Beau was silent.
Kerrie said fiercely: “I can’t turn all that money down. I can’t! No one could. Could you?”
“It wouldn’t be a problem with me,” said Beau gruffly.
She looked him in the eye. “It won’t be with me, either. But I think we’re talking about different things.”
“Congratulations,” said Beau.
It had to be. And of course she was right. He knew what it meant to go hungry, to be pushed around, to peer up at life from under the eight-ball.
Kerrie smiled and got out of her chair suddenly and came round the table. She leaned over him, so close he smelled her skin. It smelled like clover — Beau had smelled a clover once.
“Mind if I kiss you for being such a swell Santa?”
She kissed his lips. Lightly, in the shadows. He kept his lips deliberately tight, cold, hard.
But his voice was thick. “You shouldn’t have done that, Kerrie. Damn it, you shouldn’t!”
“Oh, then you’re the keeper of my conscience, too?” She kissed him again, laughing. “Don’t worry, grandpa. I shan’t fall in love with you!”
Beau got up from the chair so suddenly it fell over with a clatter and Kerrie stared at him with startled eyes.
“Come on, Miss Millionbucks,” he growled. “Let’s go tell the good news to your girl friend. I bet she’ll die.”
IV. Goodbye to All That
Kerrie and Vi wound their arms about each other in the dingy bedroom and cried and cried and cried, while Beau sat gloomily in the one good chair and helped himself freely to the contents of a brandy bottle he had thought to buy on the way home.
Kerrie acted like a hysterical child. She threw her wardrobe, one poor dress at a time, all over the room as if they were confetti. Several times she ran over and kissed Beau, and he grinned back at her and offered her a drink.
But she refused. “I’m drunk on good luck. Vi, I’m rich!”
The landlady came up to investigate the noise, but Kerrie poured out the news in a burst, rattling on like a machine-gun, and a cunning look came into the landlady’s faded eyes.
“Imagine that!” she said, smacking her lips. “Imagine that — a real heiress! My!”
Beau got rid of her.
“She’ll have every reporter in town here by morning,” he said. “Kerrie, pipe down. They’ll tear you to pieces.”
“Let ’em! I love ’em all! I love the whole world!”
“Wet blanket!” shrieked Vi. “Kerrie, he’s just jealous!”
“Ellery, you aren’t!”
“I guess I am,” said Beau. “That’s it — jealous. Of the income on half of fifteen million simoleons.”
“Oh, darling, don’t be! You’ll always be Santa Claus to me — isn’t he a handsome Santa, Vi? Darling, I won’t forget what you’ve—”
“Damn it,” snarled Beau, “don’t patronize me!”
“But I’m not. It’s just that I want everybody to share my wonderful luck!”
That sobered Violet. “Kerrie, you’re not going to be a fool? Queen, she’ll just throw it away, I know she will. She’ll be the softest touch in the universe. Every dead-beat in Hollywood—”
“I’ll see her through the first pains,” said Beau shortly. “It’s my job to get her safely back to New York.”
“Aren’t you the darling?” Kerrie stretched. “Oh, I feel so swell! And, Vi, the first thing we’re going to do is take your name off the list at Central Casting. No more extra work for you! You’re coming East with me, as my — as my companion. That’s what you’re going to do—”
“Kerrie! No!”
“You are. At a salary of... of... no salary at all! You’ll just share everything with me!”
“Oh, Kerrie.” And the blonde laid her head on Kerrie’s breast, and wept, and that started Kerrie off, too, and Beau disgustedly finished what was left in the bottle.
It was a mad night, and Kerrie was drunk with the wonderful madness of it. Surveying the disordered room as the sun came up and touched the faces of the two girls, exhaustedly asleep in each other’s arms, Beau wondered just how Miss Kerrie Shawn, heiress to the Cole fortune, recipient of twenty-five hundred dollars a week just so long as she remained unmarried, would react to the inevitable hangover.
But it was destined to be a long debauch.
The landlady, true to Beau’s prediction, did her joyous work. On the heels of daylight came a rush of reporters and photographers that engulfed the shabby little stucco house like a Pacific tidal wave. They yanked their copy out of Violet Day’s arms and, scarcely permitting her to rub the sleep out of her eyes, overwhelmed her. In five minutes the floor was treacherous with blackened bulbs. Beau, roused by the bedlam, had to fight his way through an excited mass of roomers. He spent a busy half-hour then, careful to keep the press from photographing him, evicting them one at a time.
When the room was clear he said: “Well, Cinderella, how do you like it?”
“I’m... a little scared,” said Kerrie, “but — I think I do!”
“Well, I’ll have to tear you away. Get some sleep and then we’ll talk about going to New York.”
“Is there really a rush?” pleaded Kerrie. “There are so many things I’ve got to do! Clothes, hair, face—”
Vi winked at him, and he left. But only to nap for another hour, bathe, shave, dress, and sit down outside her locked door.
Vi awoke first. He had a long talk with her, in undertones. There were several things he must do. Establish credit through New York. Corral her proofs of identity, and so on. He would be back as soon as he could. Meanwhile, Vi was to guard Kerrie with her life.
Vi said fervently: “Thank heaven for a man! Queen, I had my doubts, but you’re okay. Hurry back, will you?”
He left the house with the brim of his hat far down over his eyes.
He had a long talk with Lloyd Goossens by telephone. Then he called Ellery in the Adirondacks.
“I’m glad it turned out all right,” said Ellery. “Get the girl back East, Beau, and go to work on Margo Cole.”
“Have a heart,” growled Beau. “The kid’s in a fever. Give her time. I’ll get her back as soon as I can.”
“Well, don’t bite my nose off,” said Ellery. “What’s the matter, Beau? You sound strange.”
“Who, me?” said Beau, and he hung up. By the time he got round to the bank, Goossens had established an account there for Kerrie Shawn in the name of Ellery Queen.
When he returned to Argyle Avenue the narrow little street was black with people. Beau looked gloomy. He knew what lay ahead.
The next week was the hardest of his life. He was bodyguard, lawyer, big brother, and nuisance-fender all in one. Hollywood was excited. An unknown extra, Cinderella in rags, turned into a wealthy heiress overnight! All the studios wanted her — to sing, to dance, to act; for epics, newsreels, anything... but sign here please, Miss Shawn! The newspaper syndicates offered fabulous sums for her life-story. An army of cameramen followed her wherever she went. Tradespeople sent representatives in all humility, offering their best for nothing — wouldn’t Miss Shawn do them the honor of shopping in their establishment? Anything, anything her heart desired. As a gift of the management. If Miss Shawn would only... She was offered contracts, silver foxes, imported automobiles; she was deluged with invitations to premières, to swanky parties, to the castles of Hollywood’s great.
In all this madness Beau and Vi moved quietly by her side, hemming her in, Vi practical and cool, Beau silent and with his hatbrim shading his face.