Джеймс Чейз - The Flesh of the Orchid

‘If you ask me,’ he said to no one in particular, ‘that frail’s got a bat in her attic.’

For some time Carol sat motionless. She was cold and the sharp stabbing pains inside her head frightened her. She had planned to leave Santo Rio after taking Max’s money, but during the drive down from the house on the hill she had developed this agonizing pain in her head, and unable to drive further she had decided to break the journey at Palm Bay. She had no idea what kind of a hotel it was, but the brilliant neon sign had attracted her.

A negro porter came in at this moment to light the fire, and his entrance disturbed her train of thought. She got up and went into the bathroom while he was building the fire. In the overheated dingy room, with its leaky shower and stained bath, she suddenly felt faint, and had to clutch on to the towel rail to prevent herself from falling.

She realized then that she was starving. She had had no food from the moment she had seen Max leave the hospital and had followed him to his home, and she sat on the edge of the bath, holding her head, until she heard the porter leave, closing the door sharply behind him.

Eddie was lounging in the corridor when the waiter came along pushing the trolley containing the set dinner to Carol’s room.

Eddie was on good terms with all the hotel staff, and this waiter, Bregstein by name, was a particular crony of his.

‘That little lot for No. 247?’ he asked, taking out a five-dollar bill and folding it between his lingers.

Bregstein eyed the five-spot, beamed and said it was.

‘O.K., Bud,’ Eddie said, slipping the note into Bregstein’s pocket, ‘go buy yourself a drink. I’ll take it in. Redheads are right up my alley.’

‘That alley of yours must be getting a little overcrowded, Mr. Regan,’ Bregstein said with a leer.

‘Yeah, but there’s always room for one more,’ Eddie returned, straightened his immaculate tuxedo. ‘Think she’ll take me for a waiter?’

‘The kind you see on the movies,’ Bregstein sighed. ‘Those guys who don’t have to pay for their own laundry.’ He eyed Eddie uneasily, went on: ‘The management won’t like this, Mr. Regan. You won’t start anything I couldn’t finish, will you?’

‘The management won’t know unless you tell them,’ Eddie said carelessly, pushed the trolley to the door of 247, knocked, opened the door and went in.

He was a little startled to see Carol crouching over the fire, her head in her hands.

He wheeled the trolley to the table.

Clearing his throat, he said: ‘Your dinner, madam. Would you like it served by the fire?’

‘Leave it there, please,’ Carol said without turning.

‘May I draw the chair up for you?’ Eddie asked, a little uncertain and not anything like as confident as he had been before entering the room.

‘No... leave me alone and go,’ Carol said, a grating note in her voice.

Then Eddie saw the two brief-cases lying on the floor and he stood transfixed as he read the gold letters stamped the side of each case. On one was: Frank Kurt; on the other: Max Geza. He gaped at Carol with startled eyes, and as he did so she happened to move her arm and he caught sight of the white puckered scar on her wrist. He gave a convulsive start as he realized that she was Mary Prentiss.

This discovery so startled him that he hastily left the room before she might look up and recognize him. When he was once more in the corridor he stood for a moment thinking, his eyes bright and his breathing heavy. What a sweet set-up, he thought: Carol Blandish, the millionairess, masquerading as Mary Prentiss and responsible for the death of Frank, and in possession of Frank’s and Max’s property. If he couldn’t turn that to good account then he might as well give up his racket and take up knitting.

When Carol had finished the dinner, which she ate ravenously, she felt better and the pain in her head slowly receded. Taking off her cloak, she pulled the chair up to the fire and sat down to review the past days with cold triumph. She had already settled Frank’s account, and had made good strides in the settling of Max’s. From the time Max had left the hospital she had been on his heels and he had had no suspicion. She had even followed him up the stairs of the old wooden house and had watched him through a chink in the door panel as he counted the money he had taken from the wardrobe. She had seen in his hard eyes the intense pleasure the money had given him, and she knew that by taking it she would inflict on him a hurt as great as the one he had inflicted on Miss Lolly when he had cut off her beard.

She had decided to give him a few days longer in which to grieve over his loss and then she would finish him. Her eyes burned feverishly when she thought of that moment and her long white fingers turned into claws.

Then she remembered the brief-cases lying at her feet, and she picked up one of them, opened it, looked at the neatly stacked money with an expression of horror in her eyes. Each note seemed to her to reek of the Sullivans, and she seemed to hear the faint echo of their metallic voices seeping out of the leather case. With a shiver of disgust she threw the case from her and its contents came tumbling out on to the dingy carpet.

At this moment the door opened and Eddie, now prepared to deal with the situation, came in. His opening sentence died in his throat when he saw the stacks of dollar bills on the floor. He spotted the brief-case and he realized at once that this money belonged to Frank and Max. He also jumped to the conclusion that Frank’s money, anyway, was now Linda’s property, and what was Linda’s was, of course, his as well.

Carol turned quickly in her chair when she heard the door close, saw Eddie and recognized him. She remained still, her big green eyes watchful.

Eddie stirred the money with his foot, looked at her.

‘Know me?’ he asked, and smiled.

‘Get out,’ Carol said quietly.

Now sure of himself, Eddie lounged to the fireplace and propped himself up against the mantelpiece.

‘The police are looking for a dame who calls herself Mary Prentiss,’ he said, reached for a cigarette, lit it. ‘The charge is murder, and they have a good enough case, if they find her, to make it stick.’

‘Get out,’ Carol repeated, and her hands closed into fists.

‘They wouldn’t hang you. They’d put you away, sweetheart, for twenty years.’ He regarded the glowing end of his cigarette, glanced at her, went on: ‘You wouldn’t like prison life, you know. You’ve had a dose of asylum life, but they treat you tough in prison.’

‘Why are you telling me this?’ she asked, suddenly relaxing back in her chair.

‘Look, baby, we don’t have to wrap this up in cotton wool. Don’t try and bluff. I know you are Mary Prentiss because of that scar. You were the girl who agreed to be Prank’s companion, who took my money to keep him amused, and who engineered his death. I don’t know why you did it, but I can soon find out. You are also Carol Blandish, the millionairess, late of Glenview Mental Sanatorium. You and me are going to do a deal. I’m taking this money for a start, and then you’ll give me a certified cheque for half a million, otherwise I’m going to hand you over to the police. What do you say to all that?’

‘I don’t like you,’ Carol said, and her mouth twitched. ‘You’d better go.’

‘Don’t rush it, baby,’ Eddie said, and showed his big white teeth in a sneering smile. ‘I’m not going until you’ve paid up. Come on, get wise, I’ve got you where I want you, and there’s no wriggling out.’

She looked up at him, her eyes like holes burned in white paper.

‘Get out!’ she said violently, ‘and leave me alone.’