Kiss and Kill. Richard Deming

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СКАЧАТЬ stalling her with the story that I think the girl’s vacation is coming up, and I remember her mentioning something about visiting an aunt out here. I’m supposed to have written my secretary to find out. Meantime I’ve been looking around for a woman to play the stenographer’s role.”

      “I could do it,” Mavis said eagerly. “I even know shorthand and typing.”

      “The first thing to do is get you out of the hotel,” I told her. “Mrs. Hollingsworth flew to Las Vegas today, but she’ll probably be back late tonight. And it wouldn’t do for her to see you just yet. Suppose you go up and pack and check out. I’ll meet you in the lobby in a half-hour. I’ll drive you to another hotel, and after you’re settled, we can discuss the rest of the plan.”

      Before driving Mavis to another hotel, I took her to a pawnshop in downtown Los Angeles and bought her a plain wedding band and an engagement ring set with a small chip diamond.

      “This is all the jewelry I want you to wear,” I told her. “Ditch that gawdy watch and fake emerald.”

      I registered her at the Sheraton. The rest of the afternoon and late into the evening we sat in her room while I drilled into her what she was to say and how she was to act when she met Mrs. Hollings worth.

      “Just be natural,” I told her. “You’re supposed to be a working girl. You are a working girl, or at least you were until recently, so the part doesn’t call for any theatrical ability. For God’s sake don’t try to act. You haven’t any talent.”

      “All right,” she said in a wounded voice.

      “Your name is Mary Applebee,” I said. “Your husband’s name is John Emery Applebee. He’s twenty-six years old and, in civilian life, drives a bakery truck. You were married on April fourteenth, 1951, just before he left for Korea. He was a corporal in the 101st Infantry. The telegram informing you he was missing in action arrived on your first anniversary, April fourteenth, 1952. Later you got word that he was a POW. Got all that?”

      “I think so,” she said.

      I made her repeat it over and over until it was memorized. I added further details of her background and her husband’s and made her memorize them too. I covered every possible thing I thought Mrs. Hollingsworth might ask about.

      “Don’t volunteer any of this,” I told her. “I don’t want you reeling off data like a parrot. You’re supposed to be shy. Just answer what she asks. If she throws a curve by coming up with something we haven’t covered, can you ad lib?”

      “Oh, yes,” she assured me.

      “Does your husband have any brothers or sisters?” I shot at her.

      “An older brother named Walter,” she said instantly. “He’s in the Navy.”

      I nodded. “I guess you’ll do. Now once more. Go over the whole thing.”

      She was letter perfect by the time I left. I told her to stick close to her room the next day, so that I could reach her by phone.

      When I got back to the Beverly-Wilshire, I checked at the desk and learned that Mrs. Hollingsworth hadn’t yet gotten back from Las Vegas. But apparently she got in late that night. At any rate she was in the coffee shop for breakfast at her usual time the next morning.

      I paused at her table to ask, “Break the bank at Las Vegas?”

      Looking up, she said, “Oh, good morning, Mr. Carter. No. I lost my usual fifty dollars and quit. I’ve never won yet. Will you join me?”

      Cora Hollingsworth was a plump, good-natured woman in her late sixties with snow-white hair and a smooth, serene face. She had such regular habits, I knew exactly when to enter the coffee shop or dining room in order to “accidentally” meet her. We had become pretty friendly, but I had deliberately kept our relationship on a casual, tourist-acquaintance basis. I never attempted to see her except at mealtime, and even then I usually arranged to sit with her not more than one meal a day. The pitch I was working didn’t require building a close association. I was banking on her sympathy for the young Applebees to put her in the mood for parting with ten thousand dollars. Beyond implanting in her mind that I was in a position to make proper arrangements for disbursing the ten thousand and getting young John Applebee freed, I made no attempt to impress her.

      Pulling out a chair, I sat across from her and picked up a menu. Until I had ordered and my breakfast had been served, I listened to her account of her Las Vegas adventures.

      When she finally ran out of stories, I said as though I had just thought of it, “By the way, I got a wire from my secretary last night. Mary Applebee is flying into Los Angeles this evening. She’s been instructed to phone me here.”

      “Oh?” Mrs. Hollingsworth said with immediate interest. “Can I meet her?”

      “I suppose I can arrange it. I understand she plans to spend the night in L.A., then take a bus to her aunt’s tomorrow. Her aunt lives somewhere in the San Fernando Valley.” Then I said a little diffidently, “We’ve gotten to know each other pretty well, Mrs. Hollingsworth. May I speak frankly about something that’s been on my mind?”

      “Of course,” she said.

      “You’ve gotten yourself all worked up about this girl without even knowing her. It’s an unfortunate situation, but it really isn’t either your problem or mine. Don’t go overboard.”

      “Why, what do you mean, Mr. Carter?”

      “I suspect you’re thinking of picking up the tab for these Commie blackmailers,” I said bluntly. “It’s a generous thought, but not a very wise one. Forget it.”

      I figured this was safe. Cora Hollingsworth was one of those people who tend to be ashamed of generous impulses, but whose resolve is only strengthened by common-sense advice against them. Her reaction convinced me it had been a shrewd move.

      Coloring slightly, she protested, “Why the thought never entered my head, Mr. Carter. I’m just interested in meeting the girl.”

      CHAPTER III

      MRS. HOLLINGSWORTH was so enthused about seeing Mary Applebee that she insisted on meeting the plane. This was a complication that wasn’t very difficult to work out. I phoned Mavis to get out to the International Airport in advance with her bags and post herself near the proper gate. When she heard the announcement that the plane she was supposed to be on had come in, she could mingle with the passengers as they came out the gate, so that it would appear that she had been on it.

      “Be surprised to see me,” I cautioned her. “You’re not supposed to know I’m meeting you.”

      Everything went smoothly. The plane came in on time at 5:35 P.M. Mavis was properly surprised to see me. Cora Hollingsworth was obviously charmed by her fresh, innocent appearance.

      Following the instructions I had given her over the phone, Mavis said her plans were to stay overnight in Los Angeles, as she couldn’t get a bus out to her aunt’s until the next day. To avoid the possibility of Mrs. Hollingsworth insisting she stay at the Beverly-Wilshire, where the desk clerk knew Mavis by her real name, I had told Mavis to say she had a reservation at a small, moderately-priced hotel in downtown Los Angeles.

      I took both women to the Statler, СКАЧАТЬ