“Heard something I thought I’d pass on.”
“Great. What is it?”
“Mrs. Murdoch tried to pay off Karen Hastings. To get her out of town. Mrs. Murdoch has plenty of money of her own. Her husband didn’t know anything about it. She started at ten thousand but the Hastings woman said no. So eventually she went to twenty thousand. I think she copped to the whole thing, man. The four guys and Karen Hastings, I mean.”
“Hold on a sec.”
I dug out my notebook and wrote it down.
“That’s useful. Thanks. I don’t suppose you’ll tell me who you heard it from?”
“Can’t. I took the Boy Scout oath.”
“You could be making all this stuff up. How would I know?”
“Would the author of The Torrid Twins ever lie to you?”
“I thought that was The Tempting Twins.”
“They changed the title for the second edition.”
“Ah.”
“See what you can do with it, anyway. She might have iced the Hastings dame.”
“Boy, you’re really picking up on the tough-guy talk.”
“Yeah, I’m digging the hell out of this detective gig, man.”
I tried to go back to reading, I wanted to go back to reading, I told myself that I should go back to reading and put everything else out of my mind for the evening—
But since I already had my notebook at hand—
I started going through motives that might lead an unstable mind to commit two murders.
Mike Hardin
Gavin Wheeler
Peter Carlson
Wanted her for himself
Ross Murdoch
Brother shaking him down for money
Mrs. Murdoch
Wanted her out of town
I fell asleep just before the ten o’clock news, not waking up until just before six. I dressed in yesterday’s clothes and drove over to my place.
I let myself in, being as quiet as possible. I opened the door to the meows of the three cats who stared up at me with long, guilt-inducing gazes. How dare I spend the night somewhere else? But I could see their bowls from here. They’d been fed well and their water had been refreshed and filled to the brim in the bowl.
A voice said, “Don’t worry about us. We’ve been up all night.”
I walked into the area that I used as the living room. Stu sat on the couch, smoking a cigarette. He wore pajamas and his hair was mussed and he needed a shave. A pillow was propped up against the arm of the couch. On the opposite end was a blanket.
“I slept on the couch.”
“Why?”
“I’ll tell you why. Because I’m leaving him.”
The beautiful Pamela Forrest was sitting up in the middle of my bed. She too wore pajamas and her hair was mussed. She didn’t need a shave.
“Why’re you leaving him?”
“Why? We patched things up last night and I told him I loved him and was glad he’d come back to get me. And then I told him about this art class I was taking and it started all over again.”
“What started all over again?”
She gave him a disgusted look and said, “You tell him, Stu. And then just listen to yourself.”
Stu seemed embarrassed. “Well.”
“Well, he got jealous. As usual. That’s why I left him. When I said our marriage wasn’t what I’d imagined it would be? Well, that’s the real reason. All those other reasons I gave you all boil down to this, McCain. He’s so jealous he wants to keep me locked up all the time.”
“What’s wrong with art classes, Stu?”
“You don’t know her, McCain. The way she flirts. She takes an art class—especially one at night—I’ll lose her for sure. I mean, back here, I didn’t have any competition. No offense, McCain. I mean, nothing personal. But I was the only guy she was interested in. But in Chicago—”
“That’s why I’m leaving him, McCain. ‘The way she flirts.’ God, I never flirt.”
“The party at Judge Armstrong’s house? That Peruvian bastard.”
“He was an Argentinean bastard.”
“Well, whatever he was, he had his eyes down your blouse.”
“There isn’t all that much to see down my blouse, Stu. I shouldn’t have to tell you that, of all people.”
“How many times did you slow dance with him?”
“Twice.”
“Oh, bullshit, Pamela. Don’t make it worse by lying about it.”
I just let them go. I doubted they even noticed. I grabbed fresh clothes and repaired to the shower. When I came out, I was ready to go.
Stu wasn’t on the couch.
Then I heard a moaning sound.
I turned. They were on the bed. They were under the covers and I do believe he was inside her, the noises she was making.
But she was still able to look around his arm at me and say, “We made up, McCain. He told me he’d never be jealous again.”
“Good for you, Stu.”
I’m not sure Stu was hearing much at the moment. He just sort of continued to work away down there.
“So tonight Stu’ll make you a steak,” she said around his arm again. And then: “Oh, by the way, Judge Whitney called for you last night. You better call her.”
“God, honey, can’t you pay a little attention to me?”
“Oh, Stu,” she said, eradicating my existence. “Oh, Stu Stu Stu.” And giggled giggled giggled.
At the office, I called Judge Whitney in her chambers. “My God, Pamela had nerve enough to come back to town?”
“Surprised me, too.”
“And Stu?”
“Yep.”
“Well, at least when my family had to endure a scandal, we went as far away as we could. All the way out here. And we never went back to our little town, either. But people these days—well, they’re staying at your apartment and probably having a great old time.”
“Sure sounded like it when I left this morning.”
“Spare me the details, McCain. I have tender ears.” Then: “Tish Hardin called me late last night from the hospital.”
“Is she sick?”
“She isn’t. But her husband Mike is. He sat in a steaming hot bath last night and slashed his wrists. She got him to the hospital and took him in the back way. She’s afraid that this’ll make people think he killed that Hastings woman.”
“Under the circumstances, I’d have to say that that would cross my mind, too.”
“He’s at St. Mallory’s. Go see him, talk to him.”
“I doubt he’ll talk to me.”
“It’s important that you at least try.”
“Let me check my mail and my calls. I’ll get over there as soon as I can.”
“I’m due in court in ten minutes, McCain. Call me later on this morning. After eleven.”
“All right.”
“And McCain?”
“Yes?”
“I think you should marry Mary Travers.”
I laughed. “What brought that on?”
“Well, everybody in town knows what’s happened to her. And everybody also knows that she’s still in love with you. She’s a very sweet girl.”
“I didn’t know you gave advice on romance.”
“You should know by now, McCain, that I give advice on anything I feel like.” She hung up.
THIRTEEN
HE WAS ON THE top floor in a cul-de-sac, the nearest room half a hallway distant. A nurse had just stuck a thermometer in his mouth as I walked in. The white room gleamed with sunlight. A wall-mounted TV was muted. The image was that of Garry Moore, a comforting image.