And 47 Miles of Rope (Trace 2) (16 page)

“What did she sputter to all this?”

“She was almost civil. She said that she had once taken a correspondence course in decorating and that I had no taste.”

“And?” Trace asked.

“I told her that I didn’t know that Bette Midler ran a decorating school.”

Trace said, “Chico, I don’t think my mother’s ever going to welcome you into the family with open arms.”

“I’ll settle for closed arms and mouth to match,” she said.

“Hello, Chico,” Sarge said.

“Hi, Sarge. Heard you had a big day today.”

“Kind of. Son, Mother wants to speak to you.”

“I gather she wants to talk to just me and not to me and Chico.”

“I’d say you have gathered a very accurate gather,” Sarge said. “And when you get finished defusing her, we ought to talk business. I want to tell you what I’m up to.”

“Hang tough. It may take a while,” Trace said, and walked into the next room, where his mother stood belligerently in a corner, surveying the room like a farmer counting locusts.

“Hello, Mother, I’ve got to talk to you.”

“I didn’t think you had time to talk to me, Devlin. After all, why should you? I’m just your mother, and you and your father are so busy running all over this city, playing cops and Indians.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Mom, he’s driving me crazy. I can’t get any work done with him hanging around. My professional life is suffering, my personal life is in a shambles. If I don’t get him back to you, I don’t know what will become of me.”

“He seems to enjoy being with you,” she said warily.

“Why shouldn’t he? He makes a mess and I’ve got to clean it up after him,” Trace said. “I don’t know how you put up with him year after year. It’s…Well, it’s just more than I could tolerate.”

“It’s not been easy sometimes,” she allowed.

“You’ve the patience of a saint. But you’ve got to take him back.”

“You know, this is the first vacation I’ve had in years where I haven’t had to play nursemaid to him all the time,” she said. “Don’t you think I deserve some consideration too?”

“Oh, Mom. I—”

“No. You’re always thinking of yourself. Sure, you want him back with me. So that you and that woman can…well, do whatever it is you want. The trouble with you, Devlin, is that you’ve never understood family obligations. You have an obligation to me. Just like you have to your wife and children.”

“I’m pleading with you.”

“I think it’s nice that Patrick has a chance to be with you. Of course, he is a terrible pain. He is to me all the time, but don’t you think for just a few days a year, you could put up with it? I have to.”

Trace sighed. “I guess you’re right,” he said.

“You know I’m right. Just like I was right trying to do something about that hideous apartment of yours. It’s like living inside an ashtray.”

“You know what was wrong, Mother?”

“I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

“You know my apartment’s hideous and I know it’s hideous. It’s just that I couldn’t, for the longest time, convince Chico it was hideous. And then, just last week, I finally got her to agree to have a decorator come in and redo the place. If was hard getting her to do that. And when you started redoing it, well, she just snapped. It was more than she could take. It was so hard to get her to accept Moe Ginzburg.”

“Moe Ginzburg?”

“Moe Ginzburg. Interior designer to the stars. He did Wayne Newton’s stable area. He’s one of the great decorators in America and he’s coming next week. You see, Mother, once we pay for it, then Chico will just have to go along with what he says. It’s just delicate sometimes, well, because she’s Oriental, you know. They can be very stubborn.”

“Don’t I know it?” his mother said. “Did you really throw away that lavabo?”

“Of course not,” Trace said. “I made believe I threw it away. I hid it in the closet. I’m sure it’s just what Moe will want to make my place perfect. And when
he
puts it up, why, Chico won’t be able to say a word.”

“I really don’t know why you have her around,” Mrs. Tracy said.

“It may not be for too much longer,” he said. “Her behavior today may just be the last straw.”

“It’s about time.”

“You know me, Mother. I’m not as good as you are about making quick judgments, but I’m coming around to your way of thinking. I mean, you’re right, after all.”

“I want your father to keep working with you.”

Trace sighed. “All right,” he said. “You know tomorrow’s my birthday?”

“I wouldn’t forget
your
birthday.”

“You know what I’m doing for my birthday?” he asked.

“No. What?”

“I’m coming over to pick you up in the morning and I’m going to show you a slot machine that pays off,” he said.

“I lost another ten dollars today,” she said.

“We’re all set,” Trace said. “You, Sarge, you keep working with me. Chico. She won’t be around to redo our apartment anymore. Now, what’s on your mind, Sarge?”

Chico made a T out of her fingers. “Time out,” she said. “How’d you work that miracle?”

“I reasoned with her,” Trace said.

Chico looked at him, then asked Sarge, “Do you believe him?”

“Him and the tooth fairy,” Sarge said.

“When you two are finished picking me apart, maybe we can discuss some business,” Trace said.

“Okay. I’m going to the airport tonight to try to get the manifest from Jarvis’ flight in. My guess is he’ll be on there under a phony name,” Sarge said.

“We talked about that,” Trace said. “Anything else?”

“And I made some calls to New York today. I may have something interesting pretty soon.”

“What kind of calls did you make?”

“I’ll tell you if they pan out,” Sarge said.

“I hate secrets,” Trace said.

“I love them,” Chico said.

“You two deserve each other,” Trace said.

“We both know it,” Chico said.

Trace spoke to Walter Marks before they left the cocktail party.

“Hello, Groucho. You look particularly dapper this evening. You borrow the suit from Tattoo?”

“Can the cute talk. What’s happening on the Jarvis case?”

“Things are breaking loose all the time. It’s probably just a matter of hours before the investigation roars to a successful conclusion. Pity, though.”

“What pity? What’s a pity?” Marks asked.

“That poor R. J. Roberts won’t be here to share in the glory.”

“Why not?”

“You haven’t heard?” Trace said. “You mean, you really haven’t heard? You mean, I’ve been here making small talk all evening with people I don’t even care about and you haven’t heard?”

“Heard? Heard what? Dammit, Trace, talk to me.”

“Roberts is dead.”

“How’d that happen?” Marks asked.

“Murdered. Somebody filleted his gullet from earlobe to earlobe.”

“That’s a particularly disgusting way of putting it. Who did it?”

“We’re not sure yet,” Trace said.

“Is it involved with the jewel case?”

“Indubitably.”

“When’d this happen?” Marks asked.

“During the night.”

“Wow,” Marks said. “This is really turning into a big case. Thanks for telling me about it.”

“You’re very welcome,” Trace said. He walked a few steps away, then came back.

“Oh. By the way. If you’re planning on calling your friend, the baron, don’t bother. He’s not home.”

“No? Where is he?”

“He’s at police headquarters. They’re questioning him in the Roberts murder,” Trace said. He walked away again and this time did not come back.

In the hallway to the suite, ’he and Chico met Bob Swenson. With the insurance-company president was National Anthem, wearing a red satin gown cut almost to the navel.

The two couples greeted each other and Nash said to Trace, “Did I see you at the house?”

“Yes. And I, you. Chico, I don’t believe you’ve met Miss Anthem. National, this is Chico.”

“Eeeeyou,” Chico said. “What a beautiful name. Pleased to meetcha.” She snapped her cheeks as if she were chewing gum.

“Thank you, dolling,” National said in a grisly rendition of Tallulah Bankhead.

“Nash and I are going to discuss her career tonight,” Swenson said with a leering wink at Trace. “I’ve got this idea for a film. She’d be a natural for it.”

“
Mule Train?
” Chico said sweetly.

“No.
Great Sex Goddesses of the Silver Screen
,” Swenson said.

“Eeeeyou,” Chico squeaked. “You’ll be a natural for the part, for shurr, for shurr.”

Trace pinched her behind. “Sounds wonderful,” he said.

“Yes,” Swenson agreed. “We’ve discussed various kinds of films Nash might do. We talked about religious dramas the other night, but I don’t think she can afford to be limited that way. She’s got to show her versatility.”

“Eeeeyou,” Chico agreed. “I think Miss Anthem will be wonderful at showing; her versatility.”

“Yes, dolling,” Nash said. “One has to be versatile, don’t one?”

“Well, we don’t want to hold you up,” Swenson said.

“You’re not holding us up,” Chico said. “We’d love to stay and chat with you. Maybe all night.” Trace pinched her butt again and she squeaked, “Eeeeyou.”

“We were just leaving,” Trace said. “Have a nice night.”

The two couples passed in the hall, and as they walked away, Trace heard Nash say to Swenson, “Doesn’t that little woman talk funny, dolling?”

Chico giggled and Trace told her, “You are hateful, woman.”

“Trace, I take it all back. I told you once if you wanted to hit her, you could. You can’t. I refuse to let you have anything to do with a woman that dumb.”

“What would I need with her when I have you?” he said.

“You’ll pay for that,” she said. “Dolling.”

From his apartment, Trace called Dan Rosado at home.

“What’s happening with the baron?” Trace asked.

“Nothing,” Rosado said.”I booked him on a technical charge of impeding a police investigation. Just to hold him for a while. Same thing I should have booked you on.”

“What do you think?”

“I think he’s telling the truth,” Rosado said.

“So do I. No inkling of why Roberts wanted to talk to him?”

“None at all,” Rosado said. “That’s the part of his story I don’t believe: that somehow he’d go at four in the morning to meet a guy he never met, without knowing what for. He must have known. But we couldn’t crack him.”

“Maybe you ought to let Sarge work him over,” Trace said. “He squeezed that eyewitness out of the bushes for you. Did Hubbaker say he’s an insurance detective?”

“No,” Rosado said. “Is he?”

“I don’t think so now,” Trace said.

After he hung up, Trace called the pit boss at the Araby Casino.

“Armando, this is Trace.”

“What’s up, champ?” the pit boss said.

“Is your slot-machine mechanic around?”

“Yup.”

“I need a favor.”

“Name it,” the pit boss said.

“I’ve got my mother in town and all she’s doing is bitch that she’s supporting your casino. I think she dropped twenty dollars in the slots.”

“I’ll give her the twenty back. Tell her to see me,” the pit boss said.

“That won’t do. And she’s making my life miserable.”

“I know what you want,” Armando said.

“I figured you would.”

“A nickel slot, no doubt?”

“Yeah,” Trace said.

“Okay. I’ll have Jerry jigger up the second nickel machine on the right bank inside the door. Good advertising for the house. How about a hundred and ten percent?”

“That sounds good,” Trace said. “It’ll keep her busy all day and it won’t cost me a fortune.”

“All right. He’ll set it up to pay a hundred and ten. We’ll turn the machine off and put out-of-order on it. When you come in, see the day boss. He’ll know about it and he’ll turn it on. Just make sure that when she’s done, we know about it so we can set the machine back.”

“Armando, if I were there, I’d kiss you.”

“Kiss Chico instead. She likes you.”

Chico stuck her head into the living room.

“Trace, I’m going to bed.”

“Okay. I just want to go over a tape or two and I’ll be in.”

“Don’t stay up too late.”

“I won’t,” he promised.

She closed the bedroom door behind her and he sat on the sofa with his tape machine and tapes around him, and the telephone rang.

“Mr. Tracy, this is Spiro. From the countess’s?”

“Sure. How are you doing, Spiro?”

“Not too good. I just got home from work and my apartment was torn apart.”

“Oh. Was anything taken?”

“There wasn’t anything to take,” Spiro said.

“Any idea who did it?” Trace asked.

“I talked to my landlady. She said a big guy, made believe he was from the gas company, he came and she let him in.”

“She get his name?”

“She thought it was something like Kilowatt but that was stupid. He must have been talking about kilowatts or something. My landlady ain’t too bright. What should I do, Mr. Tracy?”

“Clean your apartment,” Trace said. “I don’t think he’ll be back.”

“Who could that guy be?” Spiro asked.

“We just may never know,” Trace said.

Trace’s log:

Tape Recording Number Three, Devlin Tracy in the matter of Early Jarvis. Eleven P.M. Wednesday and our one murder has now become two, and I still don’t have clue number one. Am I getting stupid now that I’m getting old?

I didn’t care much for R. J. Roberts, but I don’t like people practicing their carving on detectives’ throats. Today Germany, tomorrow the world. Screw the world, maybe tomorrow me. I don’t need that. Sarge won’t always be here to protect me.

Well, the good news first. I got Roberts’ check in the bank and I didn’t get arrested over it and I didn’t have to hand up Swenson. End of the good-news report.

I’m talking softly because Chico’s sleeping and I don’t want to wake her up. I mean, she went into the cave to wrestle with the Great Earth Mother today and that would tire anybody out. You have to have affection for a woman who tells your mother that she’s put land mines inside your front door to keep your mother out.

Sarge was going to get the manifest from Jarvis’ flight into Las Vegas. I don’t think it’s going to tell us a damned thing, except maybe Jarvis was flying under a different name. What else Sarge has in mind, I don’t know. And I’ve got Jarvis’ car-rental agreement. So he rented a car at 11:46 P.M. and drove to the house and got killed. Why, dammit? By whom?

All I did today was get Dan Rosado mad at me for not calling the cops right away about Roberts’ death. But I wanted to look around the office. Nothing except his pimp receipts, which don’t concern me, and that little note in the Jarvis file. “Records.” What records? Maybe he was joining the Columbia Record Club and wanted to remember Joan Jett and the Blackhearts.

It was good we redeemed ourself by Sarge finding that witness and giving Rosado the baron. I don’t think he killed anybody, but don’t count on it. I’m the same genius who was sure Hubbaker was Groucho’s big insurance detective.

Aaaah, life’s not all that bad. How bad can a day be when Sarge throws Ferrara into a swimming pool? Along with his Afghan hashish.

The thief probably got the combination from Jarvis. Sarge figured it out. That’s why he stopped drilling the holes in the safe. Were they working together? Some kind of scheme to rip off Felicia? Okay, let’s try that. The thief’s supposed to meet Jarvis at the house.

But Jarvis is late, so the thief starts drilling the safe. Then Jarvis arrives and gives him the combination. They open the safe and swipe the jewels. Then the thief gets greedy and hits Jarvis over the head. They struggled some. They knock over a tree. The thief gets away. Jarvis dies from bleeding.

What’s wrong with that? I don’t know. Everything. Nothing. Why’d Jarvis call from the airport and not wait? Okay. He wants to get Spiro out of the house. Fine. Except when the place was found robbed, the first thing Spiro would tell the cops was that Jarvis called him from the airport. Jarvis couldn’t get away with that.

Jarvis had keys to the house. It doesn’t make any sense. Wait till Spiro’s asleep. Let yourself in with keys. Bop Spiro on the head, blindfold him, and tie him up. Take your own sweet time about opening the safe and then leave. No complications.

I give up.

Hubbaker says he found Roberts dead. Did Roberts find out something between the time I left him and when Hubbaker arrived? Something that got his throat cut?

Couldn’t be. He called Hubbaker in the evening, before I saw him.

Hubbaker says everybody at the house knew he was going to see Roberts. Maybe I can find out who left the house besides Hubbaker. And probably the same guy who looted Spiro’s apartment.

Oh, well. At least I calmed my mother down and got her off Sarge’s case for a while. And tomorrow that rigged machine will keep her busy. That’s good. And the look on Marks’ face when I told him the baron was in jail, that was good too.

Enough, I’m tired. This day has been long and complicated, and who needs it. Usual expenses, one hundred and fifty dollars. Sarge is keeping his own, I hope, in that big notebook he keeps carrying around with him. He looks like a guest host on
Sesame Street
.

Good night, all. I wish somebody would solve this thing for me. Brace up, Trace. Remember. When the going gets tough….

Yeah, the scared get scareder and the dumb get dumber.
A of Wiedersehen
, world of my youth.