Too Many Crooks (15 page)

"Mrs. Mary Owens? Allow me to introduce myself. I'm your husband."

She smiled a little, those soft, warm lips curving and the full lower lip protruding slightly. She said, "I've been wondering where you went that day in forty-one. You'll have to go. I've remarried several times."

"Polygamist. I was winning the war. And I demand my rights." I frowned at her. "Tell you what, wife. I want my veteran's benefits."

She shook her head. "How can you talk like this when . . . everything's happening?"

"You were doing OK yourself. Can't be serious all the time, honey. We'd crack up. But I guess you're right. Well, sit down."

She sat on the edge of the bed and I pulled a chair over near her, straddled it, and leaned on the back. "Give a listen," I said. For the next few minutes I filled her in on what she didn't already know, including the parts I'd figured out. Finally, I said, "The main thing behind the whole mess is nothing more than money. But a lot of it, millions of dollars. That and the power that would go with it. The way it looks, the original idea was probably Baron's. Get all the beachfront property here, plus any other land they could, then have it rezoned. With the power and influence Baron already has, plus that of his chums, I imagine there'd be no hitch in the rezoning angle. And now there's this Manning Foundation gimmick you mentioned. Could be this is even bigger than I thought it was."

As I talked, Betty had gradually relaxed, until now she was lying back on the bed with two pillows under her head, and she looked very nearly as good as when she'd been climbing out the window. I sighed and said, "As of now there are legal grounds for transferring title to Seacliff's public beach over to the foundation. Right?"

"That's right. And whoever controls the foundation—there are seven directors—would control the property."

"Undoubtedly Baron's well aware of that. He's one of the foundation directors. Dane was one of them, too. There's an empty space now, and what do you bet one of Baron's chums fills it?" I stopped a moment, then said, "Anything else you can add about Emmett's will? Where it is, or who's got it? Did you see it?"

"No, but Ferries Gordon has it in his office, I think. There's one thing. Dorothy Craig was in Gordon's office when I went up, and I talked to them both there. They wouldn't say much, except what I've already told you. But I think they might have been discussing Emmett's will. Anyway, Gordon gathered up some papers and put them into his safe when I came in. He acted secretive."

"Could be. What kind of safe?"

She said, "Just one of those big green safes in the corner of the room. Why?"

"Where's his office?"

"Braeden Building. Room Four-twenty. It's on Sycamore, just a block from Main. What do you want to know all this for?"

"I may go up there. All the beachfront property went to Craig?"

She nodded and I said, "We know the will must be a fake. That means, too, that Dane's lawyer is part of— of the opposition. Dane wouldn't sell to Seaco, was going to fight them—even brought me in to help—so the solution was to kill him and inherit his property." I thought a moment, then went on, talking to Betty but also getting it clearer in my own mind. "At first I thought the Seacliff Development Company was trying to grab all the land, and putting pressure on the three big landholders: Dane, Baron, and Lilith Manning. But from the beginning it must have been Baron in back of it all, with his big chunk of property, his Baronial Estates, already in the pot. His next and biggest single grab was set up with the con and kill of Dane and the fake will, and for that he used Dorothy. That leaves only the real Lilith Manning, who, not liking Seacliff anyway, would probably sell to Baron. By that time, if all should go well, Baron could afford to pay even a stiff price for her holdings because he and his associates would own damn near everything else by then. If they could somehow get control of even part of the foundation property, they'd almost
literally
own the whole damned city." I turned to Betty. "What did this Craig dish have to say when you interviewed her?"

"She wasn't too happy about talking to me, but she did say she and Dane had been seeing a lot of each other. He was in love with her; they were going to be married." I opened my mouth, but Betty held up a hand. "That's what
she
said."

"Uh-huh. I suppose if they can fake a will, they can also fake a marriage license or whatever they'd need."

Betty said, "I can tell you some more about Dorothy Craig, Shell. There wasn't time till now. I know a little about her, because not long after she arrived in Seacliff, a few years back, there was some scandal about her. There was supposed to be more than friendship between her and Josephson."

I interrupted her. "The same—"

"The same. Publisher of the
Star
. He's married and has, believe it or not, seven kids, none over fourteen years old. The story went that Josephson and Dorothy were seeing each other, meeting in secret. Of course, nothing came of it—no real open scandal, I mean. After that, Dorothy was seen with a number of fairly well known local men." She paused. "The most interesting point is that the last man she's supposed to have become friendly with is Clyde Baron."

"Indeed. Interesting. Perfect, too. Pretty obvious what might have happened. Dorothy Craig, an incandescent tomato more than a little chummy with publisher Josephson, might have enough on the guy to make him jump through the hoop when she says jump. And we know she's just as interested as Baron in seeing that none of the truth about their racket hits the papers. That might explain why Josephson's so concerned, and kills all your stories. Funny, Dane didn't know her, especially if, as you say, everybody knew about it. When was the Josephson affair?"

"It was, if I remember right, about forty-nine."

"Forty-nine. Maybe that's it. Dane was roaming around the world that year. Started out in Australia and kept on going."

She nodded. "I remember. Since then she's been less brazen. But I've seen her around town a lot."

I thought a minute. "You know, except for Baron and maybe the rest of the crooks, you and I are the only people alive who know that Dorothy Craig passed herself off to Dane as Lilith Manning. We're the only people opposed to them who know what they're up to. With us out of the way they'd be in." I got up and started pacing the floor while I talked. "And there's not a chance we could just walk in cold and talk to the mayor of the city council or anybody else. We don't know for sure who Baron's got in his pocket, and nobody would believe us anyway."

I paused for a moment. "What it boils down to is that it's my word against Baron's and Craig's and the cops' and Norris's and God knows how many others. If they can kill me, they can stop worrying. And they know it. They won't have any more worries, they can go right ahead on schedule, just as soon as I'm dead. And my word's not worth a damn at the moment."

Betty said, "Uh-huh. I imagine you would have a hard time making anybody believe you now."

I sat down again. "Now that you mention it, how come
you
believe me?"

And there was that soft smile again. "I honestly don't know, Shell. But I do. Maybe I've got faith in you."

I grinned at her. "Thanks. I like having you on my side, honey."

She was quiet for a while, looking up at me. Then she said, "What are you going to do?"

"Well, we've got so little actual ammunition to shoot at these guys that we'll need every single thing we can get. So I'm starting with Em's will, I guess. Go up and take a look at it."

She seemed startled. "You mean steal it?"

"Huh-uh. There'd be more hell to pay if it turned up missing. And that wouldn't stop Baron and the rest. Assuming the will
is
in the lawyer's safe."

"What good will it do you to look at it?"

"Well, if it's there, and I can get to it, I'll take along a camera and flashbulbs and get some photos of it. Then I'll have the will signature compared with Dane's real signature by an honest handwriting expert, and try to get that info sprung in probate court. Baron probably plans on some perjured testimony to make the will stand up. Incidentally, when should the will be admitted to probate?"

"It was offered for probate today. They must be pushing it through as fast as they can. They might get it actually admitted to probate in another ten days."

"Unless we stop them somehow."

"How would you get to Gordon's office, Shell? And into the safe, if you got there alive?"

"When I first hit town I saw an ex-con I know, a safecracker named James Peterson. He might help out—for money. I've got a miniature camera and flash setup in the back of my Cad, so I'm all set. All I need is eight angels to light my way."

I wasn't exactly kidding. Assuming I could find Petey, I didn't relish the idea of flitting around town, and certainly not in that well-lighted parking lot where my buggy was. I had no way of knowing whether or not the cops had already spotted the Cad.

The paper-wrapped package was inside the door where I'd dropped it. I picked it up and dropped it on the bed. "What all have you got in there, honey? False beard and a raccoon coat?"

"It's kind of bulky because I brought some other clothes for you. Some of those blue jeans everybody wears down here. I thought they might make you less conspicuous. Not that
anything
would make you inconspicuous. At least you'll look beautiful when you get shot."

I grinned at her. "Betty, I enjoy you like this. We should get gunmen after us more often. You're more relaxed, looser—more fun. We who are about to die salute you."

For just a moment, she had tensed up again, while her face got that congealed look. But then she relaxed and smiled oddly. "Shell, do you know that this is the first time I've been alone in a room with a man for years? And you're the first man I've"—she stopped for a moment, her face flushing, then went on—"I've kissed in almost two years." She bit her lower lip gently, looking up at me. "And the funny thing is, I am relaxed." She swallowed and the smile went away. She said slowly, "Maybe because there's a chance I'll die, I want to live."

For quite a while I couldn't think of anything to say, and she was silent. Finally I said, "Well, let's see what the well-dressed corpse will wear."

In the package were jeans and jacket, plus a very silly blue-billed cap that went with them, a dark blue T-shirt, black hair dye, a safety razor, and some blades.

"Betty," I said, "this is perfect." I gathered everything up. "When I come back you won't know me." I headed for the bathroom door.

She said, "I hope not. You don't look like anyone I'd care to know. You look awful."

I shut the bathroom door and took a squint in the mirror. I looked awful. My eyes were somewhat red-rimmed, but the worst was my face. It has always been a bit of a mess, but now I had several days' growth of beard, and my beard is peculiar. It grows rapidly, but it isn't white, like my hair, and it isn't black. It's sort of spotted, like a molting leopard. I shuddered and shaved. Just in time, I decided to leave on the mustache.

A half hour later, after a sloppy hair-dye and a shower, dressed in my blue jeans and jockey cap, I emerged.

"Why, Shell," she said. "You look darling. But what happened to your lip?"

"My lip? Oh, I sort of dyed my mustache. To match my hair. And, uh, to match my lip, which I believe I also dyed. How do I look?"

"Well . . . sinister."

"Hell, I thought I looked sexy."

She shook her head, pressing her lips together and smiling at the same time. Suddenly she started laughing, threw her head back, and closed her eyes. I went to the bathroom mirror and took another look. It wasn't that funny.

In the room again, I walked to the phone alongside the bed and flipped open the book as Betty's laughter subsided to gurgles. I found the number of the Beachcomber's Lodge and dialed it.

"Who are you calling?" Betty asked.

"Norris's club. Beachcomber's. Just plunge blindly ahead, that's me." I stopped. "Maybe not so blindly. Do me a favor?"

"Sure. What?"

"Take the phone. Ask for Petey. If they want to know Petey who, say James Peterson." She nodded and I handed her the phone.

She said into the phone, "Is Petey there?" then put her hand over the mouthpiece. "Looking for him," she said. "What now?"

"If you get Petey, say you once met him in L.A. at— at the Sunrise Bar and Grill. He used to hang out there. You just heard he was in town and want to see him. Tell him to stay there at the club, you'll meet him."

"Will he believe me?"

"Sure. If a woman says she'll meet him, he'll wait."

She listened to the phone a moment, said, "Thank you," and hung up. "Not there."

I looked up the Gorgon Room and gave her the number, and she dialed. "Same deal," I said. "If he isn't there, I don't know where he'll be. If I were to talk to him, he might blow, or even spill the beans to someone else. We'll try it this way."

She went through the same routine, and this time she got him. Betty not only got him, she hooked him. She was marvelous, and there was a new note in her voice, a husky whispering softness I'd never heard before. She wound it up with "All righty, Petey. I'm ashamed of you for not remembering me. You will, though, I'll bet, when you see me." Then she laughed. I frowned. What the hell was he saying? I
knew
Petey. She said, "What? Oh, I'll be wearing a red dress with a lunging neckline . . . What? . . . Yes, plunging, too. Oh! You wouldn't! . . . You would? 'By, Petey. Wait for me." She hung up.

Looking at me mischievously, one dark eyebrow arched and a very roguish look on her tanned face, she said, "Maybe I should meet him."

"Oh, no, you don't. I'll meet him, and by God—"

"What are you so excited about?"

"Why, I— I'm not excited. I— I dunno."

She was smiling at me. And this time it was a woman's smile; the sly and attractive grin of a woman possessed of all her faculties and facilities, and well aware of that possession. Probably not for years, if ever, had she talked to a man the way she'd talked to Peterson. She seemed to have enjoyed it. It was as though the events of the last few days, and especially of tonight, had worn away at the dam of restraint she'd built inside her, until that dam, even if it hadn't actually burst, was weakening.