One Minute Past Eight (15 page)

“I don’t know,” Jeff said, knowing what she meant. “But he could have, all right. It’s a long lane etcetera, etcetera. They knew about the money and maybe old Dudley made up his mind he’d had too much from Grayson.”

He tried to speculate beyond this but nothing came, and he saw that Karen had picked up her bag. When she opened it she brought out what looked like a gold thimble and offered it to him,

“This is why I came,” she said. “I didn’t tell the police I found it.”

“What is it?” Jeff asked.

“I don’t know. I thought you might.”

She went on to tell how she had seen it under Grayson’s desk and Jeff turned it over in his fingers, scowling intently and remembering the welts on his stepbrother’s face. When a possibility occurred to him he voiced it.

“It could have come from a cane,” he said quietly. “It seems a little small but—”

He stopped abruptly, head swiveling, as a soft knock came at the door. When he heard the sound of a key he was reassured, and a moment later Julio Cordovez slipped into the room and closed the door behind him.

“Ah-h,” he said, his bright eyes assessing the situation in a glance. “All is well.”

“So far,” Jeff said. “Sit down and tell us what the police are doing.”

“For one thing,” Cordovez said, “they are looking for you. You were seen to enter the Grayson building this afternoon.”

“Yeah,” Jeff said and explained what he had learned from Carl Webb. He again displayed the two scabs on his knuckles. “And once they see these I’ll be in it up to my neck.”

“I agree,” Cordovez said. “It is not a pleasant situation. We must arrive at some solution and quickly.”

Jeff gave him the thimble, waited until the detective had a chance to inspect it and then explained where Karen had found it.

“What do you think?”

Cordovez took his time, his black eyes busy and his brows bunched. “You have a thought perhaps?”

“I think it might have come from the bottom of a cane.”

“Considering the type of wound on Grayson’s face I can agree to this.”

“Who would have a cane?”

Again Cordovez took his time. When he spoke he corroborated the thought in Jeff’s mind.

“Luis Miranda would have a cane,” he said, his inflection suggesting he was not happy about the admission.

“What about the autopsy?”

“It has not been completed. The doctor will not say at this time whether he believes the wounds sufficient to cause death,” He passed the thimble back to Jeff. “What do you propose to do?”

“I’m going to find out if this fits any of Miranda’s canes.”

Cordovez’s brows climbed and doubt touched his glance.

“How will this be done?”

“I’ll have to gamble that Mrs. Miranda may co-operate.”

“Oh?”

“She was going away with my stepbrother,” Jeff said. “The airplane tickets prove that much. Furthermore I don’t think she was going just for the ride. She could scrape up enough money for a ticket any time she wanted to. She could have left before, but I don’t think she wanted to give up what she had until she found some sort of substitute.”

He leaned forward and said: “We’re not going to get anywhere without making some assumptions, so I’m making one. I’m ready to assume that Muriel Miranda was in love with my stepbrother, or thought she was, and either way is good enough.”

He digressed to explain how the woman had waited in her car that morning. He spoke of her interest in the amount of Grayson’s stock inheritance and its potential value.

“So if she was in love and ready to take what Grayson could offer, she’s going to be damned well crashed by his death. With him gone she’s still stuck with Miranda. She’s lost her man, and I have to go along with the idea that she will want to get even with the one who killed him.”

“Even if this is her husband?”

“All the more so, if she hates him. You don’t have to be very vindictive to want to punish the person who kills someone you love. It’s a natural reaction. If I’m right I think she’ll be glad to co-operate, to do whatever she has to do to punish the one who robbed her of her lover and her future.”

He was watching Karen as he finished, some part of his mind recognizing again how lovely she was even as he saw the somber glints in her dark-blue eyes. She nodded her head slightly and a tiny frown marred the smoothness of her brow.

“Yes” she said. “I think you’re right, I think I’d do the same. If she loved Grayson she has to hate the one who killed him. But I don’t think you should try to talk to her.”

“What?”

“I think I should”

Jeff leaned forward, understanding every word but not yet believing her.

“Oh, now, wait a minute.”

“I mean it”

About to scoff, Jeff realized how very serious she was and checked the impulse.

“Why?”

“Because I can do that just as well as you can and with much less risk.”

“Pardon me,” Cordovez said,

Jeff looked at him,

“I believe the señorita is right.”

“Thank you, Julio.” Karen favored him with a quick bright smile and looked back at Jeff, her eyes challenging, her soft mouth determined. “I think I can tell better than you can if Mrs. Miranda was in love with Grayson. I’ll find out if her husband has any canes. I’ll bet I can make her show them to me. Why shouldn’t I try?” she demanded. “It’s not as if I was taking any great chance. I’ll simply stop there in the morning after her husband has gone to the office and have a talk with her.”

Jeff remained only partially convinced. He wanted to argue, but again he stopped. Not sure just why this girl should want to help him, he suddenly found a warm and satisfying glow in the knowledge that she felt that way.

“It is better,” Cordovez said. “For you, daylight is bad except when absolutely necessary. Now that your photograph has appeared in the newspaper there will be too many eyes looking for you.”

Before Jeff could reply, Karen had leaned forward and taken the thimble from his fingers. She replaced it in her bag. She gave him a saucy grin as she leaned back.

“After all I
am
a detective,” she said. “Why shouldn’t I work at it if I want to? I’m down here with expenses paid and I botched my assignment—”

“You didn’t botch it,” Jeff protested. “It wasn’t your fault my stepbrother got himself killed.”

“I made a lot of trouble for you in Miami and it didn’t do a bit of good. If I hadn’t done that, none of this might have happened. I’m not sure I can help but I’m certainly going to try.”

She stood up and smoothed the dress over her trim hips. She touched her dark hair and her eyes still defied him.

“Also, in case you’re interested,” she added, “I’m turning in my card when I get home. I guess Dad was right. I’m not a very good detective and I’ve had about enough.”

Cordovez rose along with Jeff and his dark glance was admiring as he inspected the girl.

“I will see that you get back to your hotel safely,” he said. “Her suggestion is best,” he said to Jeff. “I myself will see that no harm comes to her. You have my word.” He touched Jeff’s shoulder, his voice paternal.

“Do not wait for me. Go into the back room and close the door and go to bed. You need sleep. Tomorrow it will be better if you feel fit in case our luck turns and you have to face Ramon Zumeta.”

Jeff argued no more. He glanced from one to the other and suddenly his worries seemed less burdensome as he realized for the first time how fortunate he was in having two friends such as these helping him.

IT WAS after nine when Jeff Lane waked the following morning, and because it was later than he thought, he jumped out of bed and stepped into the hall to see if Cordovez was still there. Certain now that he was alone, he came back to put on his borrowed trousers and shoes and then went into the bathroom to find the razor, towel, and brushless shaving cream that had been laid out for him.

When he came into the kitchen a note on the table said there was coffee on the stove which needed only to be heated, some fruit juice in the icebox. A paper napkin had been wrapped around a plate containing a sweet roll and butter, and the note invited him to use the eggs in the icebox if he desired.

He did not bother with the eggs, but he ate every crumb of the roll and drank two cups of coffee. He rinsed the dishes in hot water, and dried them, before he went back to the bedroom and completed his dressing. After that he began to prowl as the events of the night before came back to him and his nervousness increased. The few magazines in the living-room were in Spanish and when he sat down he found it impossible to remain there. He smoked his last cigarette and crumpled the pack and finally, unable to endure the uncertainty any longer, he telephoned Cordovez’s office. He had some language difficulty with the girl who answered but he finally got across the idea that he wanted the detective to call his house.

By that time he had begun to worry about Karen Holmes, but as there was nothing he could do about this he tried to assess the information he had gathered the previous day. The patterns his brain formed were in ever-changing combinations and the only thing he could be sure of was that it took him twenty-one paces to get from the far end of the living-room to the back of the inner hall. When the telephone finally shattered the stillness, he jumped for it.

“Where’s Karen Holmes?” he demanded when Cordovez’s familiar voice came to him.

“She is calling on Mrs. Miranda, as she promised.”

“Alone?” Jeff said, shouting a little. “But you said you’d go with her.
^”

“I tried,” Cordovez said. “She would not permit it. She insisted that she take a taxi. She did not wish Mrs. Miranda to know that anyone was waiting for her.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Perhaps a half-hour.”

“Where are you?”

“Across the street from
Segurnal.
I am awaiting the doctor’s report. I should not be long… I think you worry needlessly, my friend,” he said. “The señorita will come to you when she has finished. Be patient. I will telephone when I have news.”

Jeff hung up and continued his pacing, his restlessness riding him even as he told himself that nothing could happen to Karen. There was another half-hour of this before he heard the knock, and when he opened the door and saw her standing there his relief left him momentarily speechless.

She was wearing a tailored yellow dress with black-and-white spectator pumps and the white handbag. Her cheeks were flushed, but the smile that came was weak and the dark-blue eyes seemed discouraged before she glanced away.

“Was it all right?” Jeff asked. “Did—you see her? There wasn’t any trouble, was there?”

He heard her sigh as she flopped down on a chair and opened her bag. “I saw her,” she said, and took out a package of cigarettes. When she fumbled as she tried to open it he reached down and tore off one corner. He offered her one and took one for himself. He furnished a light, still watching her, but no longer hopeful when he realized her eyes were evading him.

“Can I bum a couple?” he said, indicating the cigarettes.

“Take them,” she said. “I can get more.”

He sat down and watched her blow smoke toward the windows. He saw her breast rise and fall with another silent sigh. She took out the gold thimble which Jeff had hoped would turn out to be a ferrule and put it on his knee.

“I think you were right about one thing,” she said finally. “I think she was in love with your stepbrother.”

“What about the canes?”

“She said he had three that she knew of. She went and got them. They all had tips on them and anyway that one”—she pointed at his knee—“would have been too small around.”

Jeff swallowed his disappointment and put the thimble into his pocket.

“Well, that’s that,” he said.

“I’m sorry.”

“We’ll think of something else.” He paused, studying her and noting again the long lashes that framed her eyes. “What did you think of her? I mean, was she pretty upset? Did you get the idea she’d help if she could?”

“Yes. She didn’t want to talk at first. I had to tell her about you.”

“Maybe she thinks I did it.”

“Not now, she doesn’t. I could tell she’d been crying, but there were no tears while I was there. She’d gone beyond that. Right now she’s bitter and resentful. The one thing in her mind is to make whoever did it pay. She’s in a pretty bad mood; it’s hard to tell what she might do.”

She thought a moment and said: “I could see it in her face. When she realized what I wanted she began to ask me questions. She kept at it.”

“How much did you tell her?”

“Quite a lot. I thought I might as well.”

“Did she know about the Las Vegas thing and the money?”

“Oh, yes.”

“And she knows it’s missing?”

“Yes.”

“What did she say about her husband?”

“Very little. She didn’t admit anything except that she knew her husband hated Grayson. From the impression I got I’m pretty sure she’s considering the possibility that her husband was the one who killed him, but when I suggested it, she denied it.”

“O. K.”

Jeff put out his cigarette and stood up. He reached down and drew her from her chair, standing close to her now, his hands cupping both elbows. What he did then was as unexpected, even to him, as it was impulsive. Hardly realizing it, but attracted by some desire impossible to resist, he bent his head and kissed the soft mouth lightly.

When he drew back the dark-blue eyes were wide and a spot of color brushed each cheek but she did not say anything. She just looked at him. He could not tell how she felt and now he felt the hot blood in his cheeks and dropped his hands. He did not apologize, and in his confusion he tried to ignore the act by speaking quickly of other things.

“Off you go,” he said. “You’re through for the day. And thanks for everything, Karen. You’re wonderful.”

“But”—she drew back, the color still in her cheeks and her eyes suddenly concerned—“you can’t just give up.”

“I’m not giving up.” Jeff said and grinned at her because he felt so good. “But you are. You’re going back to the hotel and have a swim and a nice lunch and then you’re going to take it easy.”