“No, Poochie, not now.”
I took in the place from a better angle. It was a magnificent home, built like an old colonial mansion right down to the twenty-foot pillars surrounding the entire structure. Set back a few hundred yards from the ocean, it commanded a superb view from the top of a slight rise. Earth must have been shipped in to make a terrace on either side, as its color was the bright green of lawn grass and not the duller shade of the sand variety.
From the rear of the house that faced the water, a flagstone path curved down to the trees and ended abruptly at a gazebo whose latticework was covered with ivy.
A little warning sign was tacked to the tree nearest the sandy beach. Poochie stayed behind, nervous, as I walked up for a better look. It read:
PRIVATE PROPERTY
KEEP OFF!
E.J. WESLEY
I grinned. Now I knew who the lady with the yellow hair was.
Sharron Wesley.
You probably read about her yourself-the infamous, two-timing ex-chorus tomato that stood charges for murdering her millionaire husband and got off scot-free when an all-male jury paid more attention to her legs than the testimony.
I remembered that case well, though I knew it strictly from the spectator seats. Because of Sharron, two husbands had died. Even before she married Wesley, she had spent a term in the big house for manslaughter of hubby number one: a glorified pimp of a manager that she claimed beat her. Well, he hadn’t been beating her when she smothered him in his sleep. But the tabloids had loved that yellow hair and those long chorus-girl gams that she wasn’t shy about showing off only to jurors-reporters got in on the fun, as well.
Still, what the hell her second husband ever saw in her was more than I could see. There are plenty of good-looking fluffs around Manhattan that don’t smother their hubbies in bed. Of course, Wesley had died due to his bad heart, right? That digitalis overdose was just an accident on curvy Sharron’s part.
And ever since, she had been using his dough to support a revolving door of gigolos and a gambling habit and a general party-girl good time. I knew her a little, and she had tried to make me more than once, but I’d sooner sleep with a snake. Last time I saw her, at the Zero Zero Club, she was crocked to the gills.
According to Pat, the D.A. had plenty to hang her with, but the shyster she had pleading her case did a fine job of screwing up the facts. The scandal sheets went crazy over the angle shots of her legs and the jury was drooling half the time. The judge who sat on the case almost blew his top at the verdict, telling that jury he’d never seen a greater miscarriage of justice in his courtroom, shooing them out in disgust.
If these fancy beach-side digs were any indication, Mrs. Wesley must have inherited her husband’s money intact and decided on this modest playpen instead of her penthouse on Central Park to establish a residence.
Only now she was gone.
A missing person.
And last night Dekkert had damn near crippled a nice simple-minded joe just to squeeze out any morsel of information about her whereabouts. No doubt Dekkert figured that the Wesley dame would have been seen, if she had taken off through town. Her car would be well known in this vicinity. Otherwise, beachcomber Poochie was in a fine spot to see anything and everything that went on at the mansion, even if he didn’t pay particular attention to it.
But why was Dekkert interested?
Sharron had a perfect right to go where she pleased. So what if she took off by boat, or with some out-of-towner in a strange car that wouldn’t raise any notice rolling through sleepy Sidon? She’d been gone a week. And a week wasn’t so long as to warrant an investigation when there were no suspicious circumstances.
Or were there?
The only thing I was sure of was that something foul was in the ocean breeze and I was going to find out what. I had tangled with Dekkert before and was not about to let him get away with making a punching bag out of an innocent schnook like Poochie.
Velda had fallen asleep on the sand when I got back. She had spread out that light sweater and was nestled down on it, her sweet, sultry face turned to one side. I gave her gentle prods with my toe until she looked up at me sleepily.
“Time to get up already?” she purred, stretching her arms.
“Rise and shine,” I said. “We have to go.”
“Where?”
“Town. I have a date.”
“Do tell!”
“With the police chief.”
She got to her feet in an instant. Her eyes narrowed, and the pretty mouth got as ugly as it could, which wasn’t very ugly.
“I get it, you louse. You’re going to work. I can see myself already, chasing all over Sidon doing your legwork. Well, if you think-”
“Aw, kitten, take it easy. I only-”
“You ‘only’ nothing. When you get that look on your face, it means trouble. We came up here for a vacation. You’re here for a rest, not to make an arrest.”
“You’re imagining things.”
“If we are not here for rest and relaxation, big boy, I am going home.”
She turned and started to walk away, but I put out my hand and stopped her, turned her to me. She had tears in her eyes.
“Mike, don’t ruin this…”
“Hey, kid, I’m not drinkin’, am I? I’m just curious about what’s going on out here in the sticks.”
“Leave the curiosity to those scraggly cats, why don’t you?”
Poochie edged up near us and said, “Golly, Mike, why do you make the nice lady cry when you like her so much? I can tell you do.”
When he realized what he had said, he turned his head and blushed. It was so silly and cute that both Velda and I wound up grinning at each other.
Then her expression turned serious and her dark eyes took on a sensual cast. “ Do you, Mike?”
“What?”
“ Like me… so much?”
I looked at her. She was as pretty as anything I had ever seen. Tall, jet black hair, always in that sweeping pageboy that I so admired. Big and beautiful with more curves than a mountain road…
She was warm under my hands. I tilted her chin and bent my head. Her mouth found mine and she trembled under me as our mouths surrendered to each other.
When I held her away from me, she was gasping. “That was the first time you ever did that, Mike.”
“I’ve wanted to for a long time,” I told her roughly.
“Why?” Her eyes were soft and inviting. I ran my fingers through her hair.
“You know why. A dame works for a guy, and it gets out of hand, and all of a sudden-”
“Shut-up and kiss me again.”
I did, but then Poochie was right there watching us with a big smile plastered on his baby-face mug. The kiss turned into a mutual laugh, and then I tugged at her arm.
“Let’s go, Velda.”
She just nodded.
We were already walking when I called back, “So long, Poochie!”
“So long! You’ll come see me again, won’t you?”
“Sure will!” we said together.
As we glanced back, we saw him dash into the shanty and come out with a shell. He rushed to us and handed it to Velda.
“A pretty present for the pretty lady,” he said with a shy grin.
Velda took it, looking pleased. It was his latest, the Nativity scene.
“Why, thank you, Poochie,” she said. “It’s beautiful.”
When we were walking back to the car, she squeezed my arm and lay her head against my shoulder. “I like Poochie, too, Mike. Maybe we shouldn’t leave Sidon until we know he’s safe.”
“Yeah.” I lit up a Lucky. “I have to make sure that Dekkert character isn’t a threat to him.”
“You’re a softie, underneath it all, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. All squishy.”
“If it weren’t for Poochie back there, I’d still be thinking you were just an old so-and-so.”
I blew a cloud of cigarette smoke and broke out my lopsided smile.
“Kitten,” I said, pretending to be shocked. “Watch your language.”