“Okay, I’m smart,” Perry said. “One thing, Jim. If the cops do come here, you’ve left the Stetson hat and the slicker in the garage. If they find them—” He stopped at the sight of Jim’s leering grin.
“Brown’s a smart guy, I don’t get caught. I’ve got the hat and the slicker hidden in my room,” Brown said. “You don’t have to worry about me. All you have to do is worry about yourself.”
Perry shrugged. “I have things in the car. Clothes, a typewriter, business papers. I’d like to have them. Okay with you?”
Brown thought for a long moment, then he nodded. He took from his pocket the key to the garage door.
“Go ahead. Unload the car. Nothing tricky. Let me tell you something. I’m good at two things. I cooked for my old man, who liked his food. That’s one thing I’m good at.” The gun in its holster flashed into his hand. “And I’m very good, but not tricky with a gun. Go ahead, get your stuff.”
Raising his hand as a signal to Ross, Hollis brought their plodding progress to a stop. Under the dripping branches and the rain the two men came together, close to the lodge.
“Someone’s in Weston’s,” Hollis whispered. “Someone just came out to the garage. There’s a car there.” They were within fifteen yards of the fishing lodge. They leaned forward and peered through the rain.
Ross moved and recognized Perry Weston as he was unloading bags from a car.
With Hollis crouching by his side, he said, “That’s Weston.”
“You mean that’s the owner of the place?”
“That’s him.”
For a long moment, they watched Perry drag out two suitcases, then he disappeared from sight.
Ross moved out of the cover of the trees with Hollis at his heels.
Brown, watching, spotted the Stetson hats.
Perry came into the living room and dumped the suitcases.
“I’ve got my typewriter to collect,” he said.
“Take it easy, buster,” Brown said softly. “They’re here. Two goddam cops. You know what to do. One stupid move from you and you’re dead. Go ahead and get your typewriter.”
Perry gaped at him. “They’re here? What do you mean?”
“Get moving or there’ll be a shootout, and the first to go will be you! Go!”
The threat in Brown’s voice was like a blast of icy wind to Perry. For a long moment he stood paralyzed. Brown gave him a shove, then ran up the stairs.
“I’ll be watching, buster,” he called. “One stupid move and you’re dead.”
Bracing himself, Perry walked back to the garage.
Chapter 6
Ted Fleichman sat in his car, parked opposite the Westons’ house, feeling like a lump of jelly. Sweat ran down his face. His hands, resting on the steering wheel, trembled.
Jesus! he was thinking. That vicious little bitch! He recalled the sound of the bullet as it had zipped past his face. An inch to the right and he would have been dead. What a mug he had been to have underestimated this girl. Man! This could cause real trouble. Suppose she called the cops? He wiped more sweat off his face and made an effort to control his shattered nerves. She wouldn’t call the cops. No, he assured himself, she was too smart to do that. She’d not only land him in trouble, but herself, too. He had had enough of Sheila Weston. He wanted out. He would tell Dorrie to take him off the assignment. Let Fred handle this, and good luck to him! It would be okay. Sunday the office was closed. He wasn’t going to sit in the car outside her house, taking a chance the cops would descend on him.
He thought of his sick wife. He couldn’t remember when last they had spent Sunday together. He was always watching some randy woman or randy man seven days of the week. Well, okay, he would go home. His wife would be surprised and pleased. He’d take her out for dinner this evening. To hell with the cost. To hell with Sheila Weston! He started the car’s engine and pulled away from the curb. He’d tell the office that he had a stomach upset. To hell with them anyway! Now, relaxing, he drove homewards.
Sheila stood at the window and watched him go. She had quickly come out of her faint and had walked unsteadily into the living room. She had stood behind the muslin curtains, watching Fleichman as he sat in his car. Then when she saw him pull away from the curb, she drew in a long breath of relief. He was going!
She moved away from the window and sat down in one of the lounging chairs.
For some twenty minutes, she stared into space, her mind active. What an experience! she thought. This must never happen again. Then her mind shifted to her husband.
What’s the matter with me? she asked herself. Why do I act like a goddam tramp?
Perry! She felt an overwhelming need to be with him. Ever since they had married, he had been kind and understanding. Whenever he hadn’t been writing, he had been more than lovable. He had always spoilt her. Although she had been demanding, he had done his best to please her.
She beat her clenched fists on her knees.
The trouble with you, you stupid bitch, she thought, is you’re over-sexed. You have only to look at any handsome man and you want him to stick it in you.
This must stop. Perry is marvelous in bed. He loves you! These other men just want your body, but Perry really loves you! I want him and I need him. She thought back on her various lovers, then she thought of Julian Lucan.
She moaned to herself. What a mad, reckless fool she had been!
This must stop!
Then she remembered what Fleichman had said when she had asked him who was employing him to watch her. Nothing to do with Mr Weston. I can’t name my client. That would be a breach of confidence.
Her expression hardened. Ever since Perry had become the top scriptwriter, she had felt that he was dominated by Silas S. Hart. She had once met this man and had hated him. She knew he had no time for her. When any man didn’t fall for her, she automatically hated him. She had an instinctive feeling this powerful movie mogul would like nothing better than to break up their marriage.
So it was obvious. This ghastly blackmailer’s client was Silas S. Hart. She remembered Mavis had said Perry had been seen by her husband at Jacksonville airport, yet Perry had told her he was going to Los Angeles to work for Hart, so why should he be in Florida?
She sat back, thinking. This was another of Hart’s dirty tricks to separate them. This fishing lodge Perry had so often talked to her about, had tried so hard to persuade her to go there with him. Yes, he must be there.
She had a suffocating urge to get away from this house, to be with Perry, to talk to him. She had to confess. Perry was always understanding.
Jumping to her feet, she ran up to the bedroom. As she began to pack a suitcase, she felt released. In a few hours, she would be with Perry. She would tell him everything. She would ask that they might begin afresh. Why not? They could begin afresh.
Anything, she thought as she closed the suitcase, rather than stay alone in this house.
Packed, dressed, she carried the suitcase down to the lobby and called the airport. She was told a flight to Jacksonville was due off in two hours. Sheila booked a reservation. She had plenty of time.
Again she went to the window. There was no car parked outside the house. She felt a moment of triumph. She had frightened this filthy blackmailer away.
So, for the moment, she was no longer being watched. She scribbled a hasty note to Liz, telling her she would be away for a week or so, and to look after the house. Then she telephoned for a taxi. She then went into the lobby to wait for the taxi and she saw the gun lying on the floor by the front door where she had dropped it when she had fainted.
As she saw the gun the shock of realizing that she had nearly committed murder made her close her eyes. God! she thought. What a mess I’m in. Perry! He would be the solution. She must tell him everything. She picked up the gun and stuffed it into her handbag, not knowing what else to do with it.