“The devil you weren’t...”
“Shut up!” snarled Sergeant Fedderson. “You’re interrupting the lieutenant.”
“I’ll do more than interrupt him,” cried Beagle. “That’s my phone and this is my office.”
Fedderson smacked his right fist into the palm of his left hand and advanced on Otis Beagle. The big private detective picked up his cane which had been lying across the desk.
Fedderson stopped. “You wouldn’t dare...”
“Try me,” challenged Beagle.
Becker snarled. “Will you two shut up so I can hear?” He barked into the phone, “All right, Sheriff, I’ll come up there and talk to you.” He slammed the receiver on but before he reached it he turned.
“I almost forgot. Miss Lee, what was that you said about Joe Peel disappearing?”
“I tried to tell you. Two men came out to the picnic-complete strangers. They volunteered their services as umpires and then when Mr. Peel hit the ball into the woods, they followed him. That’s the last we saw of any of them.”
“And it was then the whole bunch went into the woods to look for the ball?”
“Yes. When they didn’t return with the ball—”
“Just a minute — was this Smallwood one of those who went into the woods with the others?”
“Why, yes, he must have been.”
“No,” said Becker bluntly, “he didn’t have to be. He could have been in the woods already, when Peel went in—”
“That’s a lie!” cried Beagle. “You can’t pin that on Joe Peel.”
“I can sure try. It seems to me Peel’s either been present or just walked out before three different murders were committed. I don’t like such coincidences.” He suddenly pointed at Iowa Lee. “Miss Lee, are you a client of Otis Beagle’s...?”
“You don’t have to answer that,” cried Beagle. “You’re not under arrest.”
“Answer it, Miss Lee,” said Becker ominously.
Iowa Lee looked at Beagle, then at Becker, then back at Beagle.
“I have nothing to conceal,” she said with dignity. “I’m running a legitimate business. Yes, Lieutenant, I employed Mr. Beagle only this morning to... to look after my interests in this affair.”
“Four!” cried Becker. “Four clients in one case. You’ve overstepped yourself at last, Otis, and I’ve got you.”
Beagle raised his left arm and laughed up his coat sleeve. “Ha-ha.”
Becker pointed at him. “Don’t go taking any sudden trips, Otis. I’ll get back to you when I return from Ventura.”
“You do that, Lieutenant.”
Fedderson sneered at Beagle as he passed him and again smacked his fist into his other palm, a promise of things to come.
When the door closed on the two policemen, Beagle whirled on Iowa Lee.
“Now tell me the real story.”
“That was it, Mr. Beagle. Smallwood was shot by a... a thirty-eight-calibre bullet, according to the sheriff.”
“Let’s skip Smallwood for the moment. It’s Joe Peel I want to know about.”
“I told you. He came out in a taxicab and had the driver wait. It was the driver who said he’d gone off with those two men in the green Ford. It seems they’d followed Him out from Hollywood.” She hesitated, “And Mr. Peel followed Thaddeus Smallwood.”
“That was his job.” Beagle pursed up his lips. “Now, about Smallwood, was he in the woods before or after Peel left with the men in the Ford?”
“I can’t tell for certain. He was not one of the ballplayers. I know that. And I was watching the players from behind home plate.” She added, “I was the plate umpire. About Mr. Smallwood — why was Mr. Peel following him?”
Beagle made a brushing gesture, dismissing the matter. “How many people were out at this picnic?”
“Thirty-one people bought tickets, but then Mr. Smallwood showed up unexpectedly and Mr. Peel and the two strangers. Thirty-four altogether. Not counting myself. Mr. Beagle” — Iowa Lee hesitated, her forehead creased — “what did the Lieutenant mean when he said you had four clients in the one case?”
“Just some of his sarcasm. Lieutenant Becker doesn’t like me. I solved a case once that he’d bungled and he’s never forgiven me for it. Forget him. He’s talking through his hat.”
“But you were following Mr. Smallwood, or rather, Mr. Peel was.”
“On behalf of a client in another case. Mr. Smallwood’s involved in some business deals.”
“What kind of business deals?”
“As a matter of fact, we’re representing an employee of Smallwood’s — the girl you met last night, Linda Meadows.”
Iowa Lee’s eyes lit up. “Linda Meadows — yes. I knew her name was familiar last night, but she denied that she was a member of my club. Well, I looked her up this morning. And she is a member. So... so you are representing another person who is a member of the club.”
Beagle looked at his watch. “Iowa, my dear, I’m worried about Joe Peel. I’ve got to go out and look for him.”
“Where can you look for him?”
“I don’t know,” said Beagle. “I think maybe I’ll begin with Linda Meadows.”
“Can I go with you?”
Beagle grimaced. “You and Linda don’t get along.”
“If she’s been using my club for — illegal purposes, I have a right to know it.”
Beagle shook his head. “Don’t worry about a thing, Iowa. Just go home and take it easy. I’m looking out for your interests.” He got his Homburg hat, put it on and picked up his cane. At the door he stood aside for Iowa to go out before him.
Down the street, Beagle looked for a taxicab. Iowa moved to a Cadillac parked at the curb. “You... you’ll let me hear from you, Mr. Beagle?”
Beagle looked at the Cadillac. “That’s yours?”
“Yes. Could I give you a lift?”
“Mmm,” said Beagle. “I’ve been thinking things over. Perhaps it might be a good idea, after all, if you went with me to see Linda Meadows.”
20
Willie was more cautious with the money he had received from Charlton Temple than the loot from Joe Peel, so he didn’t lose his last dollar until shortly after six o’clock.
He stepped to the cot where Peel was lying watching a spider spin a web on the ceiling.
“Get up!”
Peel sat up and Willie grabbed him by the shoulder and propelled him halfway across the little bunk room. Then he threw himself to the couch.
Peel looked at Freddie, who was counting his money. “A good day’s work,” he observed.
“Oh, fair.” Freddie put away his money and patted his stomach. “It’s chowtime. My stomach’s grumbling.”
“We forgot about grub,” said Willie. “It’s a cinch we can’t stay here all night without eating.”
“I think there’s a lunch stand or something down at Agoura,” Freddie said. “Guess I’ll run down and grab myself a bite.”
“What about me?” cried Willie.
“I’ll bring you a sandwich.”
“I want more than a sandwich. I’m hungry. And a couple of bottles of beer wouldn’t go bad.”
“How about me?” asked Peel. “I’m hungry, too.”
“You got any money?” asked Freddie.
“I’ve got two hundred and fourteen bucks — in your pocket.”
Freddie grinned. “I’ll think about it.”
He left the little room. Willie got up and took out his revolver. He crossed to the door and sat down on the floor, with his back to it. “Now, don’t go getting any ideas,” he said warningly to Peel.
“Look,” said Peel, “you got your money from Temple. He isn’t coming back here again.”
“Oh, yes he is.” Willie grinned wickedly. “He said he was going to bring somebody back with him.”