It was over half an hour before Brown appeared silently in the living room.
After his third Scotch, Perry was dozing in the armchair. He came awake with a start as Brown closed the door.
“They’ve gone,” Brown said. “Stupid jerks! They couldn’t have spotted the telephone. Cops! They don’t know their asses from their elbows. I followed them right to their car. They’ve gone!”
Perry heaved a sigh of relief.
“Okay, Perry, I’ll fix supper,” Brown said. “You hungry now?” Perry discovered he was hungry.
“Sure.”
“Tonight,” Brown said, “you get locked in your room. I sleep light, Perry. If there’s trouble, I’ll handle it. Understand?”
“Sure,” Perry said.
Nodding, Brown went into the kitchen. Perry heard him whistling tunelessly as he put the chicken on the spit.
Chapter 7
Sheila Weston wheeled the hand trolley containing her suitcase and vanity box into the arrival center of Jacksonville’s airport.
It had to be raining! she thought. She had no idea where to find Perry’s fishing lodge. All she knew was it was near some village called Rockville.
In describing the lodge, Perry had told her it was right by the river. He had said hopefully he would teach her to fish. Sheila had firmly declined.
“I don’t like walking, I’ve seen a river and to hell with fishing,” she had said.
That settled that.
Now, aching to talk to Perry, she was determined to get to the fishing lodge.
The Hertz Rental people would probably know. Perry had said he always rented a car to get to the lodge.
The time now was 7:15, and she could see through the glass doors not only steady rain, but that the light was failing.
As Sheila approached the Hertz desk, she saw a broad shouldered man, his back to her, leaning on the counter, talking to a pretty Hertz clerk who was smiling the way young girls smile when a man has made his mark.
Sheila eyed the man’s broad back. He was wearing a beautifully cut, lavender colored country suit. His dark hair was shot with grey.
She left the trolley and walked up to the desk.
The Hertz girl was saying, “I really wouldn’t advise it, Mr Franklin. Better wait until tomorrow.” She then looked at Sheila and said, “I won’t be a minute.” The man turned and regarded Sheila.
She felt a little jolt run through her. This was some man! She immediately thought of Douglas Fairbanks Jr when he was in his prime. This man had the same kind of features. Not only that, but he had a personality that came out of him, and made Sheila feel randy.
“Attend to the lady, Penny,” the man said. “I’m in no rush.” The girl lost her enchanted smile and moved along the counter.
“What can I do for you, madam?”
“I am Mrs Perry Weston,” Sheila said. “Did my husband hire a car from you yesterday?”
The girl’s face lit up. Even remembering, the thrill of dealing with Perry Weston remained.
“Why, yes, madam.”
“How do I get to Rockville and his fishing lodge? Would you know?”
The girl looked blank.
“Rockville, yes, but Mr Weston’s fishing lodge, no.”
The man whom the Hertz girl had called Mr Franklin said in a deep, soft voice that sent a tingle down Sheila’s spine, “Excuse me. I couldn’t help but overhear. I am Perry’s neighbor. I have a fishing lodge about a mile from his.”
Sheila turned her back on the Hertz girl and gave Franklin a flashing smile.
“What a coincidence, Mr Franklin. I believe Perry has mentioned your name.” This was strictly untrue.
“I’m going to Rockville and could show you the way, but not tonight. Miss Pentagast tells me the roads down there are bad. Perhaps your husband is meeting you?”
Sheila flashed a smile as she moved away from the desk, aware the Hertz girl was listening. Franklin moved after her until they were away from the desk.
“No, he doesn’t know I’m coming. It’s a surprise visit,” Sheila said.
Franklin lifted an eyebrow.
“You won’t make it tonight, Mrs Weston. But tomorrow, if the rain clears, I’ll be happy to drive you there.”
“That’s very kind of you, Mr Franklin. Well, I guess I’ll have to find a hotel.” Sheila put on her helpless look which had paid dividends in the past. “Do you know of a good hotel, Mr Franklin?”
Franklin studied her for a brief, searching moment, then he smiled.
“I come down here every other month,” he said. “Sure, there’s an excellent motel I stay at. Would you like me to make arrangements for you, Mrs Weston?”
Again the helpless look. “I don’t want to be a nuisance.”
“It’d be my pleasure. I’ll get a taxi. Just leave your baggage. Maybe you will want to telephone your husband?”
Oh, no, Sheila thought. What she felt was the urgent need to get into bed with this beautiful man.
“I don’t think so. He would only fuss. I’ll call him tomorrow.”
They regarded each other, both smiling.
“I’ll fix everything for you, Mrs Weston. Just wait here.” Sheila sat down on one of the benches while Franklin wheeled her trolley outside.
You never know, she thought, what’s around the corner. Then she remembered Julian Lucan. Who was this man, Franklin? He must be all right if he had a fishing lodge and knew Perry. All the same, Lucan haunted her. He too had been suave, handsome and sexy. She got to her feet and walked to the Hertz desk.
The Hertz girl looked inquiringly at her.
“Who is Mr Franklin?” Sheila asked. “What does he do?” The girl gave a sly little smile. She read the message.
“Mr Franklin is the senior partner of Franklin & Bernstein, the New York lawyers, Mrs Weston.” Her sly smile widened. “You could say he was important people.” The two girls exchanged looks, then Sheila smiled. “Thank you,” she said, and returned to her seat. Well, that’s all right, she thought. Maybe he won’t want me in his bed. Maybe...
After five or six minutes, Franklin appeared.
“Sorry for the delay. I had trouble getting rooms at the motel. Everyone seems to be staying overnight, but I’ve fixed it. Are you ready to go?”
“It is kind of you, Mr Franklin,” Sheila said in her most demure manner.
“Since we could be near neighbors, suppose you call me Gene?”
“Of course. Sheila.”
“Nice name.” Franklin took her elbow and steered her out to a waiting taxi.
On the brief drive to the motel, he said, “Would you dine with me, Sheila?”
“I’d love to.”
When they reached the imposing looking motel, Sheila could see just how important Gene Franklin was. The staff bowed and scraped. The luggage was whisked away. Franklin shook hands with a beaming reception clerk. Two bellboys conducted them down a corridor and opened two doors.
“That’s yours, Sheila,” Franklin said, generously tipping. “Suppose we meet in the foyer at eight thirty?”
“Of course.” Leaving him, she entered the big, comfortably furnished bedroom. Her luggage was already on the rack. She shut the door and looked around, then her smile brightened. There was a communicating door to Franklin’s room.
She spent half an hour lying in a warm bath, relaxing. For this night, Perry was forgotten, also Julian Lucan and that ghastly blackmailer Fleichman. Sheila was happy.
Forty minutes later, she was being guided into the crowded restaurant by Gene Franklin, who gently held her elbow. The touch of his warm hand sent thrills through Sheila’s body.
The Maitre d’ was there. Chairs were pulled out, menus flourished.