“And?” I prodded.
“As of this moment, your services are terminated,” he said crisply. “Good day, Mr. Boyd.”
“You withdraw your offer of five thousand if I find the tiara?” I asked.
“No.” The gold-rimmed glasses seemed to laugh at me. “I have already withdrawn it. Again—good day, Mr. Boyd!”
“And a Happy New Year to you, Mr. Elmo,” I said courteously. “May your emeralds grow green fungus and your sapphires melt.”
I stopped at the desk of Tamara O’Keefe on my way out. She looked as dazzling as ever, her hair-do a slightly different fantasy maybe, but everything else under that tight black dress looked exactly the same, as far as I could tell.
“Mr. Rutter called about five minutes back,” she said. “I told him you were in with Mr. Elmo, and he said would you call him back before you left?”
“Thanks,” I told her.
“I’ll get the number for you.” She dialed, asked for Rutter, then handed me the phone.
“Boyd?” Rutter’s voice was crisp and executive. “I just had a thought. I’d prefer not to see you out at the plant—it might cause talk and there’s been too much of that already. So let’s make it my house instead.”
“Whatever you say,” I acknowledged politely. I’d already lost one client that morning, and I didn’t figure on losing the other quite so soon.
“Let’s say twelve then?” he queried.
“Fine. I’ll be there.”
“Good.” He hung up.
Tamara looked at me inquiringly. “I have a vague recollection someplace that I have a date for tonight—or do you have a prior engagement to shoot anybody?”
“My recollection of the date is crystal clear,” I assured her. “And even if I had a paid-for-already assassination lined up for tonight, I’d postpone it. I just can’t wait to see you in your Mother Hubbard, a look of absolute delight on your face as you contemplate my early downfall.”
“I have all day to polish my defensive reflexes,” she said calmly. “By tonight they’ll be razor-sharp.”
“Where will I pick you up?”
“It’ll be easier to meet you someplace,” she said. “Why not the Luau Bar?”
“Around eight? That sounds wonderful,” I told her. “I’ll bring my missionary’s enthusiasm along with me. Maybe after three or four of those rum-based drinks, that Mother Hubbard might slip just a little?”
She smiled sweetly. “With the Mother Hubbard, maybe it’s possible.” Her head shook slowly and confidently. “But with little old Tamara O’Keefe—impossible!”
It was, like the guy who married a Siamese twin once said, a matter for conjecture.
chapter eight
It was the same kind of day with the sun shining from a cloudless blue sky, a gentle breeze drifting in off the ocean—the whole bit. The split-level house hadn’t changed, I still had to walk up forty steps to get to it. I sniffed the scent of hibiscus as I pulled the rope that rang the antique brass bell. The same brown-skinned brunette greeted me, only today she was dressed differently. The blue-green satin swimsuit had been replaced by a beach dress made of white sharkskin, with a demure neckline, loose-fitting, and slit wide and high, revealing a disturbing length of bronzed thigh.
The sloe eyes looked at me almost keenly for a while, but this time the profile produced no flicker of approval. I had a sudden, sure feeling that for Myra Rutter, Danny Boyd was strictly past tense.
“Come on in,” she said finally. “James called and said you were coming out. You beat him out here, but I guess he’ll be along any time now.”
I followed her into the house, through to the enormous living room. “Sit down, Danny,” she said. “I’ll make the drinks this time, for a change.” There was a faint, mocking smile on her lips as she sauntered across to the bar. “I’m glad for your sake that you’re on time,” she went on, busy with the glasses. “James hates people who are late for business appointments—I think it’s always just as well to know people’s idiosyncracies, don’t you?”
87
She turned around and walked toward me, carrying the two glasses carefully. The smile on her face broadened. “Especially when you’re working for them. I mean, being nice to the boss is always terribly important to an employee, isn’t it?”
I took the drink from her outstretched hand, and she sat down beside me, but very much at the far end of the couch, and crossed her legs with a deliberate disdain of the startling length of thigh the action revealed.
“Do you find James a hard man to work for, Danny?” she asked casually. “I mean, do you have to call him ‘sir,’ or anything?”
She had given me a stinger without bothering to ask what I wanted. Yesterday I had been a free man and could make my own drinks—today I was her husband’s hired man and I’d damn well drink what I was given. Now I knew why the profile had suddenly lost its appeal.
“Mostly I call him ‘Mr. Rutter, sir’ ” I said idly. “He seems to like that—and I don’t want to lose a wonderful job like this. The fringe benefits are enormous—once I’d signed a declaration promising I wouldn’t try and seduce his wife any more, I got an expense account and six credit cards, a large block of stock, and four weeks every year in Las Vegas with the receptionist, all expenses paid.”
Myra sipped her drink slowly, then shrugged. “I’m disappointed in you, Danny. I was impressed with that act you put on at the pool yesterday. For the first time in my life I thought I’d met a man who wasn’t scared of my husband. Then I found out James used one of the oldest techniques going—if you can’t beat them, buy them—and now you’re just another employee!”
I heard the front door open and close, then the sound of swift, confident footsteps coming down the hall. A moment later Rutter came into the room, saving me the chore of countering Myra’s interpretation of the deal I’d made with her husband.
“Glad you got here, Boyd.” The slate-gray eyes stared at me with their usual arctic warmth. “One thing I always insist on is punctuality.”
“Yes, Mr. Rutter, sir,” I said politely, and Myra giggled suddenly.
His eyes narrowed and a faint flush showed up under his tanned skin. “Are you trying to be funny?” he grated harshly.
“Your wife was just explaining to me, before you came in, that you always like an employee who’s both punctual and polite,” I said easily. “I was on time already, so now I’m trying the politeness jazz because I’m plugging for a raise and promotion to an executive level where I can get to make my secretary on company time.”
“What kind of crap is this?” he rasped. “You don’t work for me and you never will—Hell can freeze over first! We agreed on a proposition, that’s all. If it works out, you get paid—and if it doesn’t, then the hell with you, Boyd! Understand?”
I nodded gravely, then looked at Myra with a deadpan face. “Understand?” I asked her.
“Understood!” She nodded gravely in return, but there was a sudden flicker of interest in her eyes.
“Are you two fried already?” Rutter asked in a bewildered voice. “At midday, by God! Just how long have you been here, Boyd?”
“Maybe ten minutes,” I said, “but I’m a fast drinker.” “But not on stingers,” Myra added. She got onto her feet gracefully and lifted the glass out of my hand. “What would you like to drink, Danny?”
“A vodka martini would be fine,” I answered, “with no fruit or vegetables.”
“You can get me the same,” Rutter growled. He watched her walk across to the bar, the comers of his mouth turning down at the studied deliberation of her swiveling hips. “Why can’t you ever get dressed properly in the daytime?” he asked irritably. “What the hell is that thing you’re wearing, anyway? It’s indecent!”
“It’s a beach dress, darling,” she said, with her back turned toward him as she made the drinks. “An awful lot of people wear them—mostly girls, of course.”