Strip for Murder (4 page)

Her laugh had been bubbling, merry, full-throated. And her voice was just right out here in the trees and fresh air, like a breath of fresh air itself, soft and warm and a little husky. She was standing about two feet from me, looking up at me with a half-smile on her full red lips. I could see her resemblance to Mrs. Redstone. The strong, high cheekbones and big eyes, the eyes that same soft but startling liquid blue. About twenty-two, Mrs. Redstone had said.

“Come on, Mr. Scott,” she said.

“Call me Shell.” There seemed little point in being formal.

She turned and walked away from me. I was transfixed, rooted to the ground like an oak. She went about five steps, then turned half around and said softly, “We
must
hurry. The Council is expecting you, Shell.” Her smile when she said “Shell” was brighter than the summer sunshine. She kept smiling. Beautifully. And when she started walking again, I was right behind her.

We made the turn into the path and walked silently into the coolness of the trees, branches arching overhead and filtering the bright sun. Well in among the trees I stopped.

“Hey,” I said. “I've got to get something straight. Ah, cleared up. That girl—Peggy—told me to, ha-ha, take off my clothes.”

She stopped and looked at me curiously. Then she frowned. “Shell, surely you knew what Fairview was, didn't you? When I talked to you on the phone.”

“No,” I said in a small voice.

“Oh, dear. I assumed that surely you knew. And when you said you'd come here, I...” She chuckled. “You must have been surprised.” Her features got merrier and she started to laugh. She bent over a little and laughter bubbled out between her curving lips. She laughed alone. But she had a big ball all by herself, then she straightened up and took a deep breath.

I was looking squarely at her, and from now on she could get me to do almost any fool thing simply by taking a couple of deep breaths. She said, “Well, you can't back out now.” She sobered suddenly. “If you can't help me, if somebody can't help me, I'm afraid I won't live long. There isn't time to tell you all of it now. But if you'll stay, I'll tell you as much as I can first. Before you decide anything. All right?”

“Does it have to be here?”

“Yes.”

I took just as deep a breath as she had taken. “All right.”

As we walked up the path, I asked Laurel how she had happened to phone me. She said, “Mother often calls me here, and she did this morning. Naturally I asked her how the dinner had gone last night. She mentioned your being there.”

“She say that she asked me to be there?”

“Something about your working for her.” She looked at me. “Why would she want a detective? Mother didn't enlarge on her reasons.”

I don't know why I didn't tell her but I just said, “Little job is all.”

“Well, anyway, I knew
I
needed a detective. Somebody who might help me, at least. I could hardly have a whole flock of policemen running around here at Fairview. Anyway, the important thing is that nobody, absolutely nobody, is to know you're a detective. It must be somebody in camp who's trying to kill me, and if anyone were to find out you're not really what you say—well, it could be awful.”

“I, uh, haven't really said I'm anything yet.”

“Just bluff it through when you meet the Council. I'm sure you can do it. If they pass you, then you'll be accepted immediately and nobody will guess you're a detective.”

“What's this Council? What do you mean, if they
pass
me?”

She didn't answer, because at that moment we came out of the trees and into a large clearing containing three big frame buildings. The biggest building was centrally located, a small swimming pool beside it, beyond that a volleyball court. A little to the right was a squat brown structure, and a long low building was farther over on our left, only about twenty yards away.

Trees ringed the clearing, but in the near distance I could see bodies. Cavorting bodies. The sight shook me. By God, I
was
in a nudist camp. Laurel took my hand and pulled me after her toward the green building. Inside there was a small central room, doors opening into wings on either end. She pointed. “The men's section is there, Shell. Go in and change. And please hurry.”

“Uh-huh. Change into what?”

She chuckled again. “Oh, stop it. Go in and take off your clothes.”

“I ... can't.”

“Now, hurry. You'll ruin everything.”

“But—well, it's just that I'm not a nudist. Never have been. I don't mind nudity. Not in reasonable amounts. But this—this is preposterous!”

She grabbed my hand again and pulled me to the door and pushed me through. “There's nothing to it,” she said. “Lots of people do it. It's not as if you were the only one. Look at me.”

“Have you noticed me looking at the leaves or something?”

“Anyway, it isn't for long. You'll get used to it.” She slammed the door behind me.

I stood stock-still for almost a minute, then said to myself, “Scott, you're being silly. Nothing to it. Everybody does it. Everybody should spend at least one day in a nudist camp, get a new perspective. Hell, you might
like
it,” and so on, rationalizing. While I undressed and hung my clothes in an empty locker, I also kept telling myself that though all this wasn't clear yet, at least Laurel was Mrs. Redstone's daughter—one of the two heirs to fifteen and a half million bucks. Maybe what seemed to be happening here had some connection with the case I was already on. It was my duty to investigate. That was it: This was my duty.

In another minute I cracked the door and looked out at Laurel. She was sitting on a small couch, as lovely a sight as I ever did see. She glanced up as the door opened a bit.

“Yoo-hoo,” I said. “Well, I did it.”

“Fine. Come on out.”

“Well, uh, there's something I wanted to ask you. This is something of a strain for me. I'm a detective, you know. I ... feel uncomfortable without my gun. And this—”

“You can't go wandering around with nothing on but your gun. You'd look silly.”

“Can't I, uh, just wear my holster?”

“You can't wear
anything.
Be sensible. It's like going swimming in cold water. Plunge right in and the shock is over in a second.”

“OK,” I said, and plunged right in. I swung the door wide and stepped into the room.

“Oh,” Laurel said. “Come over here and sit down by me. We'll talk a little. I'll tell you about the Council, then we'll go over there.”

I sat down beside her, which didn't help my state of mind. She started talking while I examined the woodwork for termites. Didn't see a single termite.

Laurel said, “So it shouldn't take long. Then we'll find someplace where I can explain the rest leisurely. I hope you can convince them that you're really a physical instructor.” She smirked. “You're certainly physical enough.”

We got up and left the green building, walked to the biggest building, and went inside. She led me down a hall and stopped before a plain wooden door. “In we go,” Laurel said.

“What's in there?”

“I just told you. Didn't you hear a thing I said?”

“Not much.”

She sighed. “The Council is in there. They're waiting for us. I told you, they have to look you over, size you up.”

“They
what?
”

“Quiet. They have to determine if you can handle the job, if you can conduct the calisthenics and games and so on. Darn, I just told you all about it. We can't waste any more time. Get in there.”

I put my hand on the knob. Then I said. “It's people in there, huh? How many?”

“Ten. Twelve with us. Six men and six women. Hurry.”

I realized that the sight of Laurel Redstone back there at the gate must have swept my sanity away. And the sight of her again in the green room had kept sanity from returning. But I shrugged, turned the knob, and pushed the door open, trying to be casual about it all. I started to put my other hand into my pocket—and the sheer horror of this finally hit me. But the door was open; it was too late.

Laurel whispered suddenly, “Oh, dear. I hope none of the Council members recognizes you.”

I whispered back weakly, “Nobody could possibly recognize me. I'm disguised.” Then, half-fainting, I walked inside.

Chapter Four

I got a brief glimpse of an open window in the far wall, a green filing cabinet, a desk with a phone on it, and a floor lamp in the corner in the seconds before I settled on the ten people seated at a long rectangular table on our left. As Laurel and I entered, all ten sprang to their feet. They were, I thought, carrying manners too far.

Laurel guided me, her hand cool on my elbow, to a wooden chair at the near end of the table. In a daze I heard her introduce me as “Mr. Don Scott,” then there was a slight rustling as everybody sat down again. I sat down as fast as anybody.

Laurel was saying, “I must apologize for the delay; it was my fault. I gave Mr. Scott poor directions, and since he isn't familiar with this area...” and so on. While she talked I looked over the gathering, and this was a gathering a man could really look over.

I'll say this much for the bunch of them: They looked healthy as hell. Probably not one of them had so much as touched a slice of white bread in years. A couple of the gals appeared to be little over twenty; the men ranged from about twenty-five to somewhere around fifty. Laurel and I sat at the narrow end of the long table, four men were on the right side, four women on the left, and at the far end of the table, facing this way, were another man and woman, who were the oldest cats here.

Three of the gals on my left were very nice-looking and the other was satisfactory, but the old babe at the far end was a fit under control. She alone was standing, saying something or other to me, and she looked like one of Fairview's founding fathers.

She was tall, lank, bony, even muscular, and she had a figure like something you might see in a fun-house mirror—straight up and down, with a face like a brown turnip.

“...and so,” she was saying, “we welcome you to Fairview, Mr. Scott.” There was a murmur of assent around the table.

“Thank you, thank you all,” I said.

She sat down, then the old guy next to her popped up and spoke briefly. He was built along the same lines as his sidekick, but on him it looked OK. His name seemed to be Frank Blore and he was saying, “...so you can understand our dilemma. With our health director in the hospital and the convention only two days away, this is an exceedingly difficult situation. There are, of course, a number of well-qualified men, but unfortunately few of them are naturists.” He paused, smiling a little. “So we're certainly inclined to give you the benefit of every doubt.” He went on to say how hard all of them had worked to make the convention a success. Nobody had explained to me yet what the hell this upcoming convention was—apparently I was supposed to know already—but even so, I was getting a creepy feeling about it.

Mr. Blore concluded by saying that other members of the Council would brief me on the situation. Then he sat down, and up popped one of the gals on my left, a beautiful, busty, brown-eyed cutie. I stared at the bridge of her nose while she talked, but it didn't help much. She talked for about a minute, then a guy on my right sprang healthily to his feet and boomed at me in a muscular voice.

It was becoming evident that whenever one of these characters addressed the rest of the Council, he or she leaped to his or her feet and plopped down again when finished. I couldn't help imagining the sight they would present in a heated argument.

Somehow or other I learned that the position of health director was exactly what the name implied. He was supposed to direct the “health-building” activities at Fairview: conduct morning calisthenics—before breakfast; supervise games; act as judge in contests; be an authority on nutrition. Their pressing need at the moment was for a man who could quickly take over all the functions of the ex-director, now in the hospital, primarily supervision of day-after-tomorrow's convention. There were going to be people from all over the United States here, apparently, engaging in games, contests, even cooking competitions, and the responsibility for seeing that everything went smoothly rested on the health director's shoulders, since the rest of the Council members all had their own duties.

The talk ricocheted around the table, then the old girl at the end—Mrs. Blore—popped to her feet and said, “What have you to say, Mr. Scott?” and popped down again.

Everybody looked at me. Eleven pairs of eyes focused on me. Then twelve pairs: I was looking at me, too.

“Nothing,” I said.

The silence grew uncomfortable. Finally Mrs. Blore got to her feet, more slowly this time, and said haltingly, “Why ... don't you have any ... suggestions or recommendations, Mr. Scott? And we're all tremendously interested in your background. Miss Redstone assured us—”

Laurel stood up and said, “Mr. Scott isn't a very talkative man, Mrs. Blore. He's a ... man of action He was with the Laguna Beach group for over a year, and you'll recall they swept most of the prizes at the ‘54 convention in San Bernardino.” She seemed to be struggling for words and I noticed her hands, white on the table edge, gripping it tightly. She went on, “Before that he was with the Floridans.” She stopped, paused a moment as if unable to think of anything more, then sat down.

As Mrs. Blore started to say something again, Laurel turned her head slightly toward me, put one hand over her mouth, and whispered, “Please. Please.”

Mrs. Blore said, “It's too late for us to find another person who could help us. We'll give you every...” The words trailed off and she sat down. I looked around the table at eleven very long faces, sober faces. Laurel's face looked a little pale under her deep tan. Up till now I'd been in a kind of near agony, primarily concerned with how I could gracefully—or even ungracefully—get out of here. But no matter what my personal feelings were about all this, at least ten people here were seriously concerned about their problem and the success of this convention, which they seemed to have been planning for several months. Maybe I thought it was all a little goofy, but they didn't. And then again there was Laurel to consider.