The Bamboo Blonde. Dorothy B. Hughes
Pembrooke must have been facing the door. He’d have seen me leave with the blonde.”
She nodded, holding her hands tightly together. She didn’t ask how Pembrooke would know Con when they had never met. He had even known her.
“That wasn’t it. Why did he come? What did he want?”
She could hear the cold voice. She shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe–” She thought hard. “He said you were in Long Beach to find Mannie Martin. He said you and Kew came for that. He wants Martin found. They were to be partners in some business. And his backers are impatient because the contracts can’t be signed with Martin missing. He said you had a letter.”
“Thorough cuss, ain’t he?” She didn’t know that fighting-mad expression on Con’s face. “Listen. Pembrooke came to you to find out what you could tell him. But you couldn’t because you didn’t know. I’m going to keep you out of this.”
Her voice faltered, “Con, you didn’t come here looking for this man, did you?”
He said briefly, “I’d like to find him.”
“Con.” She went over to him and put her arm tightly through his. “Con. I’m afraid. Let’s leave. Let’s go up to Malibu.”
He only said, “You don’t think old Cap’n Thusby was just playing polite host, do you? He’s a smart old geezer no matter how he looks. Used to be in Naval Intelligence.”
“If he’s smart he knows you didn’t kill that girl.”
“He knows I was out with her just before she was killed. He. probably doesn’t have the touching faith in my innocence that Garth would have.” He finished his drink and started to the bedroom. “Got things to do. I’ll get dressed.”
She walked to the far end of the living room, stood by the bay window staring out at the gray waves pushing at the beige beach. There must be some method to get Con away before he was–hurt. Someone else could help Garth; Con wasn’t a part of the organization. It was dangerous to remain here, dangerous for both of them. And she didn’t like danger. It made her feel sick, the way she was feeling now.
She stood there until he returned. He was dressed up and she was surprised. He didn’t look like work; he looked like a party. He was wearing the natural camel’s-hair sport jacket he’d bought at Desmond’s under protest, the pale natural and white-checked flannels. She would have to change. In an old sweater she couldn’t go out to lunch with him in his grandeur.
He came over to her and kissed her. “If anyone should drop in, be as dumb as you ought to be with those looks instead of as smart as you are.” He kissed her again. “I’m going to see Dare.”
She didn’t have any answer; her mouth stood open. That casually he said it and went away. She waited until he was gone before she let herself think. He wasn’t rushing to Dare because he wanted to; it was because of what had happened. She wouldn’t let Dare ever be important enough to her again to disturb her. There was enough trouble here without Dare. But why did she have to decorate Long Beach houses? And why did she have a blonde cousin? Damn Dare Crandall!
3
The afternoon wore on, so long and so dull, that she would almost have welcomed some sinister stalker of Con to whom she must play dumb. But no one came, not until almost four and then it was only Kew. He was perfection in blues. “Sorry to bother you again, Griselda. I thought maybe I left my cigarette case here. Have you seen it?”
“I haven’t.” She looked in the chair, by the table where he’d been, but it wasn’t there. “Won’t you have a drink while you’re here?” Now that he had come, she knew that she had been hoping he would; she wanted to find out what he knew about Major Pembrooke.
“You’ll join me?”
She nodded.
“I’ll fix them. How about a Tom Collins? Limes?”
“In the box.”
He went into the kitchen and she followed with the gin bottle.
“Con out?”
“Yes. You might have dropped it on the beach.”
“Dropped–my case. Perhaps. I’ll probably find I mislaid it in my room.”
They returned to comfortable chairs with the cold glasses.
“Where is Con? I thought maybe you two might join Dare and me for dinner.”
She stated into the liquid, “Con went to see Dare.”
He didn’t look sympathetic but he did look too kind. “How about tonight?”
“We can’t. We’re having dinner with some friends of Con’s. I don’t know them.” She recalled the name. “The Travises.”
He looked up then. “Not Walker Travis?”
“I don’t know. Maybe that was the name. You know him?”
“No. But you know who he is, don’t you?”
She said lazily that she didn’t.
“Walker Travis is the naval radio expert.” He added, “I’ve been wanting to do a story on him.”
“He’s Navy. Con said so.” She wasn’t very interested. There was something bigger than radio experts filling her thoughts. Kew could have read a part of them.
He asked, “What did the police want with Con?”
“It was about that girl who was killed last night. Shelley Huffaker.” Of course, he must know that.
“Why come to Con?”
“Because”–she could have wailed over Con’s headstrong curiosity–“because he was with her, that’s why.”
“And how did they know that?” He shook his head as if disbelieving.
“Evidently his bar friend, the one at the Bamboo, the one he calls Chang, volunteered the information.” She said, “It’s so stupid. Con didn’t have anything to do with it. He didn’t even know her. And now we can’t go to Malibu. We can’t leave here.”
“Can’t?” His dark brows were perplexed.
“Captain Thusby won’t let us. Con said so.”
“He’s not under–” He didn’t finish.
“Oh no!” She stressed it. “Oh no, of course not.” She finished lamely, “But they might want to ask him some more questions.”
His dark eyes smiled into her blue ones. “Selfishly I’m glad of that. Glad you won’t be running out on me for the movie paradise.”
Of course, he meant nothing personal but Kew always made it sound that way. That was why women liked him, why men did not. But she wasn’t interested in him the way other women might be. She didn’t know exactly how or what to say of the major. The man might be Kew’s friend. She continued speaking, waiting for a bypath.
“Kew, the cousin who identified Shelley Huffaker was Dare.” And then she realized, this couldn’t be news to him. “But you knew that.”
“I didn’t.” He was thoughtful, then spoke again, “I still haven’t seen Dare. I spoke to her on the phone but she said she was busy this afternoon.”
Not too busy to see Con. They were both thinking that.
He was finishing his drink. She had to blurt it now, “Kew, who is Major Pembrooke?”
He set down his glass. He didn’t look at her. “Why do you ask? Have you run into him out here?”
She didn’t explain. She said, “Yes.”