I stepped over the low wooden gate and rapped with the little brass knocker that hadn’t been cleaned in months.
There was about a ten second delay: no more, and then the door jerked open. A solid young woman in grey-green slacks and a white silk blouse, her dark hair piled to the top of her head, looked me over with suspicious and slightly bloodshot eyes. She wasn’t what you’d call a beauty, but there was an animal something about her that would make any man look at her twice, and some even three times.
Before I could open my mouth:
“Spare your breath if you’re selling anything,” she said in a voice a little more musical than a tin can being thrown downstairs, but not much. “I never buy at the door.”
“You should have that put on the gate,” I said cheerfully, “look at the time it would save. Are you Miss Drew?”
“What’s it to you who I am?”
“I have business with Miss Drew,” I said patiently. “Important business.”
“Who are you?”
“The name’s Vic Malloy. I’m an old friend of Janet Crosby.”
A muscle in her upper lip suddenly twitched, but otherwise there was no reaction.
“So what?”
“Does that make you Miss Drew or doesn’t it?”
“Yes. What is it?”
“I was hoping you might help me,” I said, resting one hand on the wall and leaning on it. “The fact is I’m not entirely satisfied about Miss Crosby’s death.”
This time a wary expression came into her eyes.
“Excavating ancient history, aren’t you? She’s been dead long enough. Anyway, I don’t know anything about it.”
“Were you there when she died?”
She took hold of the front door and drew it against her side.
“I tell you I don’t know anything about it, and I haven’t the time to waste on something that doesn’t concern me.”
I studied the hard, suspicious face.
“Miss Drew, do you know what makes scarcely any noise but can be heard a mile away?” I asked, and smiled knowingly at her.
“You screwy or something?”
“Some people can hear it two miles away. Have a guess?”
She lifted her solid shoulders impatiently.
“Okay, I’ll buy it—what?”
“A hundred-dollar bill, folded in two and rustled gently between finger and thumb.”
The sullen look went from her face. Her eyes opened a trifle wider.
“Do I look as if a hundred-dollar bill would be of any use to me?” she said scornfully.
“Even Pierpoint Morgan could use a hundred dollars,” I said. “Still, I might raise the ante if you have anything worth buying.”
I could see her brain at work. At least now we were talking the same language. She stared past me, down the path into a world of dollar signs and secrets. She smiled suddenly, a half smirk, not directed at me, but at a thought that had come into her mind.
“What makes you think there’s anything wrong about her death?” she asked abruptly, her eyes shifting back to me.
“I didn’t say I thought there was something wrong. I said I wasn’t entirely satisfied. I have an open mind about it until I have talked to people who were with her about the time she died. Did you notice if she suffered from heart trouble?”
“It’s a long time ago, mister,” she said, and smirked. “I have a lousy memory for things like that. Maybe if you come back at nine tonight I’ll have had time to remember, and it’s no use coming back with a hundred dollars. I’m a big girl now and I have big ideas.”
“How big?” I asked politely.
“More like five. It would be worth my while to shake up my memory for five, but not for a nickle less.”
I made believe to consider this.
“Nine o’clock tonight?” I said.
“About then.”
“I wouldn’t want to spend all that money unless I was sure the information was of value.”
“If I can get my memory working,” she said, “I wouldn’t be surprised if the information was of value.”
“See you at nine, then.”
“Bring the money with you, mister. It has to be cash on the line.”
“Sure. Let’s hope this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
She gave me a long, thoughtful stare and then closed the door in my face. I walked slowly back up the path, climbed over the gate and got into the Buick.
Why nine o’clock? I wondered as I trod on the starter. Why not now? Of course the money had something to do with it, but she wasn’t to know I hadn’t come heeled with five hundred dollars. She didn’t ask. This was a smooth, bright baby: a baby who knew all the answers, and could make four and four add up to nine. I sent the Buick down the road so the speedometer needle flickered up to seventy after the first hundred yards. At the bottom of the road I crammed on the brakes to make the turn into Beach Road, gave an elderly gentleman about to cross the street three different kinds of heart disease, straightened out of the skid and went on until I saw a drug store. I swung to the kerb, ran across the sidewalk into the store and into a phone booth.
Paula answered the phone after the second ring.
“This is Universal Services,” she said in her gentle, polite voice. “Good evening.”
“And this is your old pal Vic Malloy calling from a drug store in Coral Gables. Grab your car, bright eyes, and come arunning. You and me are going to hold hands and make love. How does it sound?”
There was a momentary pause. I’d have given a lot to have seen her expression.
“Where exactly are you?” she said, and sounded as unexcited as if I had asked her the time.
“Beach Road. Come as fast as you can,” I said, and hung up.
I left the Buick outside the drug store and walked to the corner of Beach Road. From there I could see Eudora Drew’s cabin. I propped myself up against a lamp standard and kept my eyes on the gate of the cabin.
Nine o’clock. I had three hours to wait, and I wished I had asked Paula to bring some Scotch and a sandwich to help while away the time.
For the next twenty minutes I lolled against the lamp standard and never took my eyes off the cabin. Nobody came out. Nobody went in. Several tough-looking homhres emerged from other cabins and either walked away or drove away. Three girls, all blondes, all with strident voices, came out of the cabin next to Eudora’s and strolled down the road towards me swinging their hips and ogling anything in trousers within sight. As they passed me they all looked my way, but I kept my eyes firmly on the cabin.
A nice neighbourhood this, I thought. Not the kind of road Mrs. Bendix’s bunny-faced pal would care to walk down.
Paula’s smart little two-seater came bustling out of Princess Street and headed towards me. It pulled up and the door swung open. Paula looked very trim and slightly glacial in her grey, pin-head suit. She was hatless, and her brown eyes looked at me enquiringly.
“Where now?” she asked, as I settled beside her.
“Drive up here nice and slow and stop on the bend. Eudora’s place is that white and blue abomination on the right,” I said, and as the car moved forward I rapidly told her what had happened. “I have an idea she might communicate with someone,” I concluded. “I may be wrong, but I think it’ll be worth while keeping on eye on her for the next couple of hours. The only way to watch the house without getting the neighbours in an uproar is for us to be a courting couple. That’s something they all understand in this district.”
“Pity you had to pick on me,” Paula said coldly.
“Well, I couldn’t very well pick on Kerman,” I said, a little peeved. “Let me tell you some girls would jump at the opportunity.”
“Can I help it if some girls have queer tastes?” she asked, pulling up on the bend. “Is this right?”