1975 - The Joker in the Pack (16 page)

Her bags, carefully packed, were in the hotel’s lobby. She paid her check, shook hands with the hotel manager, lavishly tipped the hall porter and then accompanied by smiles and bows, she drove back towards the Blue Heron villa. She would unpack, she told herself, then drive to the Ocean Beach club and become a member. She just couldn’t go on living here without company. From the club’s brochure she had read in the hotel the club offered everything pass time: there was a casino, a swimming pool, tennis, golf, dancing, bridge and high-speed motorboats to hire.

The traffic was heavy and she was forced to crawl along the main sea road, but she was relaxed and didn’t mind. Passing a big self-service store, she saw Dick’s mother standing at the bus stop, two big shopping bags at her feet.

Helga swerved into the bus stop and pulled up.

“Hello, Mrs. Jones,” she called. “Can I give you a ride?”

The big fat woman’s face broke into a beaming smile.

“That’s a nice little car, ma’am and I guess I’m a big woman.”

She came up to the car, leaning forward smiling at Helga.

“We’ll manage.”

Helga opened the offside door.

Mrs. Jones heaved her two shopping bags onto the backseat, the laboriously climbed into the front seat. The car sagged a little. As she closed the door, Mrs. Jones said, “That’s real nice of you, ma’am. Not many folk stop to give a lift. I guess my dogs are giving me gyp this morning.”

Dogs? Helga thought. Feet?

“My son has been telling me about your place, ma’am,” Mrs. Jones went on. “He says it is fin and big and splendid. I told him he was a lucky boy to have a room like that.” She looked searchingly at Helga. “Ma’am, I hope he is taking proper care of you. I told him he has to be conscientious. This is a chance of a lifetime. I told him. He knows. My boy is no fool. He knows when he is well off.”

Helga’s mind raced.

“So he likes his room?” she said. “I’m so glad.”

“Yes, ma’am. He described it. He even has a TV set!”

“He only began working this morning,” Helga said, fishing for information.

“That’s right, but you remember, ma’am, he came to see you yesterday evening. He came right back to me and told me all about it. I thought he would stay home with me while he worked for you, but he explained you needed someone around all the time.”

“I have friends who visit me,” Helga said. “Dick will be helpful.”

“That I can see, ma’am.” Mrs. Jones nodded. “It’s a fine chance for him.”

Helga’s face was expressionless as she said, “I would like your advice, Mrs. Jones. Dick did mention a girlfriend . . . Terry Shields. He suggested she might also help in the villa.”

For a brief moment, she took her eyes off the traffic and looked searchingly at the big, fat woman at her side. She saw the dark face become set and a heavy frown creased her forehead.

“That girl? A no-good white trash!” Mrs. Jones snapped. “You have nothing to do with her, ma’am. Dick’s a good boy, but he’s sort of crazy in the head about this no-good girl. You keep him working, ma’am. You see he doesn’t have too much free time. If he does, he’ll go running after this no-good girl.”

“What makes you think she is no-good, Mrs. Jones?”

“If you had kids, ma’am, if you were a mother, ma’am, you would know what is a good girl and what is a no-good girl. I know. I’ve seen her. She’s no-good.”

“You saw Dick last night?”

“Saw him? Why sure, ma’am. I helped him pack so he could move into your fine house.” Mrs. Jones turned and looked sharply at Helga. “He did arrive last night, didn’t he?”

Helga hesitated, then said, “Yes, he arrived.”

Mrs. Jones beamed.

“That’s it, ma’am . . . like I say, he is a good boy.”

Helga pulled up outside the broken down bungalow.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Mrs. Jones said. “You’re real nice and kind. You make my boy work, ma’am. He is willing but he needs telling.”

Helga watched the big woman stump up to her front door, weighed down by her two shopping bags, then she did a U-turn and headed back towards the Blue Heron villa.

As she drove, her mind was busy. This meeting with Dick’s mother had been fortuitous. The cards were continuing to fall her way. So she was being taken for a sucker. Her lips moved into a hard smile. As Dick wasn’t living at home, where was he living? She guessed he had moved in with Terry. The story of the broken arm was a lie. Helga put herself in Terry’s place. Dick would have told Terry he had been forced to work for her (Helga). Terry probably realized that she (Helga) had designs on Dick. The broken arm was a way out. Again Helga smiled. Don’t rush this, she told herself. She needed a lot of information before she could fix these two. No one played her for a sucker. In her past a number of people had tried and later, were sorry.

She found she was driving along Ocean Avenue and on impulse, she slowed and drove into a parking lot.

She walked to Frank Gritten’s office block. As she waited for the elevator, she opened her bag and took out her cigarette case. The descending cage reached the ground floor, the doors swished open and she found herself confronted by Harry Jackson, wearing his glamour suit.

He started and lost color when he saw her.

“Hello, Mr. Jackson, how smart you look,” she said.

He moved by her.

“Hi, Mrs. Rolfe.” His voice was husky. “How’s things?”

She stepped into the elevator, still staring at him.

“Thank you . . . fine. I hope you and Mrs. Lopez are still happy.”

She thumbed the fifth floor button and as Jackson rubbed the back of his hand across his lips, the elevator doors closed.

Frank Gritten was sitting at his desk, puffing at his pipe. He got to his feet as Helga was ushered in by his elderly secretary.

“Good morning, Mrs. Rolfe. Take a chair. Nice morning, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” She lit her cigarette, sat down and went on, “I want to use your service, Mr. Gritten. I suggest a thousand dollar retainer.”

Gritten nodded.

“That’s what I am here for, Mrs. Rolfe. What do you want me to do?”

“I have hired Dick Jones who I have already spoken to you about to keep my rented villa in order. The Blue Heron villa,” Helga said, crossing her shapely legs. “He should have arrived this morning, but instead, his girlfriend, Terry Shields turned up, riding his motorcycle. She tells me Jones has had an accident and has broken his arm. As I have already paid him a hundred dollars, he asked this girl to act as his standin. I have talked to Jones’ mother and she believes her son is not only living at my villa, but is working for me. I find all this odd and I admit it intrigues me. I don’t like people lying to me. I want you to find out what Jones is doing, whether he did break his arm, where he is living and who this girl is. I want it all in depth, Mr. Gritten.”

Gritten looked thoughtfully at her, then nodded.

“Should be no problem, Mrs. Rolfe.”

“I will be interested to know why Jones went to reform school. I also want to know all about Terry Shields. In fact, Mr. Gritten, I want all this in depth.”

Gritten nodded, then smiled.

“You will have it in depth.”

Helga dropped a one thousand dollar bill on his desk, then got to her feet.

“And I want it fast, Mr. Gritten.”

“You will have it fast,” Gritten said and escorted her to the elevator.

* * *

When Helga got back to the Blue Heron villa she saw the Electra Glide motorcycle had gone. She drove into the garage and lugged out her three suitcases, unlocked the front door and carried the cases, one at a time into the living room. It irritated her that there was no servant to do this chore for her, but she shrugged this off.

She inspected the villa and found it was immaculate. The kitchen was spick and span. Dragging a suitcase up the stairs, she found the bedroom and the bathroom also immaculate.

She spent the next hour unpacking and putting her clothes away. By the time she had finished it was 13.10 and she was hungry.

Should she go out? She went down to the kitchen and inspected the ‘heat and eat’ packs. The chili con carne pack carried an appetizing photo in color of the finished dish. She decided to eat her instead of the bore of finding a small restaurant. This time the potatoes were a success and she enjoyed the meal. She was about to leave the cleaning up, decided not to let Terry know she had eaten ‘junk.’ It took her a while to wash up and this irritated her, but she took care to restore the stove and the sink as she had found them.

She then went into the living room, stretched out on the big settee and did some thinking. Dick would have to be punished, she told herself. She must wait for Gritten’s report. If the boy really imagined he could fool her, he was in for a shock.

Around 15.00, she left the villa and drove to the Ocean Beach club. The magic name of Rolfe swept away any sponsors or the entrance fee.

The secretary of the club, a fat little man with a beaming smile, said the club would be honored to have her as a temporary member. He was sure she would find everything to her liking and he extolled the club’s facilities.

“You will want to meet people, Mrs. Rolfe. I assure you you will be welcomed by everyone.”

He took her around the club, introducing her to the English members: the old and the over-fat, the men with veins from drinking raddling their faces the women in odd hats who smiled suspiciously, but all anxious to welcome the wife of one of the world’s richest men.

Helga hated them all, but she knew she just couldn’t go on living alone in the villa and had to have contacts . . . but what contacts!

She endured an English tea with sandwiches and plum cake, surrounded by kindly, yakking people who kept looking with greedy eyes at the trolley loaded with cream cakes.

She thought of Dick. If the little bastard had kept faith, she and he would be in the king size bed right at this moment. She refused another cucumber sandwich.

“But they are so good, Mrs. Rolfe. With your beautiful figure, you don’t have to worry about dieting.”

Stifled and utterly bored, she finally broke away. She noticed the men were looking with astonishment at her modest car. Rolls, Bentleys, Cadillacs surrounded the Mini.

She drove back to the villa. Remembering Herman, she called the hospital to be told there was still no change in his condition. The time was 18.15. She went up to her bedroom and put on a white pajama suit, then going down to the living room, she mixed herself a vodka martini. She listened to the TV news. The fluctuation of the dollar worried her. She thought of all the dollars she had in the Swiss account. She should have converted them into Swiss francs.

A few minutes before 19.00, she heard the roar of the approaching Electra Glide. The engine cut, then the front door opened.

Terry Shields came into the living room, carrying a paper sack.

“There you are, Terry,” Helga said, smiling. “Thank you for cleaning up so well.”

The girl was wearing a blue short-sleeved shirt and dark blue stretch pants. Her hair looked damp as if she had been swimming.

“I got scampi,” she said. “That okay for you?”

Helga regarded her. Again she was impressed by the strength of character that showed in her face. A no-good girl? She certainly didn’t look no-good.

“Scampi? Yes . . . fine.” A pause, then she asked, “How is Dick’s arm?”

As Terry moved towards the kitchen, she said, “I didn’t ask him.”

Helga’s mouth tightened. She finished her drink, then getting to her feet, she went to the kitchen door. Terry was unpacking the paper sack.

“How long have you known Dick?” she asked, leaning against the doorway.

“Long enough,” Terry said curtly. “Do you like these grilled in the shells or in a sauce?”

“Whichever is the easiest,” Helga said impatiently.

The girl turned and looked at her, her face wooden.

“No good cooking is easy, Mrs. Rolfe,” she said. “Say what you want and you’ll get it.”

“Oh, in their shells. I’m not hungry.”

Terry dropped the scampi into a sieve and ran cold water over them.

“Is Dick your boyfriend, Terry?” Helga asked.

Terry shook the scampi, then turned them out on to a cloth.

“You could say that.”

“And you? Where do you live?”

“I have a pad.”

“I am sure you have, but where?”

“North side.”

A long pause while Terry blotted the scampi dry. Helga was determined to persist.

“I was talking to Dick’s mother this morning. She tells me he isn’t living at home. Is he staying with you?”

Terry turned on the grill.

“Does it matter?” She picked up a pack of rice. “Rice, okay? You can have dehydrated potatoes if you want them.”

“I’ll have rice.” A pause. “I am asking you: is he staying with you?”

Terry poured rice into a cup.

“Are you that interested, Mrs. Rolfe?”

Helga controlled her rising temper.

“Oddly enough, Terry, I am. Is he living with you?”

Terry poured hot water into a saucepan and set it on a burner.

“Yes, he is staying with me and he screws me.”

Shocked, for a moment Helga was speechless. She abruptly realized, by questioning this girl, she was inviting insolence.

“I am not interested in your relations with him,” she said, her voice cold. “I want to know where he is.”

Terry added salt to the water. She began to wash the rice.

“His mother said nothing about his breaking his arm,” Helga said through the silence.

Terry tipped the rice into the boiling water.

“Do you mind eating early, Mrs. Rolfe?” she said without looking at Helga. “I have a date.”

“Did you hear what I said?” Helga snapped. “I don’t believe he has a broken arm!”

Terry began to lay the scampi on the grill.

“Do you like lemon juice, Mrs. Rolfe? Some people are allergic to lemon. If you don’t dig lemon, there’s tabasco.”

“Terry! Has he or has he not broken his arm?”

“If you want dinner, Mrs. Rolfe, could you let me get on with it? All this talk holds me up.”

Helga controlled herself with an effort. The calm, cold effrontery of this girl was something she had never before experienced.