Trouble in Rooster Paradise (17 page)

“
Sounds like he made an
impression.”

“
Not with me,” she said. “When he’s
on one side of the room, I manage to be on the other.” I could see
she was debating over what to say next. “A friend of mine went out
with him a few times.”

“
Happy times?”

“
If you call getting smacked around
a happy time.”

“
Rough customer?”

“
That’s putting it mildly,
buster.”

“
Was it one of the girls who work
here?”

She shook her head.

“
You didn’t make Guy’s date book I’m
guessing.”

“
You’d be guessing right,” she said,
pleased with her answer. “But I
do
think I’d like to make
yours
.” She was instantly in a better humor, her sultry
voice returned. “You already know where you can find
me.”

I watched as Peggy flounced back to her
station. She was definitely one of the team and out after more than
just sales commissions. An exquisite pair of legs flexed smoothly
while round hips swung and derrière jiggled under her rayon skirt.
She gave me a parting smile over her shoulder.

The Parisian model La Voodoo clearly had local
competition in Peggy.

Britt Anderson was in her office and had only
gotten more beautiful since I’d seen her last. She stood up when I
entered. She had a remote, besieged look that turned to one of
lovely calm when she saw me. The pinze-nez fell to her neck. Her
serene and faultless face was decorously framed by waves of gold
hair that seemed somehow more abundant today. She was wearing a
glossy, emerald-green dress, drawn tight to her slender
waist.

Britt gave me a little grin and picked up a
piece of paper from her desk. The rustling accordion pleats of her
shiny outfit caused her to scintillate as she glided across the
room toward me.

Gunnar the Bedazzled.

“
That list of Christine’s repeat
customers you wanted,” she said as she handed me the paper. Our
fingers gently collided. “I presume that’s what you came
for.”

Did she mean the touch or the list?

“
I know you’re meeting Guy de
Carter, but can you stay and talk a little while?”

She smelled supernal. The fragrance was
spellbinding.
Essence of Allure
is what I’d call
it.

“
Uh-huh.” It was all my mesmerized
brain cells could muster at the moment.

There were two chairs near the door. She
motioned for me to take one as she pulled the other around to face
me. She eased into her chair and crossed a pair of hosiery-ad legs
that sent bumps goose-stepping up my backbone.

“
When we talked on the phone
yesterday, had I told you about poor Meredith?” she
asked.

I said she hadn’t told me, and I asked about
poor Meredith.

“
She became extremely agitated at
the end of the day yesterday. It’s like she had some sort of
breakdown. We had to call a doctor. He gave her something to calm
her nerves. I had one of the girls see her home.”

It had looked to me like Meredith was keeping
things together okay. But Britt and the others obviously knew her
better. And Meredith
had
been chums with Christine. I
figured she was more fragile than she appeared and finally snapped
under the pressure of it all.

“
She’s lucky to have such good
friends,” I said. It sounded every bit like the trite solace it
was. Britt didn’t seem to notice.

“
I phoned her later and told her to
take a few days off. I made it an order.”

I nodded.

“
I didn’t mean to rattle on so,” she
said suddenly and sighed. “You probably see things like this all
the time in your line of work. Have you made any progress in your
investigation?”

“
I suppose. If you call almost
getting killed progress.”

Britt looked horrified.

“
Who? Wha … what took place?”
she asked, uncrossing her legs and leaning closer to me.

“
A driver of a dark sedan tried to
run me down last night when I was getting out of my car.
Fortunately I’d forgotten something. If I hadn’t turned back to get
it, I wouldn’t be talking to you now.”

Her mouth fell open. I told her about Walter
coming to help me and what he’d witnessed. Her eyes grew
wide.

“
Who … who could have done such
a thing? Did your friend see the driver?”

I shook my head. “But my guess is that
someone’s not too happy about me looking into Christine’s
murder.”

She put both of her hands on my knees. I liked
that. I felt the tingle of a fly-fisher with one on his line. Time
to do a little reeling in.

“
I’m keeping a third eye open,” I
said. “Someone’s obviously desperate, and I’m sure I’m not out of
the woods yet.”

Her eyes showed the empathy and compassion I’d
seen the day before. It moved me. Well, it stirred me,
anyway.

Her hands left my knees and gripped my fingers.
“Did you call the police?” she asked.

“
Yeah. It’s all taken care of.” I
gently squeezed her hands in reassurance.

“
Doesn’t what happened to you prove
Dirk Engstrom’s innocence?”

“
It could. But it’s also possible
someone is trying to sabotage an open-and-shut case. Dirk still has
a mountain of evidence piled against him.”

“
I see,” she said thoughtfully. “Can
I be of any more assistance to you, Gunnar?” she asked, in almost a
whisper. She moved her head closer to mine.

I cleared my throat. “There is one thing you
could do,” I said quietly. Actually I could think of several
things, but none I could verbalize.

“
Name it.”

I suggested to her the possibility that
Christine had been having a love affair with one of her
customers.

“
I suppose it’s possible,” she said.
“So, what can I do?”

“
I’d like you to chat up some of
Christine’s coworkers. Keep it cool and casual. See if any of the
girls might know if she was seeing anyone special other than Dirk.
These things are hard to keep from girlfriends.”

“
Meredith might know of someone. She
was Christine’s closest friend.”

“
Right. I’ll talk to her again
myself after she’s had a chance to rest a bit. I have a feeling she
had more to tell me yesterday but was holding back for some
reason.”

Britt gave me a puzzled look. I left her that
way. She agreed to help me out and said she’d get started as soon
as I left. Our faces were almost as close as a couple of Eskimos
ready to rub noses. She gave me a quick peck on the
lips.

“
You watch out for yourself,” she
said.

“
You can bet on it.”

“
T
he next
thing I knew I was staring at bare naked ladies. Nine of
them.”

“
What?” Kirsti said in a puzzled
tone, a deep blush to her face and eyebrows arched in
surprise.

“
Each of the ladies was in a
different pose. Some were frolicking with scarves the size of
drapes. They looked happy in a serene way and romping seemed to be
their hobby. One of the gals held a small child and two deer were
standing nearby. Across from them another child was riding what
looked like a lioness.”

“
Wha … Where were you? A nudist
colony? I thought you had to meet this de Carter guy.”

“
No, that’s Guy de Carter. And I
was
meeting him.”

“
At some burlesque show? I thought
you set it up to meet him at some garden.”

“
I did. What I was staring at was in
the rose garden near Woodland Park Zoo. It’s still there. I was
facing a wall about my height, maybe a little taller. It’s a relief
made back in the ’20s that gives credit to the Lion’s Club for the
garden’s existence.”

“
Well, aren’t you the tricky one.”
Kirsti said, trying unsuccessfully to act annoyed.

“
But Blue Eyes, before I continue,
let me catch my breath a moment, and maybe take a slug or two from
that water bottle,” I said, looking at her lazily.

Guy de Carter was not punctual.

It was 12:25 when I walked up to the small
reflection pool to study the girlie show masquerading as art. The
fountain where Guy de Carter wanted to meet sat thirty or forty
yards behind me. Fifteen minutes went by. In that time I repeatedly
fondled my .38 and had surveyed the garden four times.

I looked around again. The sun was out. Warm
temperature hadn’t joined it, but the chill in the air hadn’t kept
visitors away. Nearby a young man whispered sweet somethings in his
girl’s ear and got a smile for his honesty and an elbow in the ribs
for his nerve. Beyond them, a middle-aged woman worked at an easel,
desperately trying to capture a scene on canvas that was probably
destined to grace a corner of a grandchild’s attic. To my left a
delighted mother was pushing a perambulator and leading a
dull-faced boy and grim-faced girl on a forced march of
appreciation.

I headed over to the fountain and saw a Fancy
Dan approaching. He held a brown paper bag. It was a tough one to
call. He was either my man carrying our promised duck dinner or
some dandy out bootlegging smut. I walked over to him. Our eyes
were about level. Milland was right. Guy de Carter did resemble
Smilin’ Jack—complete with solid jaw and pencil-thin
mustache.

We shook hands. He was extraordinary and
engaging. Within fifteen seconds he was Guy and I was “Sport.” He
had a strangely prim mouth that expanded to show perfect teeth that
were possibly all his own. A toothpick that passed for a cigarette
perched on his lip. He wore a Panama hat and a desert-toned
gabardine suit. These went nicely with his tan Koolie wingtips—the
kind of shoes riddled with hundreds of little holes to cool off
overworked feet. But though it wasn’t hot out, Guy de Carter wore
no socks, just to be on the safe side.

“
Thanks for accommodating me,
Sport,” he said, leading us over to an empty bench. With the ease
born of habit he took the saliva-laden toothpick from his mouth,
bent it in half till it formed a V, and then flicked it on the
nearby grass. He parked the paper bag between us and took out a
couple of sandwiches and handed me one. “I had a meeting with the
owner of the Chit-Chat Café over here on Forty-Fifth. It’s a small
potatoes account, but it has its upside. That’s where I got this
grub. On the house. I hope you like pastrami on rye.”

“
Love it,” I said, and took a big
bite as proof.

I gave him another look-over as he focused on
his own sandwich. He was about my age. The dark hair showing under
his hat was razor-cut and neatly combed. He had clean knuckles,
manicured fingernails, and a deep tan that I’d have labeled asinine
if I were any more jealous.

“
The honcho lady over at Fasciné
Expressions told me you wanted to ask me a few
questions.”

I smiled. “Is that what you call her? Honcho
lady?”

He shrugged. “I call ’em as I see ’em. But mind
you, I don’t call her that to her face.”

“
I don’t know. She seems to roll
with the punches okay.”

“
Maybe so for you. But she doesn’t
like me very much. I go in that hoity-toity gift palace only when I
have to, and that’s not often. I know when I’m not welcome. Honcho
lady is the chief hen in that rooster paradise—and believe you me
she lets you know it. And with this rooster she’s all business and
no pleasure, if you take my meaning.”

I took his meaning.

“
You must like roses,” I said,
glancing at the plants around us.

“
Not really, Sport. But
women
like roses. And I like women who like roses. This garden is just
one of the spots I come to troll. And it brings back some good
memories, if you take my meaning.”

I did. He was a jaunty sort with a contagious
grin and was loaded with that easy charm that made a woman feel
appreciated, safe, and cared for. Until he got her in the sack,
that is. Afterward she’d learn fast that she was no more than prey,
or a commodity akin to a dishrag. And according to sultry Peggy, he
played rough. Of course, some women like being quarry, and some
think they deserve to be kitchen towels. And some put up with
getting smacked around.

Still, I felt like one of those blind men of
Indostan, touching only my part of the elephant.

“
You strike me as someone who’d have
no problems with the ladies,” I said.

“
I do all right. But then, I’ve had
a lot of practice, Sport. I bet you’ve broken a few hearts
yourself. We should hit the town together some night. It’d be a
guaranteed hoot.”

I laughed one of those social laughs I
despise.

“
Ever feel like ending it all by
settling down and getting married to the right girl?” I asked him
just to ask. “Maybe have a few nippers, a dog, a cat, and a
mortgage?”

He shook his head. “Not this kid, Sport. It’s
not my style.”