Till Death Do Us Part (8 page)

“Oh, Amalie,” Arden said. “She probably wants to give you all the dirt on the lady’s love life. Now stop hogging that bottle and come help me. There’s cactus in places I couldn’t reach.”

I took her the bottle. I nearly dropped it when she casually flipped up the robe to expose her round, pink rear. There were enough cactus needles in her to staff a good-sized pincushion.

She propped herself on one elbow and gave me a pair of tweezers. I handed her the bottle and sat on the edge of the bed. I said, “Don’t be so catty about Rosanne just because, she wanted to neck a little.”

“Is that what you call a little?” Arden asked. “I was peeking, remember.” The bottle gurgled. “And I’m not being catty.”

I captured a cactus needle and pulled. “Ouch! Pull at an angle.” I pulled at an angle. She said, “That’s better. And as for Rosanne, the gossip has it that for over a year after her husband died, she spent a lot of weekends in San Antonio.”

“On business?”

“Don’t be naive,” she said scornfully. “It was business, all right. Ten months ago she brought Jim Kruse back from San Antonio and put him to managing her ranch. She hasn’t been to San Antonio since.”

I said, “Where did you get this gossip?”

“I picked it up,” she said. “Don’t forget that I’ve been here nearly a month.”

I said, “How long has Pachuco been around?”

“Don’t be nasty,” she said. “Ouch, damn it!” There was a gurgle as she solaced herself with a pull at the bottle. “He was here when I arrived. He went away. About ten days ago, he came back.”

I pulled another needle. “What about Nace?”

“If I didn’t have to have you do this,” she said bitterly, “I’d tell you to take your suspicious mind and go to hell with it. Nace, as you call him, was here when I arrived.”

“How did
you
get here?”

“My agent got me the booking,” she said coldly. “Ouch! Pull only the needles. Leave everything else, please.”

I said, “Have another drink. It’s a good anaesthetic. What other little tidbits have you picked up? About Delman, for instance.”

“I’ve heard that both Delman and Kruse roll over and bark when la Norton whistles.”

“I can believe it of Jim Kruse,” I said, “but not of Delman.”

The bottle gurgled. After a minute, she said, “It’s true enough. The story is that Delman started proposing to Rosanne when she was barely sixteen. When she got married, he sort of went to pieces. He started chasing women like crazy. Brunettes.”

I said, “I suppose the psychologists would call that some kind of compensation—or revenge.”

“I suppose,” Arden said. Her voice was thickening. “Anyway, he chased them in Mexico City and New Orleans and most points in between. When Rosanne became a widow, he supposedly dropped all his women, but the rumor has it that even now his trips to Mexico City aren’t strictly business.”

“A nice couple they’ll make,” I said. “But if Rosanne doesn’t hurry, she’ll find herself married to a poor man. Women cost money.”

“I understand that they aren’t married yet because Rosanne is waiting for him to recoup. He nearly blew his business away on those brunettes.” She let out a yelp. “Be careful!”

I said, “Sorry, that one was hard to get at.”

“Don’t be so coy. Watch what you’re doing. Anyway,” she said, “since he’s so fanatically honest in his cattle dealings, rebuilding has taken him a while.”

“The guy’s too honest to be true,” I complained. I disliked Delman and I wanted nothing more than to find him guilty of Pachuco’s murder. But every time I got a theory started, someone came along and reminded me of his honesty. The guy was irritating.

“The point is,” Arden said, “that when Porter Delman goes for a woman, he loses his sense of perspective.”

“Would he go as far as murder?” I asked.

“That’s what I’ve been wondering,” she said. “He’s certainly protective toward Rosanne.”

I said, “I gather you don’t think I killed Pachuco.”

“I never did,” she said. “And since I’ve got to know you, I don’t believe what the newspapers said about you either.”

I almost kissed her for that, but I reached for a cactus needle instead. I said, “I suppose Nace told you what an ogre I am.”

“Even he’s beginning to change his mind,” she said. “Navarro told me your side of the story. I’m sure he believes you.”

I said, “Probably because he met Pachuco. But why should a second hand story make you think me innocent?”

“It’s more than the story,” she said. She paused to have a drink. “This stuff numbs me,” she explained, as if she needed an excuse. “What I mean is—here you are in an awful mess, but you refuse to hurt anybody to get yourself out of it. You could have protected yourself in a lot of ways and caused all sorts of trouble.”

I said, “I don’t like dirty pool.” I pulled out the last needle.

She didn’t move. “That’s what I mean. For example, here I am half full of brandy and at a kind of disadvantage, but you haven’t tried to make me violate any confidences or—or anything.”

I said, “If you don’t pull down that robe, you may have to change your mind.”

She pulled it down and flipped over. She bounced gingerly on her bottom. “I guess you got them all.” She smiled hazily at me.

It was the kind of smile that made me get up fast. I said, “I think I’ll go wash off the barbecue sauce.”

She put out her lower lip in a pout. I took off for the bath. When I returned, the brandy bottle was nearly empty and Arden was peacefully asleep. I rolled her, robe and all, under the covers and turned out the lights.

I got into bed. She said sleepily into the darkness, “Tommy, do you remember that gag of yours about us being man and wife?”

I grunted. She said, “Well, it wasn’t true. We weren’t registered at all.”

I said, “That’s a break.”

She swore blurrily at me. Then she said, “Anyway, you made me mad and so this morning I registered us as man and wife.” She giggled into the darkness. “Now what are you going to do about it?”

I swallowed a yawn. “I’m going to get some sleep.” And I did.

A
RDEN SAID
, “Go away, and take that stomping cat with you.”

I tiptoed to the bed and set a cup of coffee on the night-stand. I shook two pills from a bottle. “Take these with your coffee.”

She lifted a tousel of tawny hair from the pillow and opened one eye. She shuddered and closed it again.

I said, “Drink this before I pour it down you.”

“You’re just the kind who would, too,” she complained. She sat up and glared at me. “I’m going to sleep,” she said, mimicking my voice. “And, so help me, he did!”

I said, “I was just saving you from hating yourself when you woke up.”

She took the pills and gulped them down with a swallow of coffee. “Don’t be so smug. Maybe I want to hate myself.”

I went away. Even though it was late afternoon, I had some breakfast sent up for Arden. By the time it arrived, she was ready to eat. Mexican pharmacists know some wonderful remedies.

I smoked and watched her eat. Outside it was growing dusky, reminding me that I had work to do before my seven o’clock date with Amalie. I said, “I guess I’d better head for Fronteras.”

Arden chewed a piece of toast. “Can’t I do something besides sit in that drugstore?” She gave me a look that pleaded for understanding. “I really want to help, Tommy.”

I said, “Don’t call me Tommy. And things aren’t any better than they were yesterday. I don’t want you hurt.”

She gave me a warm smile. “You’re as sweet as you are naive.”

“The word is ‘sucker,’” I said. “And I’m serious.”

“So am I,” she said. “You know that you can’t do everything alone. Maybe I can watch someone for you. I’d be safe enough doing that.”

It was tempting. And she was right. I couldn’t do everything alone. I said, “Could you keep an eye on bully boy Delman without getting caught?”

“Easy,” she said airily. “And what will you be up to?”

“I have a date.”

“With
that
woman?”

I said, “No, with another one.”

“And right in the middle of our honeymoon too!” she said.

I went away and let her get dressed.

• • •

I returned the car to the garage and then took Arden to the Fronteras Hotel lobby where we looked up Delman’s address. We arranged to meet here by eight-thirty. If one of us couldn’t make it, the other was to ask at the desk for a message.

Arden took off and I went into a phone booth and called Rosanne. She was still in her office. I said, “We got sidetracked last night.”

Apparently she had decided to pick up from where we’d left off. Her voice was warm and soft, “I’ve been so worried! Is it true about that girl being your fiancee?”

I said, “Yes and no. She thinks so. It was just one of those things. Two strangers meet in a strange place. You know how it is.”

“Of course, dear. Are you coming right over?”

I said hastily, “I thought I’d get some definite news before I did. I want to talk to you-know-who.”

She said, “This is a private line. You can say anything you wish.” A rustle of worry came into her voice. “But please be careful. I was warned that if I ever let him know he was passing messages, I’d be in real trouble.”

I said, “Is it worth all this to protect your husband’s reputation—when you aren’t even sure he did anything wrong?”

“I’m sure,” she said softly. “I didn’t want to tell you, but now I know you’ll understand. He committed suicide. Someone found out that when he was with the army in Europe, he’d been part of a gang of looters. He brought back a small fortune in jewels and art objects he sold here to collectors.”

I said, “Was he being blackmailed?”

“Yes,” she said. “And after I built the business as big as it is today, the blackmailer evidently felt I could pay too. And I have paid, Tom. My husband was a fine man, even if he did make that one slip. I can’t let anything happen to his memory.”

I thought she was being foolish, and I had an idea she was as afraid of the effect of such news on her business as she was of sullying her dead husband’s memory. But I said, “I’ll be careful, Rosanne. I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.”

She said, “All right. He has an apartment near the radio station, but at this time of night you should find him in the Fronteras Hotel dining room.”

I said, “Where will you be later?”

She said, “I’ll be working late tonight. I have a little apartment off my office. Sometimes I stay over. I will tonight.”

I thought,
Cozy!

I said, “I’ll contact you as soon as I can.” We made idiotic murmurings to one another and I hung up. I was sweating as I left the booth.

I found Galvin at a rear table in the Fronteras Hotel Bar and Grill. He was talking to a man in a clerical collar. When the collar left, I moved in.

I wasn’t quite sure how to proceed with an attack on such an upright local citizen, especially when I caught a faint whiff of the same odor on the citizen as I had the night before. But now I was sure; there was no woodsmoke to interfere. It was little more than an aura, and it came from his clothes, not his breath.

Weed smoke.

Calvin looked up when I coughed. He said, “You’re Blane. Sit down.”

I sat down. I said, “I heard quite a bit about you last night. Your activities interest me. I thought we might talk about them.”

“Oh, do you work with boys?” For a minute I thought he was going to tilt his head and blink at me, but he managed to control himself.

I said, “No. I’m a private detective.”

He had a forkful of steak heading for his mouth. Both the fork and the steak fell back onto his plate. His long nose made two sharp twitches. His yellowish skin turned even yellower.

He said, “That’s interesting,” in a far away voice.

I said, “I thought you might be able to tell me about a few local people.”

“Tell you what?” he said quickly. “I don’t gossip, Blane.”

I said, “I’m not interested in gossip. I want facts.”

The way his undershot jaw and long nose almost met as he clamped his mouth shut told me that I wasn’t going to get very far with this kind of questioning. I decided to try another angle.

I said plaintively, “Hell, Calvin, a man has to make a living. And business is bad these days. Maybe I should advertise.”

The mention of advertising made his nose twitch again, but this time with eagerness. “I can give you a good deal there, Blane.”

I said, “Fine. How much will it cost me to dedicate a number to
señor
Fulano de Tal? I want to tell him I enjoyed his hospitality at the Posada del Padre Sin Cabeza. But don’t use my real name. Call me Pagador instead.”

I thought he was going to faint. His yellowish skin broke out in big globules of sweat. His mouth came open wide. I could hear him sucking for air. He took a final breath, got up, and half ran out of the restaurant. I was sure he was going somewhere to be sick.

I went after him. He had stopped on the sidewalk and was staring across the street. I stared too. At first all I could see were shadows of palm trees in the plaza. Then I spotted a figure half hidden behind one of the trees. It was small, about the size of Nace.

Calvin turned his head and saw me and started to run. He was the awkward type and his feet and arms flopped loosely as he jolted his way down the sidewalk. I trotted after him. Once I glanced back. If the watcher by the tree was interested in us, he wasn’t showing himself. There was no movement at all in the plaza.

I caught up with Calvin two blocks away. He had found a vacant lot with a tar-paper covered construction company shack in the middle. He tried to hide behind the shack.

I put a hand on his shoulder. He cringed but he didn’t try to run again. He didn’t have enough wind left for that. I said, “Be sensible, Calvin. You’re going to have to talk sooner or later.”

“I don’t want to talk to you! You can’t make me talk!” He was half panting and half sobbing. He was also afraid.

I moved so that he was between me and the side of the shack. I said, “Just a few questions. For instance, why would Rosanne hire a Mexican national as a secretary?”

The question surprised him. He also seemed relieved. He said, “Amalie? Why, Rosanne always hires a Mexican girl. She does so much business across the border that she likes someone educated and conversant with business Spanish so her letters will sound right.”

“How long has she had this one?” I asked.

He sounded almost chatty. “About two months. The former girl came into some money and went back home.”

I hated to upset him by asking more difficult questions. His chattiness ended fast when I said, “Now tell me who’s paying you for those Fulano de Tal commercials and just how deep you are in this deal.”

“I don’t know. I swear I don’t know.”

I wasn’t sure which question he was answering. I said, “You don’t know who’s paying you?”

“I swear it.”

I was tired of his swearing. I said, “How do you get your instructions—by telepathy?”

“By telephone. Every other week.” He talked in a rush now as if hoping sheer quantity of words would make me believe him. “The voice is disguised. Sort of tinny. Like one of those metal filters is being used over the mouthpiece.”

Rosanne had described it the same way. I said, “So why should you follow orders of that kind?”

He just shook his head. I said, “Or maybe there is no voice. Maybe the whole idea is your own.”

He didn’t answer me. He wasn’t even looking at me. He was concentrating on something else. I turned my head. I was in time to see a shadow blend itself with the trunk of a tree. The tree was on the parking strip of the sidestreet that backed the vacant lot. The shadow was about the size of the figure I’d spotted in the plaza. I decided that Calvin and I should go somewhere else and talk.

Before I could turn back and tell him, Calvin hit me. He made a wild swipe that bounced off my shoulder. I reached for him and he ducked under my arm and tried to run. I put out a foot and he tripped. He rolled over and got to his knees. And now he was armed. He had a thin-bladed Mexican knife in his hand. It was the kind of knife that slips easily between a man’s ribs and into his heart.

I took a step and kicked his wrist. The knife fell out of his hand. I dived on top of him. He lay under me, sobbing. His eyes were clamped shut and his face was all twisted with fear.

I felt sorry for him. He was frightened of me and he was frightened of telling me anything.

I gave the knot of his necktie a hard twist. “Come on, Calvin. Why do you have to broadcast those messages?”

He gasped out something that sounded like, “I told you all I can, damn you!” and then raked his nails at my eyes woman-fashion.

I let loose of his necktie. He rolled out from under me and got up. I made it to my knees before he landed on me. He hit my back like a monkey and started clawing at my head. I started rolling in the weeds.

I couldn’t get rid of him. He might have been there yet if someone hadn’t turned a searchlight on us. Calvin got off me fast then. He said, “Get up! Police!”

The Fronteras cops, prowl car division, had arrived. Calvin and I stood by the shack and waited for them to come across the lot. By the time they reached us, he’d stopped, shaking and panting.

The cops were very friendly when they saw what they’d bagged. One was a big Irish type; the other was a slim Spanish-American. The big one said, “What gives, Cal? Having trouble?”

Calvin sounded very convincing. He said, “Just an argument, Goodbody. I guess I had a couple too many before dinner.” He gave the cop a wink. “But keep it quiet, will you? I don’t want the kids to know I take a shot now and then.”

I wondered if he cared that they knew he smelled of marijuana.

Goodbody scratched his head. “Sure, Cal, but who is this guy?”

I said, “I’m a visitor. Cal and I met at the Norton barbecue last night.”

“Oh, you know Mrs. Norton?”

I said, “Bosom buddies.”

Goodbody acted as if that was very funny. He said to his partner, “Bosom buddies. That makes it a real hefty friendship, don’t it, Gomez?”

The little cop and I both laughed. I decided we were all friends now. I said, “Speaking of Mrs. Norton reminds me that I have a date.”

Goodbody nodded. He sounded very amiable. “Let’s get some dope on you before you go. Just routine, you understand.”

He got out a notebook. Gomez held a flashlight so Goodbody could see to write. I said, “The name is Blane. I….”

I stopped. The amiable cops were no longer so amiable. Goodbody’s pencil stopped moving. Gomez whipped the flashlight up so the light hit my face.

“It’s him!” Goodbody yelled. “Grab him!”

I didn’t know what I was supposed to have done, but I didn’t wait to find out. I ducked under the beam of that flashlight and started running. For obvious reasons, Calvin gave me an assist. He acted as if he were trying to get out of the way. Actually he threw a beautiful block that put both Gomez and Goodbody nose down in the weeds. By the time they were on their feet, I was nearly out of the lot.

I heard a shot and then Goodbody yelled, “Don’t hit the car!”

I was between them and their prowl car. I could hear its motor ticking over. I didn’t even slow down to think what to do next. I just did it. I went in the right hand door, slid across the seat, and landed behind the wheel. I left rubber as I took off.

Now I had a police car and I didn’t know what to do with it. By the time I’d twisted my way down three half dark streets, I was pretty sure why I was wanted, but knowing that wouldn’t tell me what to do next.

As if to confirm me, the radio started squawking. I listened to myself being described. I listened to the announcer warn all cars that I was probably armed and definitely dangerous. I heard that I was wanted by the Rio Bravo police for questioning in the murder of one Enrico Pachuco.