Strip for Murder (11 page)

I didn't know what the hell to tell him was my reason for coming here. I'd expected somebody else, not the guy from last night's party, not someone apparently chummy with Poupelle. And I had the uncomfortable feeling that, despite my asking most of the questions, I'd told Norman more than he'd told me.

But I had to give him something fast, so I said, “No, I've been trying to run down this Garlic creep. He had at me with a forty-five canister, besides which he exhaled at me. So naturally I'd like to chat with him.”

“What made you think I could help you?”

“I heard he'd been here a time or two. For a little crap-shooting.”

“I told you I never heard of the man.”

“True. I didn't know that until I came here, Norman.”

“Now you know. So I guess we've got nothing more to talk about.”

“Right.” I stood up.

Norman said, “Hope you won't take this wrong, Scott, but I'd rather you didn't come out to the castle any more. Matter of fact, I'll have to insist that you don't.” He gave me that skull grin again.

He went on to say something else but I wasn't paying attention to his words. There was an upholstered chair in the far corner of the room, beyond Norman's desk. It seemed like an odd place for a chair to be. I looked at its base. The office floor was covered with a beige carpet, and under the chair, but not quite hidden by it, was a darker spot. If somebody were to be shot, I thought—somebody like me, say—and he bled on the carpet, and the blood were then mopped up, the stain would look very much like that darker brown spot.

Norman was saying, “...know I don't have to tell you twice, Scott. But I'm glad you got out here this once.”

Sure. He was tickled to death. I said, “No, once is enough for me. Nice place you've got here, though, Norman. See you.”

I didn't want to leave; I wanted to prowl around this office a little. But I like things neat and tidy, and one spot on the rug here was plenty. This damn place was a fortress, anyway, and in the event that Norman decided he didn't want me to walk out, I'd play hell getting through a couple of steel doors even if I managed to cold-cock the guy. I left.

At the first steel door the large man stood, still wearing an expression that indicated great perplexity. He looked at me for what seemed a long, long time, and I could imagine him thinking. Now, where'd I see dis bo before? Finally he grunted, turned, slid back a bolt, opened the door, and let me pass through without a word.

Poupelle and Vera were no longer in the game room. I looked around for them, then asked the dealer at the dice table where Andon had been playing, “What happened to Poupelle? The guy that was shooting craps here.”

“Mr. Poupelle left about five minutes ago. He was ill, I believe, sir.”

“You see him leave?”

He nodded.

“Poupelle go straight out? Or did he maybe make a phone call first?” At either side of the room were small stands on each of which was an ivory-white phone.

The dealer blinked. “Why, yes, he did make a call, sir.” He pointed across the room at one of the small tables. “I noticed because he seemed so ill.”

“He may have thought he was dying. Probably phoning a doctor. Thanks.”

I went to the phone, looked up the Afrodite's number in the directory, and dialed. This was an outside line, not a house phone, but a man could still dial Norman's office phone number easily enough. Good old Dr. Norman. He fixes things. I suddenly wanted out of here and far away, but I let the phone buzz until I was convinced the Afrodite was closed before I hung up.

Foster let me through the door, glaring at me, but I felt sure he wouldn't do anything except glare. Not here with all these witnesses. I went out through the front room, where there were more aging Romeos and adolescent Juliets, but no Poupelle. The knight on the drawbridge still sat on his horse.

I kept my eyes busy as I walked to my convertible, then drove slowly out of the parking lot. Once out of sight of the castle, though, I tramped on the accelerator hard for a mile, then swung right on a side road and doused the lights.

In half a minute or less a sleek black car ripped past like a rocket. I lit a cigarette and smoked it, wondering, then put the Cad in gear and headed for Fairview.

With the Afrodite closed, there wasn't a great deal more I could do tonight. Besides, I wanted to sort out in my mind the bits and pieces I'd come up with today and this evening. And there was another reason for going back to Fairview: I wanted to see Laurel again. I wanted, of course, to be sure that she was all right, that there hadn't been any trouble during my absence from camp. But besides all that, I just wanted to
see
her.

I found a parking space in the lot and left the Cad in it, then locked the main gate and walked up the path toward the center of the camp. As I approached the low green building I looked to my left, where Laurel's cabin was dimly visible in the moonlight. There weren't any lights burning inside the little house, and I supposed she was asleep.

It was very quiet as I walked toward the small white cabin. A soft, warm wind blew from the north, rustling through the trees, but that was the only sound other than the crunch of my footsteps. At the left of the door a window was raised, opened wide, frilly curtains billowing inward. I knocked, the rap of my knuckles surprisingly loud. I waited, but there was no sound from inside. A small, cold worry started nagging at me.

I knocked again, then stepped to the window and poked my head inside. “Laurel,” I called softly. “Hey, Laurel.”

More silence. I tried the door. It was unlocked, and I went inside, felt for the wall switch, and turned on the lights. A door was open in the far wall. That would be Laurel's bedroom, since the cabins had only two rooms. This room was simply furnished with a table, three cushioned chairs, and a small couch. I went into the bedroom, turned on the light.

The bed was mussed but empty, as if Laurel had lain there for a while and then left. I was sweating.

As I turned out the light I noticed a glow through the rear window of the bedroom. I walked to the window and looked out. There were lights in another cabin a few yards behind this one; from what Laurel had told me this afternoon, it was probably my cabin. I turned off the front-room light, went out, and trotted around the cabin to the one where the light was showing.

I didn't even stop to look through the window in front, just twisted open the door and went inside. This cabin was an exact counterpart of the other one, and I hot-footed it across to the bedroom and went in.

She was on the bed. I walked over and looked down at her. The light filtering in from the front room was barely bright enough so that I could see it was Laurel. She lay on her side, but twisted so that her shoulders were almost flat on the bed, the light-blue spread pulled partly across her body. She was breathing deeply in her sleep. I stood over her for a while, letting my own breathing become more normal, oddly surprised to find that all my muscles had been tense, my nerves tight. The roof of my mouth was dry.

In the soft light, her features relaxed in sleep, she looked even lovelier than she had in daylight, and younger, more defenseless. The blue spread covered her hips and thighs, leaving her lower legs bare, and only half covered the full globes of her breasts.

Right then I knew that whether I liked it or not, I was getting involved, emotionally involved, with this lovely. During the afternoon thoughts of her had come into my mind often, but I'd pushed them away, telling myself that she'd be all right, there was no reason really to worry about her. But these last minutes had been bad ones for me; it had frightened me to find her cabin empty, frightened, me more than I cared to admit to myself, and then seeing her had been a relief that was almost a shock. I didn't stop to ask myself why she was here; it was enough that she was safe, warm and alive.

I stared down at her, feeling the tension and tightness drain from me. Then her breathing stopped. I saw her move slightly, convulsively, and her eyes were open wide. She gasped, rolled away from me, and scrambled off the foot of the bed, jumping toward the door.

“Laurel!” I yelled.

She stopped, one hand against the doorframe. “Shell?”

“Yeah, honey. What's the matter?”

Her shoulders sagged a little, then straightened. She turned. “I didn't know it was you. I thought—I was asleep, and...” She didn't finish it.

“Relax,” I said. “It's only me, the—the confused health director. Remember?”

She laughed softly, nervously, and said, “You startled me, Shell. Let me get hold of myself.”

“I'll tell you what, Laurel. You'd better go wrap yourself in the bedspread again, or both of us will get hold of yourself. Or ourselves. I mean, I have just come from the outside world, where everybody—”

She laughed, more naturally and freely this time, and walked away from the door to the bed. She walked right past me, too, within
inches
of me, while I made faint, unintelligible sounds.

“Sit down, Shell,” she said. “I'm all right now.”

“You bet you're all right.” I looked around for a chair. No chair.

“Sit on the bed,” she said. “I won't bite you.”

I said, “All right for you, then; I won't bite you, either,” and sat down on the edge of the bed.

Laurel threw a bit of the bedspread over her. It was just a little bit of the spread, draped with almost studied, and certainly artistic, casualness. Draped far more casually than I.

“Well,” I said, “I guess, ah, I'd better get back to my place. Ha-ha.
This
is my place, isn't it? Nice having your place in my place. I mean,
you
in my place. Yes.”

“I'm sorry I acted like such a fool, Shell. I woke up and saw you there, only I didn't know it was you.” Her voice was soft and warm, as if that wind outside had come sighing into the bedroom. “You see, what startled me so much was that you had your clothes on.”

“It was? Well, that's, uh—” I cleared my throat. “We can fix that, all right.”

She went on: “That's the last thing you expect to see here in Fairview, a man standing over your bed with his clothes on.”

“Yeah. Guess I should have turned the lights on, what? Still can, you know.” I sped on. “Shall we get a little light on the subject—in the place—in the house? This chatting away in blackness is for the birds.” My voice sounded like an old man's, but I didn't feel very old. I felt full of youth, full of beans, full of wild, red-hot corpuscles that were scorching my brain and everything. “Laurel,” I said in a cracked voice, “Laurel, do you remember when we met? I mean, how I explained that I'm all full of beans—ah, that I am not used to—”

She leaned forward and pressed two soft fingers momentarily against my lips. “Don't go on so,” she said. “What's the matter with you?”

“Don't you know?” My voice went way up.

She chuckled softly, “Yes. Of course I know.” She paused. “Shell, I came here because I was ... frightened. There alone in my cabin, and not knowing when you'd come back. Or even if you would. So I came here and waited and fell asleep. I was afraid to be alone. I feel better now, but I'm still afraid ... to be alone.”

She had risen up on one elbow to press her fingers against my mouth, and now she still held herself partly off the bed. Light from the front room, seeming brighter now, cast a silvery mistiness over her bare shoulders, and over proud breasts that looked smoother than ivory, softer than down.

She was looking at my face, her long-lashed eyes almost closed, lips parted. “You won't be alone,” I said. I leaned closer to her and she tilted her head slightly, and I saw the tip of her tongue flick against her lips just before they parted even more. Then they were against my mouth. At first her lips were softer than the whispering wind outside the cabin, but then they writhed and curled against mine, and her tongue flicked against them again as we both moved closer together and our arms went around each other.

Her lips clung to mine for a long time, her hands against my back, fingers curling, then her lips went slack and her head rolled to one side. I kissed her throat, the curve of her shoulder, the soft warmness of her breasts, and she breathed rapidly, making small sounds deep in her throat. Then I felt her move against me; her lips traced my cheek and touched my ear as she whispered to me.

I got up. When I slid into bed beside her again, barely touching her, she was lying motionless on her back. For long seconds she lay that way, unmoving. Then slowly she turned toward me, pressed her lovely soft body deliberately against me.

I said her name once, and once she said mine, but that was all. There were no more words after that. No more words except that, some time later, Laurel said in a thick, sleepy voice, “Night, Shell, darling,” and I said to her, “Good night.”

Chapter Eleven

I woke up suddenly in the morning. I woke up suddenly because Laurel was wallowing all over me, shaking my head and saying, “Get up. Wake up, Shell. It's time to get up.”

“Yeah, sure,” I said sleepily. “Call me in a couple of hours or so.” Here was this beautiful naked babe wallowing about, and I tell her to call me in a couple of hours. I'm just not myself in the morning.

The wench said, laughing, “You've got to get up. You have to lead the membership in calisthenics.”

It hit me all of a sudden. I grabbed the covers and threw them away from me, burying Laurel under a sheet and blanket, and sprang clear out into the middle of the room. “What!” I shouted.

There was a flurry of bedclothes and Laurel's tousled hair and beautiful face emerged from them. She was grinning.

“Calisthenics,” she said. “You remember.” Then she stifled a delicate yawn and stretched, arching her back and thrusting with small, tightly closed fists at the ceiling. The covers slid down. And down.

Now that I was about an eighth awake, this was an entirely different proposition than that earlier wallowing had been. I sprang back onto the bed. “Ah, yes! I remember! Calisthenics!” I grabbed her.