Give Up the Body (17 page)

I completely forgot my willingness to go in without a suit. “After all that fuss! Jeff Cook, you do your own diving.”

“Now, O’Hara,” he whispered soothingly. He patted me again. “Anyway, why haven’t you bought a new suit?”

“Because,” I said, “this is my first summer out of the service. And my first chance to swim. Besides, I was waiting to see what the new styles would be.”

“Invent one,” he said cheerfully. He put the bathing cap in my hands. “For the glory of The Press, O’Hara.”

“Tell me what I’m hunting for,” I said. I put on the cap.

“A felt hat and a weed chopper,” Jeff told me. “Tiffin is planning to drag the pond for them tomorrow.”

I needed no more incentive than that. I placated myself by conjuring a picture of Tiffin in a defeated rage. I was practically shaking with the desire to get in the water and start the hunt.

“I’m not giving Godfrey a chance to find that evidence and then bury it because it doesn’t fit in with his theory. You count stars.”

Jeff obediently gawked upward. I went into the trees and got rid of my flannel shirt and trousers and the ski boots. I dashed across the path to the edge of the pond. There I crouched in bushes and peeled my stockings, tucked stray hairs under the cap, and then pushed a toe into the water.

I was beginning to lose my zest now. The water looked black and forbidding and oily. I could hear the ominous slapping it made against the blood-stained dam. I couldn’t help thinking of the hideously mangled man who had flopped there. I gagged and nearly lost my nerve.

Before I could think too much I forced my way into the water. The bottom sloped deeply here and in an instant I was over my head. A few probings with my foot told me it wasn’t over six feet anywhere. It was chilly at first but that wore off. Soon the water began to feel warmer than the definitely cold night air.

When I had got over the first shock I crouched up to my neck in the water, near the bank. Jeff stood not three feet away. I said, “Look, the lights are dim again at the house.”

“They’ve given up,” Jeff said. “I sneaked around and made a racket in the other direction. I don’t think they’ll come down this way.”

“If they do,” I said, “and you leave me stranded here …”

“I will,” he said, “unless you hurry up and get started.”

He made me so mad I couldn’t think of anything to say. So I turned and swam away, using a breast stroke for quietness. I stopped by the center of the dam and clung to it. When my arms began to ache I let loose and tread water. The whole thing seemed impossible. I couldn’t see. The bottom was three inches of gooey mud on top of sand. And despite Delhart’s fish farming there were a number of weeds ready to tangle me and hold me under water. I liked it less and less.

But by reminding myself that I was working against Tiffin I kept going. I used the dam as a base and swam out from it, along the bottom, until I could hold my breath no longer. Then I would come up for air and go down again, returning toward the dam. I tried not to cover the same area twice, but after what seemed an eternity of running my fingers through muck I got no place.

I came up for air near Jeff on the shore. “O’Hara?”

“No luck,” I said.

“Try more toward the middle. That’s where you found the blood, wasn’t it?”

“Shut up,” I said savagely. “I’m all over goose-flesh now. Wait, Jeff! If Frew is telling the truth he saw Delhart across the pond.”

“Sure,” Jeff said. “Snap into it, O’Hara, I’m getting chilled.”

I had an unholy desire to grab his leg and haul him into the water.
He
was cold! “Then take a walk,” I said. “Have you anything for me to dry on?”

“My pajamas are in the car,” he said after a moment. “In my suitcase.”

“Leave the case and get me the pajamas,” I ordered. I turned and struck out, breast-stroking the width of the pond. At the other side, after resting, I began diving again. I was tired to the tips of my toes by now. Wet and chilled and miserable. I didn’t like the feel of my nice, lace-trimmed underwear all soggy against my skin. I was ready to call it off and go home and have a good cry.

And right then I struck it. My hand hit something soft and yielding, floating above the bottom, rocking ever so slightly in the current I created. I was so startled I had to rush back up for air. I trod water a moment and went down again. I did some careful feeling. Whatever it was went down in the mud and was held there by a weight of some kind. I had to surface twice before I could get it all rolled up and safe from the suction of the mud.

I found I had a good-sized bundle of what felt like clothing. I laid it carefully on top of the dam. I guessed my spot of discovery about six feet from the dam and the same from the shore. I went back and felt some more. There was nothing.

I began to be pessimistic again. There was such a lot of water to hide one small hat. It was just too much to contemplate tonight. I was played out. The only thing was to try and be on the job when Tiffin dragged the pond.

I swam a half-hearted sidestroke going back, holding the bundle of clothing above the surface. It was tiring but I made it. Jeff was on the shore. I thrust the bundle at him.

“Treasure,” I said.

“O’Hara, I love you. I put my pajamas by your clothes. Come on down to the river beach when you’re ready.” And he walked off!

I located my socks and then ran across the path to the trees. Jeff’s pajamas gleamed whitely and I reached for them. Then I had an inspiration. I felt the pajamas. They were soft, knitted cotton, snug at the wrists and ankles and very tricky.

I dried on the flannel shirt and put on the pajamas. They were tent-like on me but they were nice and soft and warm. I balled my sodden underwear in the shirt and wrapped the whole thing in the slacks. Then I put on my shoes and socks and headed for the path to the beach.

I ran, once I got going in the right direction. Trees slapped against my face and brush reached out to snag the flapping legs of Jeff’s pajamas. But I only ran faster. Every slap, every snag was a prod to me. I was literally trying to outrun the darkness and my own fear of the forest.

And when I was nearly there I pulled up short. My breath came harshly to my ears. I was trembling again. There, gleaming through the trees, was a weird orange light. I knew it was not made by Jeff’s flashlight. A lantern, I wondered. Were we surrounded by Tiffin’s deputies? Or was it—something else? Someone else?

The light flickered, grew brighter and then very dim and bright again. I knew it was a fire. I crept forward until I could see onto the little beach. I nearly collapsed with relief. Jeff was crouched there. The fire was as close to the water as he could get it. It looked safe enough.

“You’re liable to the forest service for that,” I said, dumping my clothes on the sand. I edged up to the fire. “But it feels good.”

Jeff was on his knees with our treasure spread out. He looked up and grinned. “I see my pajamas are honored.”

“Get a smaller size next time,” I told him. “Well?” I poked at the treasure with my toe.

Jeff proudly held up a pair of pants, a shirt, a coat, old gloves. And then the chopper! I knew it was that. It looked like a machete only not quite so long in the blade. It had a longer handle, though, and a leather thong with a wrist loop. I shuddered. That had killed a man. Firelight danced on the damp blade, throwing bright streaks into my eyes. I looked away.

Jeff said, “Clothes without labels. Not big enough to fit me, though. Too wide in the waist and too short in the leg.”

I said, “There’s only one pudgy man here, Jeff. Titwillow.”

“I
T WAS THIS WAY
,” Jeff said. “I got into the wrong room.”

We were back in my little house. It was dawn before we finished our firelight inspection of the clothes, doused the fire, and got back to town. Neither of us was sleepy by the time we reached my place, so I made coffee and toast and now Jeff was happily gorging himself.

Jeff went on, “There wasn’t much light and I was blundering around when a female voice said, ‘Who’s there?’ “ Jeff grinned at me. “It takes quick action in a case like that, O’Hara. And I provided it. Right back, I said, ‘It’s Arthur, darling.’ ”

“Wonderful,” I said scornfully. “Only Daisy Willow doesn’t strike me as the kind of girl who would let even her fiance in her room. Especially if that fiance happened to be young Frew.”

“She isn’t,” Jeff admitted sadly. “ ‘You get out of here,’ she said, or I’ll scream.’ And before I could move two steps, she screamed.”

“So,” he continued, “I wrestled with her. But I missed my aim and she kept on yelling. You know, O’Hara, I like you better. You wouldn’t have screamed.”

“I’d have got up and belted you one,” I told him.

“Probably. Anyway, I had to bolt for it. I got back on the balcony just as a door into the hall opened. It was one of Tiffin’s men. And I made tracks. Right into Delhart’s room.” Jeff paused and looked triumphant while he dunked his sixth piece of toast.

“And I caught Willow. That’s why I wasn’t surprised when we decided our treasure was his clothing. He was standing by the door, listening to the racket in the hall. He had on an old blue flannel bathrobe and leather slippers and a nightcap.”

“A what?”

“He’s partially bald, isn’t he? It was a night cap,” Jeff insisted. “So I stood behind a drapery while he was at the door. Listening, I suppose. I didn’t see his face but his back had that eavesdropping stance. And when the noise subsided he cracked the door and ducked out.”

“Are you sure it was Willow? Hilton isn’t very big. Neither is Mrs. Willow.”

“It was Willow,” he said. “Pudgy, you know.” He made vague motions with his hands in an effort to show me how pudgy Willow was. I stopped him when the toast he held in one hand began to flip drops of coffee over me.

He ate the toast and said, “Then I got into Glory’s room and had my hands on that black bathing cap you wore and a nifty two-piece black suit. Trunks and halter.” He rolled his eyes. “On you it would have looked swell.”

“Stick to the subject,” I said, but not too severely.

“By that time,” Jeff said, “Tiffin’s deputies must have discovered that Arthur was in his own little trundle bed and sound asleep. Because they popped in on me.”

He finished his coffee and pushed the cup hopefully at me. I filled it up. “Then,” Jeff went on, “I made it back to Delhart’s room via the balcony and down the trellis to the ground. The guy took a shot at me but I didn’t even feel the wind of the bullet. I hid in the trees while they thrashed around. Then I came back to you.”

He paused expectantly and I said, “I’m sorry you had to take such chances, Jeff.”

“You were sorrier back in the woods,” he reminded me. He was being patronizingly masculine.

“I told you once,” I said, “that you had the keys to the car in your pocket.” I smiled sweetly and drank my coffee. “Net results, what was Willow doing in Delhart’s room?”

“Maybe it’s like one of Glory’s questions,” Jeff said. He yawned widely. “I’ll dream up the answer. So roll out the blankets and I’ll park on the couch.”

I should have let him but I had to be mean. If it had been dark instead of daylight outside I would have anyway. But I could ignore my fear that a murderer still ran loose when there was the promise of sunshine outside. I could have saved us both a lot of grief if I hadn’t sent him away.

“I’ll give you the blankets,” I said, “and you’ll find a nice cot in Jud’s shop. You can sleep there with printer’s ink all around you.”

Jeff studied me a moment and then grinned. “Me and Bosco,” he said. “We’ll catch mice together.”

He was so darned sweet about it that I almost changed my mind. But I let him go with the blankets, and I went into the bedroom. Glory was still sleeping, peacefully and quietly, looking quite young again. I wore Jeff’s pajamas so I just pushed her over and crawled wearily in alongside. It wasn’t five minutes until I was completely out.

I came around slowly, opening my eyes to the bright sunlight streaming in the window. I blinked at my alarm clock. It said, 9:45. I yawned. I had had nearly five hours sleep and I felt fine. I sat on the edge of the bed and smoked a cigaret, letting things piece together in my mind. First, I decided, I would try and get more information out of Glory. There was nothing like an intimate, wholly feminine breakfast and make-up bee to bring out confidences. I turned to see how she was doing.

There was no Glory. I listened a minute. But it was a fake hope. There was no sound. She wasn’t up fixing coffee. Inside of two minutes I knew she wasn’t in the house at all. I found her green satin pajamas in a heap on the bathroom floor. More inspection left me boiling mad. Glory had not only gone, she had taken my best slack suit, my second-best underwear, and my new sheer blouse!

I ran into the living room and rang the office. Jud answered. “Is Jeff there?” I demanded.

“Sound asleep,” he said. He clucked his tongue. “What’s as cruel as a virtuous woman? Making him sleep on that damned cot—even Bosco won’t use it.”

“Wake him up,” I said stiffly. “And tell him to come for breakfast. And have you seen Glory Martin?”

“That wasn’t you going by then?”

“What wasn’t me?” I asked ungrammatically.

“Going by in Nellie early this morning. Went right by my place and woke me up.”

“Nellie!” I fairly shrieked. “Tell Jeff to hurry.” I banged down the receiver and ran into the alley. Nellie was gone from the garage. I could cheerfully have used the chopper on Glory at that moment. My clothes and now my car. Nellie and I had shared a lot and I hated to think of her smashed up like Glory’s station wagon. She was a decrepit old wreck, but I loved her. Nellie, I mean.

I went back inside and put water on to boil. Then I went into the bathroom. Glory’s green satin pajamas were irresistible. I tried them on. I looked at myself in the mirror and almost decided we had made an even trade. I kept them on.

When Jeff came I nearly had breakfast ready. I heard him at the door and I called out, “Come in.” I bent down to take the toast from the oven.

A moment later Jeff said, “I thought you took a run-out. Where’s O’Hara?”