the ice cold nude

“So answer me some questions?”

“All right. What do you want to know?”

“What Louise Lamont told your wife over the phone was true?”

“Naturally.”

“The thing that bugs me is why she tried to blackmail your wife instead of you—or did she try you first?” “No, she didn’t,” he rasped. “I agree with you, Boyd, it doesn’t make any sense. When Myra called me back that day and told me about it, I flipped. There was a hell of a row. Louise tried to deny it—but finally I threw her out of the place.”

“The beauty contest—was that Louise’s idea?”

Rutter looked uncomfortable for a moment. “I guess it was—kind of.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I’m not sure right now if I thought of it first or not,” he said vaguely. “I do know that once it was announced, she called me and said she was going to smear my name from here to San Francisco and back if I didn’t let her win it.”

“The publicity tie-in with Elmo and his tiara—that was Louise’s idea, too?”

“Definitely not!” He shook his head firmly. “That was Hugh Machin’s bright thought. I think the fact that I’d come up with the idea of the contest first had worried him a little—he wanted to prove he could do the kind of good job he’s paid for.”

“I don’t know exactly when Louise Lamont was killed last night,” I said, “but—”

“Neither do the police from what I can make out,” Rutter interrupted. “So if you’re going to ask me for an alibi—don’t.”

“The shower running warm water,” I said brightly. “I should have thought of that—retarding the natural processes and all that jazz—so now they can’t find an exact time of death.”

“Which makes things worse for me in a way,” he said bleakly. “I was in and out of the plant all day yesterday, and I didn’t get home here until around eleven last night.”

“Okay.” I stood up. “I’ll keep in touch.”

“Do that.” For a moment he was about to offer his hand, then thought better of it. “I imagine you can find your own way out?”

“Sure.” I took the easiest way—out through the still-open glass door, and onto the terrace again.

Myra Rutter was sitting by the pool, wearing the blue-green satin swimsuit again, the inevitable glass in her hand. She turned her head as my footsteps sounded on the concrete patio, and called, “Danny?” As I got close, I saw her eyes were hidden by an enormous pair of dark glasses, glitter-framed and opalescent. Her bottom lip was badly swollen and a dark bruise was beginning to show on one tanned cheek.

“Going without saying good-bye, Danny?” The swollen lip made it hard for her to smile. “That’s hardly gallant!”

“He hit you?” 1 asked bleakly.

“Twice—once where it shows, and once where it doesn’t.” She touched her midriff gently. “I hate to admit that James is a real gentleman—never even raised his voice once when he walked in on us, did he?”

I heard quick footsteps pounding across the concrete and turned to see Rutter hurrying toward us, with a flushed face and an ugly look in his gray eyes.

“Get the hell out of here, Boyd!” he said thickly. “Our deal didn’t include my wife—I thought that was understood.”

“I was saying good-bye,” I remarked idly.

“Did I hear somebody say something about you two having made a deal?” Myra asked lazily. “And it doesn’t include me? I’m desolate!”

“Shut your filthy mouth!” her husband said elegantly.

“James wants me to find out who killed his mistress,” I said to Myra. “It’s not that he misses her so much, I think—more that he’s worried the cops might have elected him as the killer.”

“Get out! Before I lose control!” Rutter snarled.

“That’s James,” Myra said lightly. “He just can’t help his finer feelings always getting the better of him. I often wonder why he wouldn’t be fair about Louise Lamont and let me beat him up occasionally.”

Rutter took a swift step toward her chair, his arm raised ready to backhand her across the face. Her right arm moved swiftly and the contents of her glass hit him in the face.

“Why don’t you cool down, darling?” she asked placidly. “It’s too hot out here for exercise.”

He pawed blindly at his face while he called her a whole lot of names, including a few you shouldn’t call anybody. After maybe ten seconds of it, I figured enough was enough.

“As a new employee, Mr. Rutter,” I said politely, “I’d like to offer my services right now. I think I can be of some help.”

I grabbed his coat collar in one hand and the seat of his pants in the other, then ran him forward at a vigorous pace and let go suddenly when he was on the edge of the pool. The momentum gave him the startling appearance of walking the first couple of steps on the water, then there was a huge splash and he disappeared from view.

The dark* glasses studied me for a moment, while one hand negligently flicked drops of water from the top of a curved thigh.

“Danny was that nice?” she asked reproachfully. “Now you’ve watered my drink.”

There was a soggy roar which sounded vaguely like a drunken sea lion, as Rutter’s head suddenly emerged above the surface. He plowed across to the edge of the pool and hauled himself out onto the concrete. I waited until he’d gotten to his feet and stood there dripping puddles of water all over the place.

“You want to play it real rough, Jimmy-baby,” I told him carefully, “I’ll throw you right back in—only this time I’ll tie a weight to your legs.”

A whole gamut of emotion chased across his face while I waited, then finally his shoulders hunched tight and he walked quickly past me toward the house.

“I think he’s mad about something,” Myra said cheerfully.

“I should’ve slugged him a couple of times,” I said regretfully. “Right where it doesn’t show.”

“It wouldn’t do any good,” she said. “I think maybe you’d better go now, Danny.”

“Yeah.” I looked at her uncertainly for a moment. “Well, thanks for everything.”

“I’m sorry we were interrupted,” she said softly. “Like they say—better luck next time?”

The sun still shone radiantly from a cloudless sky as I walked down the forty steps that led back to the road. A gentle zephyr carressed my cheek and the scent of hibiscus was still heavy in the air, but now it wasn't lazy any more—only decadent—and I wasn’t too sure where that left Danny Boyd.

It was ten of five when I walked into Elmo’s jewelry store, figuring I should have another talk with Mr. Elmo himself. The titian fantasy bent over the desk lifted a little, revealing the calm, composed, and exciting face beneath.

“Well, if it isn’t Mr. Boyd—the fake tiara collector!” Tamara O’Keefe said pleasantly. “I’m afraid we don’t have any more in stock right now, but maybe I can interest you in some very uncultured pearls? They would make a perfect match for your personality.”

“I would like,” I said patiently, “to see Mr. Elmo. Is he in?—and please give a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ without any further embroidery?”

“My!” She smiled evilly. “You are in a bad temper today, Mr. Boyd. What happened? Someone steal your Wheaties private detective badge?”

“In,” I snapped, “or out?”

“Oh, you’re still talking about Mr. Elmo?” she cooed. “He’s out—if you call San Francisco out. Most people think it’s'definitely in”

I tried to ignore the taut thrust of her bosom against the black silk dress but who can ignore nature? “I wanted to ask him some questions,” I explained. “1 guess they’ll keep. When does he get back?”

“Tomorrow evening,” she said, “but you can wait in his office if you like.”