Mermaid on the Rocks Page 9

  There was no way to leave the ruts until he reached the water’s edge. Here was an unpainted wooden bunkhouse, a rickety dock. He reversed the car and headed back, leaving it close to the road but around a bend where it couldn’t be seen. He began the slow walk back across the trestle.

  His leg was hurting badly long before he reached Key Gaspar. He forced himself to hobble on, undoing much of the doctor’s work. He had been stretching matters when he told Barbara to look up the law on conspiracy. So far he had no case against anybody, merely a jumbled hodgepodge of guess, hearsay and conjecture. Before he could decide on his next move, he had to clear up a few of the relationships. His immediate concern was with the little microphone under the massive table. In the city, that kind of device usually tied into a miniaturized radio. The other end of the circuit could be anywhere within a two-hundred-yard radius, in any one of a thousand apartments, in a briefcase or a parked car. Here, with the sea on one side and swamp on the other, there was probably a wire and he wanted to know where it led.

  The lamps in the living room had been plugged in again. Shayne kept at the edge of the crushed-clamshell driveway, making as little noise as possible. He found the wall he wanted. Crouching, he felt along the foundation. When his fingers found the wire he followed it to the ground, then along the base of the foundation to the terrace, and from there to the garage. It crossed an open stretch of unkempt lawn toward the swamp. He walked bent over, letting it slip between his fingers.

  He was more careful after he struck in among the trees. If he lost it now he would have to go back and start over. He startled some animal, which plunged noisily away. The foliage made a tight canopy overhead. It was very dark. He forced himself forward, a few inches at a time. Before he had gone far he had an even better reason for hanging onto the wire; without it he doubted if he could have found his way out.

  Creepers and tendrils fastened themselves about his face. Caught by a strong vine, he had to backtrack until he could free himself. When he could go forward again he felt a mound of loose dirt underfoot, and stepped into a deep hole.

  He swore in disgust. This must be one of Eda Lou’s holes. She had gone down almost four feet before giving up, and the edge caved in under his weight. He managed to get out on the third or fourth try, then scratched about until he located the wire.

  He presently found himself on a kind of path, and was able to move faster. After another twenty feet, the wire came to an end at the base of a big gumbo-limbo tree.

  He snapped his cigarette lighter, shielding the little flame with one hand. The wire was stapled to the scaly bark. Some kind of crude wooden staging seemed to be nailed to the lowermost branches, twenty feet overhead.

  He let his lighter blink out and thought for a moment. Then, snapping it on again, he examined the bark closely. Finally, on the side away from the house, he came upon a vertical line of one-inch holes bored into the trunk at 18-inch intervals. His foot struck something hard. Looking down, he saw a scattering of large spikes, the kind used by linemen to climb utility poles.

  Shayne picked them up and began to fit them in the holes. As soon as he had the beginnings of a ladder he picked up as many spikes as he could carry in one hand and started to climb.

  He moved upward step by step. Several times he had to use the lighter before he could find the next hole. Once a spike slipped from his hand and fell to the ground with a clatter, startlingly loud amid the more natural swamp noises.

  After a moment Shayne clambered down, gathered another bundle of spikes and took them back up the tree.

  The wire ended in a ramshackle three-sided tree house, crudely constructed of secondhand lumber. He tested the floor carefully before leaving the spike-ladder and swinging in. Part of what had passed for a roof was gone. Holding the branch with one hand, the detective waved the lighter flame from side to side to see where the wire had brought him.

  It was a crazy structure about five feet high, narrower in one direction than the other. A faded skull-and-crossbones dangled from one wall. Other objects were more recent—a binoculars case slung from one of the broken roof timbers, a pair of earphones, a peanut can overflowing with smoked cigarettes.

  Shayne lowered himself carefully to the floor. He was able to let one leg dangle through a hole where a plank had given way. Another plank in the wall nearest the house had been pried loose. The house seemed surprisingly close to Shayne, no more than a hundred feet in a direct line, though he was sure he had followed the wire a full quarter mile.

  He found himself looking through a long horizontal window on the back wall of the living room. Barbara, smoking a cigarette in a long holder, moved restlessly into view. For an instant she seemed to look straight at him. Her lips moved soundlessly. Then she passed out of sight.

  chapter 12

  Using his lighter again behind the shield of his other hand, Shayne checked the earphones. The wire emerged from a crack in the floor to lead into a small black box with an on-off switch and a rheostat. Shayne clamped on the earphones and clicked the switch. He could hear a faint sputtering.

  The binoculars were a good Japanese model with six-power magnification. They brought the lighted living room in so close that it seemed to Shayne he could almost reach out and tap on the window. Barbara came back. Shayne had been told that she was in her early forties, and now that she was alone with her housekeeper, she was no longer making an effort to look any younger. Stopping in front of the window, she lit a cigarette from the butt of her previous one. Tilting back her head, she breathed out a mouthful of smoke.

  “OH, I’M TIRED, TIRED,” she said.

  In the tree house, Shayne hastily cut down the volume.

  Eda Lou’s voice, from somewhere out of sight, replied dryly, “As who isn’t?”

  “I certainly fluffed that,” Barbara said. “I can think of a dozen different ways I could have handled it. Everything he said when that phone call came in could have two meanings. Naturally I assumed he was talking about Kitty! I couldn’t be madder at myself. It’s nearly as bad as signing a full confession.”

  “I wonder how he is in bed,” Eda Lou said thoughtfully.

  “Oh, for God’s sake! Bed, bed, bed. Can’t you think of anything else?”

  “You don’t want me to change this late in life. What does he know, anyway? That you had a good idea what Brad was fixing to do. That’s nothing to worry about.”

  “I could have stopped him.”

  “You could have stopped Brad?” the older woman said incredulously. “Where would you get the bazooka?”

  “You know what I mean. I could have warned Kitty.”

  “Like so much—You were willing to keep Shayne talking, I noticed, when you thought Brad was still on his way.”

  Barbara moved restlessly to the far wall and started back. “I know. And that makes me an accessory.”

  “Baby, you’re wicked,” Eda Lou said affectionately. “Except in your own head you can’t be an accessory to a murder that didn’t come off. What do you care what Shayne thinks? You’ll never see him again. You or me both.” She added in a tone that was carefully casual, “What was all that about nitrous whatever?”

  Shayne had the binoculars on Barbara’s face. She was facing the window, her back to the housekeeper. Her nostrils flared.

  “Nitrous oxide. It’s a kind of anesthetic, I think. He was throwing out things to see what kind of knee jerk he could get out of me.”

  “And he got one, darling,” Eda Lou said softly. “I’m sorry to say he got one.”

  For an instant there was a small secret smile on Barbara’s face. Then she turned toward Eda Lou.

  “I never know what you’re thinking! Why can’t you break down and say two honest words? You could give me some advice if you felt like it. You knew Brad. You’ve known Frank longer than I have. What do I say to him when I see him tomorrow? Do I ask him where he got the idea it was all right to sit outside my front window at three o’clock in the morning and use me for target practice?�
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  The question sounded eerie to Shayne, but Eda Lou took it seriously. She came into view, still wearing the feathered negligee, and poured herself a drink.

  “I’m going to have a pip of a hangover when I wake up,” she said. “You don’t really think that was Frank, do you? The Honorable Francis Xavier Shanahan? I doubt if he even knows which end of a gun the bullet comes out of.”

  “But if Kitty’s really put away for the night—”

  “Maybe she hired somebody. Maybe Brad arranged it, as a last will and testament. What seems funny to me—I know there’s a little chop in the cove tonight, but he had three or four good shots at under fifty yards. He missed with all of them.”

  Barbara threw out both arms in one of her dramatic gestures. “Don’t torture me! Why would anybody want to shoot at me and miss?”

  “Maybe because—” the older woman began, then didn’t go on. “Oh, Christ. All I have to say is, if I can see you through Wednesday without losing my marbles I’m going on a long, long cruise, all by myself.”

  Barbara muttered something. She was turning as she spoke, and Shayne’s apparatus didn’t pick it up.

  Eda Lou carried her drink to a tall carved chair beside the front window, and sat down facing Shayne. She fluffed out the feathers on her collar.

  “This is a nightcap. Then we go to bed. Tomorrow’s another day. I’ll correct that. Today’s another day.”

  Barbara, beside her, touched the starred bulletholes in the window, as if to persuade herself they were real.

  “Even if this deal falls through, I can’t go on living here. Kitty can have the damn house if she’s that nuts about it.”

  “Hey, what happened to the old fighting spirit all of a sudden?”

  “All gone. Damn it all, if Frank doesn’t want to get married I don’t see why he can’t say so.”

  The binoculars picked up the deep downward lines from the corners of her mouth. Shayne looked away. This part of his business was often necessary, but he didn’t ever want to get to like it.

  “Once and for all,” Barbara said in a flat unemotional voice, “damn it, are you my mother?”

  With his unaided eye, Shayne saw only her outline against the front window. Her face was blank. He raised the binoculars, looking not at Barbara but at the older woman. There was a strange expression on that heavily madeup face. Her lips had a mocking twist.

  “That again,” she said. “Your mother’s name was Mrs. Cal Tuttle. A sweet uncomplaining pain in the ass, who never said a cross word to anybody. Why you can’t be satisfied I’ll never know. Very good stock. Churchgoing people, the flower of the Old South. And square? Your mother did one offbeat thing in her entire life, and that was to marry Cal. What’s wrong with you? Now we’re going to bed. We sat up the whole night, what do you think of that? Well, it’s the only wake that son of a bitch Brad is going to get.”

  She lit a cigarette and said briskly, “To answer your question, I’m not your mother. I repeat, not. It seems to me I’d know, wouldn’t I? Freeze it, will you, for good?”

  “I haven’t mentioned it once in five years!”

  “And that’s once too many. I was your father’s dear friend and longtime companion, and the only reason he never married me was because I never brought the subject up. If I’d been the mother of his only child, wouldn’t he leave me a piece of his stinking Key? Really. Think it over.”

  “God, you’re a hard person to get along with.”

  “And how would you change your way of life if I said yes? What would you do, look after me in my old age? When I said I wanted to go on a cruise, did I say I wanted to go with you? You’re the world’s dullest travel companion, dear. I’ll never go through that again. Those goddamned ruins.”

  Barbara dropped her cigarette into her martini glass. The phone rang before she could speak. Shayne saw her shoulders stiffen.

  “Well, answer it,” Eda Lou said. “It’s probably somebody who wants to break the bad news about Brad.”

  “Damn it, I’m too tired.”

  Eda Lou exclaimed with annoyance and went to the phone, her cigarette between her lips.

  “Hello? Yes, but she’s asleep. The way all Christian people ought to be at this time of night. This is her housekeeper, and what can I do for you?” After a moment she said sharply, “Who?” She covered the mouthpiece. “It’s Hank Sims! Now what the hell?”

  Into the phone she said, “Out of the blue. We were all so broken up when we heard that you and that pretty wife had decided to go separate ways. What do you mean I don’t sound sincere? I’m always sincere when anybody wakes me up just before daybreak. You already said you wanted to talk to Barbara. Call at a civilized hour. I’m going back to bed. Dial the number again and you’ll get a busy signal.”

  She listened briefly. “Hold on a minute.”

  Covering the phone again she said, “It’s about Frank, and he says it’s important. You have to talk to him, baby.”

  “About Frank?” Barbara went to the phone as though sleepwalking. “He’s dead. Brad killed him before he went to Kitty’s. I know he did.”

  “Talk to him,” Eda Lou said patiently. “I don’t think it’s that bad.”

  Barbara took the phone. “Is Frank all right?—But where are you? I’m coming into Miami later. I can meet you. Yes, of course, if you’re in Marathon you might as well drive over, but what’s it about?—All right, I’ll make some coffee. But this better be important!”

  She hung up and whirled on Eda Lou. “He has something to show me and he won’t talk about it on the phone.”

  Eda Lou’s eyes narrowed against the smoke from her cigarette. “If it’s bad, we can’t guess it away. He’ll be here soon enough.”

  “How about their divorce? Did that go through or are they still—”

  She left the room. Eda Lou followed, taking the martini pitcher and the glasses.

  Shayne changed position, easing the pull on his injured leg. The sky was beginning to brighten in the east. The tangled undergrowth all around the big tree seemed less formidable than when he had fought his way through it in pitch darkness. He rubbed his ears and replaced one earphone. After finishing his cigarette he added it to the burned out butts in the peanut can and lit another.

  Then the women came back into the living room.

  Eda Lou was still wearing her negligee but Barbara had changed into pink slacks and a blouse. She had worked on her face and hair. Shayne checked her appearance through the binoculars. She looked fresh and glowing, and Shayne wondered, not for the first time, at the resilience of women.

  “I ought to be worrying,” she said brightly, “but I’m not. I’ve decided how to handle Frank. I’ll bring it out in the open. Was he shooting at me, or wasn’t he? Naturally he thought I’d just send back his ring on some pretext or another. He’s in for a surprise.”

  “Baby,” Eda Lou said admiringly, taking bottles to the sideboard, “I like to listen to the way your mind works. We have to do something about this broken glass, unless we want Hank to think we sit around shooting out light bulbs.”

  “I’ll get the vacuum cleaner.”

  Barbara left the room. Alone, Eda Lou picked up a fragment of one of the frosted bowls. Her eyebrows knotted.

  “Goddamn it to hell!” she said in a fierce undertone, and hurled the piece across the room. It shattered against the far wall. Sighing, she poured herself a slug of straight gin and tossed it off.

  “And what a slob I’m turning out to be,” she said.

  Her face brightened as Barbara came back with the vacuum cleaner.

  Barbara said, “What do you think about my Shanahan strategy? Aren’t you going to give me the benefit of your long experience?”

  “None of the men I’ve known ever took a shot at me with a carbine. They knew I’d shoot back.”

  “Frank doesn’t dislike me. He just doesn’t like the idea of marriage. Heavens, people get used to it.”

  She turned on the vacuum cleaner. Shayne saw their
lips move, but the roar from the machine drowned out their words.

  Barbara was in midsentence when she turned it off. “—with Kitty. Frank said to leave it to him. He knows a way he can make her sign, if she still says no.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know. Something to do with Uncle Ev, something sordid, no doubt. Blackmail usually is.”

  Eda Lou was frowning. “Did Frank say that about Ev, or is it just a guess?”

  “He implied it. Sweetie, don’t give me a third degree, all right?”

  “There’s the car. We’ll talk about it later. I’ll bring in the coffee and vamoose. Just one thing about Hank, baby. He’s as crooked as a hairpin.”

  “Crookeder. I know that. I can’t abide him, so will you worry about something else?”

  “Don’t answer any questions. If he starts to give you a hard time, yell. I’ve got the .25. I’ll come a-running.”

  In the tree house, Shayne freed one ear from the earphones and heard the sound of a car on the clamshell driveway.

  chapter 13

  Hank Sims was at the wheel of a promoter’s car, a white Chevrolet convertible with white-walled tires and red leather upholstery. The top was down. It passed out of sight for a moment and stopped in front of the house.

  Barbara waited in the living room, checking her hair and makeup, while Eda Lou went to the door to let him in. He sauntered into binocular-range, hands in the back pockets of his tight Levis. He was a burly young man in a full black beard.

  “Still wearing that awful disguise, I see,” Barbara observed. “No wonder nobody wants to give you a full time job.”

  Sims slouched into the room. “I’m not looking for jobs. I’m self-employed.”

  “And it must pay very well,” Barbara said cheerfully. “I see you’re driving a new car.”