“You were very silly last night,” she said. “Not that I minded, but Mom didn’t lose any time checking up.”
“In what way,” I asked, “was I silly, as you call it?”
“Telling me,” she said chidingly, “that you watched my show from a table near the palm trees. There aren’t any palm trees in the club where I work. It happens you are Rick Trent, ex-convict, ex-private detective and you’re working for my father.”
“Guess again, sweetheart. I can’t work for anybody as a shamus. There’s a matter of a license.”
“Poo,” she sniffed. “A license wouldn’t bother a man like you.”
“Tell me, June, how you learned all this.”
“There are ways.” She was giving me the cute routine now.
“Such as telling Paul Manning about my visit?”
She smiled. “You saw the picture of us together. Well, suppose he is in love with me?”
That didn’t jibe. A man can look with love in his eyes upon only one woman at a time and I’d seen that light in Paul Manning’s when he watched Lila. June was playing second fiddle whether she knew it or not.
I handed her a cigarette, lit it and my own. I wondered what meaning lay behind her visit and I intended to let her bring up the subject. Instead she smuggled closer.
“You’re not a bad sort, Rick. You and I could make music.”
“Nuts,” I told her. “I’m a broken down ex-con with hardly enough dough to eat let alone take around a girl like you. Not that I wouldn’t like it, mind you.”
“I’ve got money. I’m not as rich as my half sister, but I have money.”
That one hit me hard. “As Lila, you mean? What are you talking about? Her money comes from her father.”
“Oh no,” June contradicted. “Lila’s mother was wealthy and when she died she left it all to little Lila. But let’s not talk about her. Just about you and me, Rick. We can see one another again?”
“Look,” I said, “I can’t take you anywhere because of parole rules. That means no clubs, no bars, not even a restaurant where they sell booze. I’m always being stopped by cops. Sometimes they frisk me for luck and they don’t care who is around to witness the act. You’d have no fun with me.”
“Oh-oh,” she chortled, “that’s what you think. I work in a night club. I hate them. I don’t drink much. I’d be satisfied with a bus ride — and you, Rick.”
I was really getting the business and there was some reason for it. She hadn’t come here merely to throw herself into my arms. Not June! I remembered enough about women — her kind — to know that. If she had an angle, why didn’t she spill it?
I decided to make her talk. “Sorry, June. I wish I could take you up on this. Right now I’ve got a date.”
“Sit still, you fool,” she snapped. Her whole attitude changed then. “Do you think I enjoy this? I came here to tell you that Paul Manning isn’t quite as much of a fool as he seems. Something is up at my father’s place. I don’t know what it is or what is to happen, but there’s trouble brewing. And when it breaks, I want to be right there, batting for my share of his money.”
“Now you’re beginning to make sense,” I said. “What gives you the idea you or your mother would clean up if Ernest Doane — shall we say — died?”
“He’s my father, isn’t he? My mother was married to him once. That gives us some rights.”
“Sure. About as much as I have under parole laws. June, before you start beating your brains out, check around and make certain you really can get something out of the estate. Talk to a lawyer...”
She looked at her wrist watch and jumped up. “I will, Rick. I’ll let you know. Now I’ve got to run. My first show goes on in an hour. You’d be surprised how long it takes a girl to put on a costume that hardly covers her. See you later.”
She barged off fast and I sat there trying to figure it out. June knew very well her mother had signed away all rights to Doane’s estate. They were thick, those two, and Anna would have told her. So that wasn’t the reason why she came here. And telling me about Paul Manning wasn’t the motive either because she hadn’t informed me of something I didn’t already know. I recalled how she’d become so suddenly serious when I attempted to break away. Then I realized why she had come. To hold me here, on this park bench. To keep me from prowling while something went on. Something I might stop.
I got out of the park fast and whistled a cab. I rode to my hotel because if any messages came, that’s where they’d be. The desk clerk was signalling frantically as I entered the lobby.
He said: “Rick, some guy has been calling you every five minutes for the last half an hour. He sounds like trouble. Last call was about three minutes ago. He’ll be on the wire before you can reach your room.”
“I’ll stick here and take it,” I said. “Didn’t he leave any name or number?”
“The guy sounded too scared. Funny how it’s so hard to disguise fear over a telephone. I remember when my old man died... Hold it, Rick. The board is buzzing and I’ll lay odds this is your friend.”
It was Freddie Ogden. He said: “Rick, listen carefully. I’m at 269 Carmody Street. Third floor, rear left. In a room where Hazy lived.”
“Did you say lived? In the past tense?” I asked.
“He’s dead, Rick. Somebody put a knife through his throat. I’m scared. Will you come here?”
“Stay in that room and lock the door,” I told him. “I’ll be there as fast as a hack can bring me.”
Chapter Five
Frame-up For Two
Hazy was as dead as Cooney had been and the cause of his death was exactly like that which killed the private eye. I’m no stickler or stranger to blood, but I’ll admit examing that wound made my stomach jump. The blade had apparently been thin and long. I say apparently because the killer had insured death by twisting the knife.
I arose from my kneeling position and went over to sit on the bed. Freddie occupied a chair and he was almost as gray as the corpse. I said: “O. K., Freddie, let’s have it all.”
“There isn’t much to tell, Rick. I was getting dressed for a date with Lila. At seven the phone rang...”
“At exactly seven?” I asked him carefully.
“Yes. I remember because I was looking at the alarm clock to see how much time I had and when the phone rang, I jumped because I thought it was the alarm going off. What’s the difference anyhow.”
“Plenty, perhaps. A call precisely on the hour looks like a prearranged one. Go ahead.”
“Hazy was on the wire. He said he’d made a terrible mistake about you and me too. That he’d been told both of us were out after him. He said ex-cons should stick together and that he had a lot to tell you. I promised to try and contact you. I did try and you were nowhere that I phoned.”
“I was sitting in a park listening to a smart little doll soft-soap me into being scarce when you needed me,” I said bitterly.
“Well, I called Hazy back and he told me if I came over, he could give me the story. That it was important, his life was probably in danger and I should leave at once. Also make certain I wasn’t tailed.”
“Or accompanied,” I said. “What was the set-up when you got here?”
“He was — just like you see him now. The door was closed but not locked. He didn’t answer my knock so I stepped in and — found him.”
“You saw nobody you knew?”
“Not a soul — and I was careful not to be tailed.”
I took his arm. “We’re getting out. This has all the elements of a beautiful little trap. And if it is, the man who set it has had plenty of time to spring it. Go to work with your handkerchief and wipe every flat surface you might have touched, even remotely.”