“Then you’ll have to get it somewhere else. I have to have it back.” Penny tried to be tough.
“Where am I going to get three hundred dollars?” Sonia pleaded.
“How much?”
“Three hundred dollars. That’s what you ga -”
“You mean I only gave you three hundred dollars?”
“That’s right.”
There was a long pause while Penny considered this. What it added up to was another dead end. Potter had stolen ten thousand for a woman and killed himself because of it. Clytemnestra Hodgkiss hadn’t been the woman. because what Potter had provided her with was peanuts. Now it looked like Sonia wasn’t the woman either. Three hundred dollars! Chicken feed! But then where was the rest of the money? Who was the woman for whom Potter had stolen? Penny sighed, frustrated.
Relieved that Penny wasn’t pursuing the matter of the three hundred any further, Sonia changed the subject. “Shouldn’t you call your mother?” she asked.
“Why?”
“Well, you always do. You know how she worries when you don’t come home. Of course, maybe it’s too late . . .
“What time is it?” Penny asked dully.
“I don’t know. My clock is broken.”
“How did it get broken?”
“I pulled the bed down on it by accident. I rnisjudged the distance.”
“If the dog dies,” Penny suggested, “maybe your brother could be a Seeing Eye man for you.”
“No.” Sonia took him seriously. “That would never work. He’s too used to guiding a dog. Even now, if I take a walk with him, he’s always stopping at fire hydrants as if he’s waiting for me to do something.”
“I wonder what time it is.” Penny went back to the question.
“If you really want to know, call up. Just dial 637-1212. You know, it’s a phone company service.”
Penny crossed to the phone and dialed. After a moment a voice sounded in the receiver. “At the tone the time will be . . .” Listening, a look of surprise crossed Penny’s face. Sonia noticed. “What’s the matter?” she asked.
“Nothing. It’s just that I can never get used to how child-oriented our society is becoming.”
“What do you mean?” When Penny didn’t answer, Sonia tried another question. “What time did the operator say it was?”
“She said, and I quote, ‘The big hand is on the three and the little hand is on the one.’ I guess that makes it quarter past one.”
“That late huh? Well I guess you better not call your mother. You’ll disturb her.”
“Are you sure?” Penny picked up the receiver. “What’s the number?” Sonia recited it and Penny dialed.
“Hello.” Mrs. Potter’s voice sounded sleepy.
“Hello . . . Mother?” Penny choked a little on the word.
“Pennington! My son! But I have no son. No son would talk to a mother the way you did when you left me.”
“Sorry about that, Mom.”
“And then I don’t hear from you for—”
“Look, we can discuss all that when I see you. Has anybody called me?”
“I’m not your answering service.” Mrs. Potter was indignant.
“All right. All right. But did I get any calls?”
“Oh, yes. Yes, you did. Your boss called. I gather you’re fired. Just couldn’t keep your hands off that Hodgkiss girl, could you?”
“So I’m a lecher. Anybody else?”
“The police. They’ve been by several times. If you want to contact them back, just walk up to the first uniformed officer, tell him who you are and I’m sure he’ll be glad to arrest you.”
“Thanks a lot. Anybody else?”
“Dr. Kilembrio dropped up from downstairs to see you.”
“How could he drop up from downstairs?”
“Purist! A thief and a lecher and a purist, no less!”
Mrs. Potter made it sound like grammar was the greatest of Penny’s crimes.
“Who else called?”
“That redheaded floozy of an ex-wife of yours. Something about money. A lot of money, she said. The nerve of her telling me that! She wants you to come over to see her right away. Any time, day or night, that’s what she said. She left an address.”
“What is it?” Penny wrote it down as Mrs. Potter recited it. “Thanks.”
“When are you coming home, you bum?”
“I’ll be in touch.” Penny hung up the phone.
“What are you doing?” Sonia watched Penny moving around and picking up clothes.
“Getting dressed. I have to go.”
“Why? Where?”
“I haven’t got time to explain.” Penny dressed quickly. “I’ll call you.”
Penny left. The address Mrs. Potter had supplied was within walking distance. Penny walked, mulling it all over.
Maybe Brandy, the ex-wife, was the answer. Maybe she had the money. Maybe she was the reason Potter killed himself. If she was as bitchy as Mrs. Potter’s tone had implied, then as of right now she was the prime candidate.
What would she be like? Penny couldn’t help wondering. Something about the way Pennington P. Potter’s body was tingling with anticipation hinted at the answer . . .
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“You shaved off your moustache!”
Penny stood in the doorway to the apartment and took in the sight of Pennington P. Potter’s ex-wife, Brandy. The redhead was designed to fill eyes to brimming and then some. She was a voluptuous fruit ripe to bursting, a sensual animal overendowed with pulchritude, a full-size female sex gland coated with erogenous zones from tip to manicured toenail. She was too much!
There are such women. They’re set up like ice cream sundaes, too rich for most men’s blood, molded of whipped cream flesh and topped with cherry red hair. Brandy was such a delicacy. She was a super-special frappé with extra-large breasts-—firm, shimmering scoops — and erotic hips flaring out from a small waist, hips that melted into a lush derriere as succulent as peach melba. Add long, exciting legs with a butterscotch tan for tang.
Now note the face of the creation. Ah, how the sweet tooth starts to ache with longing! Those “dive-into-me” blue eyes, the high cheekbones lending the visage its heart shape, that puck-red mouth with its glistening lips sending out sex signals with every vowel and consonant the quivering tongue pushes through, that “come-bite-my-apple” expression-all add up to the countenance of a Circe, irresistible and merciless to men.
The tantalizing torso was partially covered by a white terrycloth robe which reached midway to the knee. It was held in place only by a loosely looped belt at the waist. The V of the upper part extended all the way to the navel and ample breast flesh on both sides of the deep cleavage was enticingly visible. Penny’s eyes kept returning to it, caught up in the game of hide-and-seek the creamy orbs were playing with the terrycloth. Her feminine background left no doubt in Penny’s mind that Brandy wasn’t wearing anything under the terrycloth.
“You shaved off your moustache!” Brandy repeated in that low, husky, “sock-it-to-me” voice. “You’re a different person!”
“That’s true,” Penny granted.
“I don’t like it,” Brandy decided. “You’re less masculine.”
“That’s probably true too.”
“Kiss me hello so I can see if it is.”
Penny complied. Kissing Brandy was like sucking pure oxygen. Penny felt lightheaded when the long kiss was over.
“Divorce or no divorce, some things never change,” Brandy murmured. “Now about that money—” she continued without pause or change of inflection.
“Aren’t you going to ask me in?” Penny was still standing awkwardly in the doorway.
“Gee, it’s awfully late. If we can just get the money bit straightened out . . .”
“Well, not out here in the hallway,” Penny protested.
“All right. lust a minute.” Brandy closed the door in Penny’s face. A moment later she opened it and stepped aside so Penny could enter.