.

Camden answered as hotly. “Why wouldn't I be?” Under the pattern of multi-colored bruises left by Ames's fists, his face was haggard. “I marry a bag like Helene. I fetch and tote and put up with her for four years, expecting that when she does die, I'll come into around a hundred grand. And what do I come out with? An empty bank account.”

“Oh, I wouldn't say that,” Sheldon said. “This house comes to you, doesn't it?”

“Yes.”

“It's worth fifty thousand dollars.”

“It's worth sixty-five and it's mortgaged for sixty, leaving me five thousand dollars. Hell. I owe my bookie more than that.”

Ferris attempted to soothe him. “Now, just take it easy, Hal. We'll find some money somewhere.”

“Where? We've checked her personal bank account. We've checked her stocks. We've checked the firm's account. And there isn't a dime anywhere. All we've found are withdrawals and sales. It's almost as if Helene expected to die and cashed in everything, then hid the cash.”

The fat man said placidly, “A shame. Well, my offer still holds.”

“And I accept it,” Camden said. “At least, it will give me some cash to go on. Have you a bill of sale, Tom?”

The lawyer opened a brief case lying on the desk. “I imagine I have. I think you're being very foolish, but it's for you to say. After all, you're Helene's heir.” He found the printed form and uncapping his fountain pen, he began to fill it in.

Sheldon took a fat wallet from his pocket and counted fifty and one hundred dollar bills on the end table beside his chair.

Camden watched him, fascinated. “There must be money in ship chandling.”

“I get by,” Sheldon said.

All three of the men were too engrossed in what they were doing to notice the screen door open. Glancing up from the form he was inking, Ferris saw him first. “Oh, my God,” he said quietly. “You.”

“That's right,” Ames said as quietly. “According to the account I read in the paper, you were such a hero last night I thought I'd come back and let you take another gun away from me.”

Sheldon stopped counting and wet his thick lips with his tongue. “The cops are looking for you, Charlie.”

Ames leaned against the wall next to the door. “Cops are always looking for someone. It's part of their profession, I suppose. How about it, Ben? Feel like talking?”

The fat man started to get to his feet and sat back as Ames lifted the gun in his hand. Sheldon laid his wallet on the
money on the end table and mopped his face with his handkerchief. “You nuts or something, Charlie? Stop pointing that gun at me.”

Camden looked from the fat man to Ames. “Are you always this way, fellow? Like I told you last night, make sense. What has Sheldon to talk about?”

“You didn't know that Ben was one of your wife's lovers?”

“No, I didn't.”

“That's not so,” Sheldon said. “Sure, I took Helene out a few times, but we were just casual acquaintances. Neighbors on the beach, you might say.”

“Let's tell that to Sheriff White, Ben,” Ames said. “Are you sure you didn't persuade Helene to turn everything she had into cash and then kill her for the money and pin the blame on me?”

“I'm positive,” the fat man said. He struggled to his feet. “Don't even think that, Charlie.” His huge body quivered with indignation. “Why, I wouldn't do such a thing. I tell you what. Let's get Sheriff White out here and let him decide between us.”

“You didn't slug Mary Lou and roll her into the pass?”

“No.”

“You didn't kill Celeste because she became suspicious of you?”

“No.”

Camden looked from one man to the other. There was something theatrical about the accusations and the denials, as if Ames and Sheldon had memorized their lines. It was like watching a little theater group, a not particularly good one. “I don't get it,” Camden said.

“I do,” Ferris said. Some of the color returned to his face. “All right. How much do you two want?”

From the unlighted sunroom, a woman's voice said, “It won't work, Tom. This isn't a shakedown. They know and I doubt if Ames can be bought. Money wouldn't do him any good in the spot he's in.”

It was an effort for Camden to turn his head. “You're dead,” he said thickly. “I saw your body.”

Helene Camden patted his cheek as she walked past him into the room. “No, darling. The old bag is very much alive. But you won't have to do any more fetching or toting for your money. I'll take care of that angle.” The blonde woman
pointed the gun she was carrying at Ames's belt buckle. “All right, Ames. So you aren't the dumb Cracker I thought you were. So you're a hep ex-trumpet player. Let's hear the gun thud on the floor.”

Ames was holding the gun at his side. He opened his fingers and allowed it to fall to the floor.

A long moment of silence followed. The resurrected cosmetic manufacturer used her free hand to smooth the lapel of the smart traveling suit she was wearing. Her fingers were unsteady. Her smile was brittle.

“A pity this had to happen. I thought I had everything worked out so nicely.”

Ames said, “A hundred dollars a week and a two hundred dollar bonus. That is, if I get the
Sea Bird
up to Baltimore in three weeks.”

Helene Camden continued to smile. “Wise guy,” she said sweetly. “Believe me. You went out like a light. I had a hell of a time getting you into the dinghy and an even more difficult time getting your clothes off after I got you aboard the
Sea Bird
.”

Camden stared at his wife. “You're not dead.”

“No, darling. I wouldn't think of dying, not with over a half-million dollars in the boodle bag.” Phillips had followed the blonde woman into the room. She motioned to the gun on the floor. “Pick it up, Phillips. And if any of the gentlemen in the room, with the exception of Mr. Ferris, even looks like he'd like to leave, don't hesitate to shoot.”

Phillips picked up the gun and took a position against the wall. “No, Mrs. Camden.”

The full import of what was happening finally sank into Camden's alcohol-fogged mind. “Well, I'll be a son-of-a-bitch!”

“You're all of that, Hal,” Helene Camden said soberly.

“Any man who'd assume his wife's name instead of insisting on using his own is a pretty weak sister.” She sat on the extreme edge of a divided divan and laid the gun she was holding on the coffee table in front of the divan. “Not that it matters now.”

“No,” Camden said. “Not that it matters now. And the woman I identified as you?”

The blonde woman shrugged. “A fool I picked up in New York. It took me some time to find her, but then I've been planning this thing for some time. Besides, you didn't really identify me. You identified my ring. You were so eager to
get your hands on the hundred thousand or so dollars you thought you were going to get, you'd have identified any blonde of my approximate weight and size.” She patted at her hair and the trembling of her fingers was more pronounced. “But all that doesn't matter. What does matter is what do we do now?”

“Yes,” Ferris agreed with her. “What do we do now?”