And 47 Miles of Rope (Trace 2) (5 page)

“Eeeeyou, he’s sweet,” National Anthem said.

“Does he have something to do with your movie?” Trace asked.

“Huh?”

“Is he an actor? Or a producer? Something like that?”

“I don’t know,” National Anthem said. She looked at Felicia in confusion. “Is he?”

“No. He’s just a little, put-upon, horny wimp of a man who’d say anything to get into Nash’s pants. If she had pants.”

“Eeeeyou. I didn’t know that.”

“You wouldn’t,” Felicia said.

“Too bad,” Nash said. “I’m into donkeys.” She smiled at Trace again.

“Come on,” Felicia said to Trace. “I guess you want to look over the scene of the crime and like that.” She pulled him away from National Anthem. “If you find evidence that makes me the killer, you’ll give me time enough to run away first?”

“For you, Felicia, for enriching my life by introducing me to National Anthem, anything. Tell me. Is this what they mean by decadence?”

“Hell, no. This is just a quiet afternoon at home with friends. You want decadence, come after the sun goes down.”

They walked past her two parrots again. One of them squawked, “Polly want a hit. Polly want a hit.”

They were near the goldfish pool.

“Early’s body was found here,” Felicia said.

“I saw the police photos.”

“I don’t know. The cops think he maybe was dazed or trying to follow the guy that hit him. Then he hit his head on this goddamn statue and ripped it open and then bled to death.”

“Could the thief escape from out here?” Trace said, looking around the yard.

“Well, he could go through that gate back there. That puts him out into the grounds. But he’d still have to get through the front gate, or over the wall.”

Trace nodded and said, “Felicia, would you mind covering your chest? It’s hard for me to concentrate when my mouth keeps watering.”

He hadn’t realized how hot it was until he walked after Felicia into the air-conditioned coolness of her living room.

There was a white shirt tossed over the back of the sofa and she put it on. When she turned back to Trace, the shirt was open, unbuttoned, and even though her breasts were covered, she now seemed even sexier.

“The safe’s in the fireplace,” Trace said.

“Right. It’s buried under the stone.” She walked to the fireplace and reached under its front edge. “There’s a clip in here,” she said. As she spoke, an irregularly edged rectangle of stone pieces popped away from the rest of the fireplace facing. “It’s spring-loaded,” she said. The section swung back on hidden hinges, exposing the safe. It was a regular wall safe, a foot in diameter, with a combination dial in the center.

Trace looked at the face of the safe. On either side of the dial was a deep hole and he touched them with his fingers.

“That must’ve been where the burglar tried to force the safe,” Felicia said.

Trace nodded. “The safe was unlocked when what’s his name, Spiro, found it?”

“Actually, the cops found it open. And everything gone.”

“Who has the combination?”

“Now, me. Early had it too.”

“Not Spiro?” Trace asked.

“A mopper and flopper? No, thank you. He didn’t have it.”

“And it was a million in jewels?”

“More than that, actually. It was insured for a million, but it might have been worth a million two or three. Diamonds have been going up again.”

“From what I hear, they haven’t shown up yet,” Trace said.

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. Maybe somebody from out of town stole it all. Or whoever stole it is waiting for the heat to die down before he dumps it somewhere,” Trace said.

He had the sense that somebody was listening to him and he walked softly to the open patio doors.

“Hello, Baron,” he said. “Why don’t you come in, instead of straining your ears?”

Baron Edvel Hubbaker stepped into the room. He was as tall as Trace and very thin.

“I’m sorry,” he said to Felicia.

She shrugged, and Trace said, “Mind telling us why you were eavesdropping?”

“Really, I’m sorry. I just wanted to see how a real detective worked. But I didn’t want to intrude, so I just thought I’d listen in.”

“Pitch right in,” Trace said. “How do you think I’m doing so far?”

“I haven’t learned anything new yet,” Hubbaker said.

“Here’s a new question for you,” Trace said. “Where were you the night Jarvis was killed?”

“Oh, that’s good. This is really getting good,” Hubbaker said. He seemed totally unconcerned by the question.

“Sorry, Trace,” Felicia said. “Edvel was in England with me. All these people were. We were staying at Lady Dishwater’s.”

“Lady Dishwater?” Trace said.

“We call her that. Lady Dicheter. We were all there. I invited them all to come with me when I had to come home, but they were all mutts and didn’t want to get involved in any funeral. So I came by myself and they all just arrived.”

“Sorry,” Hubbaker told Trace. “She’s my alibi.”

“It was worth a try,” Trace said. “I just generally mistrust people who try to listen in on my conversations. Why did Jarvis come home?”

“He got sick,” the countess said. “I think it might have been food poisoning. First, Willie got sick as soon as we all arrived, and then Early came down with it. I told him to take a couple of days off and go out into the countryside, but he decided he wanted to come back and see his doctor.”

Trace turned back to the fireplace, looked at the safe, then at the two plants on either side of the stone wall.

“This the plant that got knocked over?” he asked, touching the six-foot-high plant that sat loosely inside a Fiberglas pot.

“Yeah,” Felicia said. “I don’t know plants, but they’re some kind of aspidistra trees or something. They’re due for planting any day now and I just hope that one didn’t get shocked. They cost a small fortune. And another thing. I forgot to tell this to the police. The thief stole one of my ashtrays.” She walked to the end table by the sofa and picked up a heavy-looking milky-white marble ashtray. “There was another one just like this,” she said, “and now it’s gone.”

“Why would a thief steal an ashtray?” Trace said. “Unless maybe he hit Jarvis with it.”

“I don’t know,” Felicia said. “Maybe he was compulsively neat and didn’t want to drop cigarette butts in the yard when he was leaving. My ashtray. My goddamn tree. I hate this.”

Trace looked again at the two trees. All trees looked alike to him. He looked at the one that had gotten knocked over and then at the other one, sitting inside its green Fiberglas pot, its roots wrapped loosely in a burlap bag. It didn’t look any healthier to him than the other tree. Maybe shock was good for baby trees; maybe it let them know it was a jungle out there.

Trace looked at the trees and at the ashtray and at the fireplace and at the safe again. He glanced through the sliding doors toward the pool and the fish pond. He felt Hubbaker’s eyes watching him, and he felt required to do something detectivey.

“Umhum,” he said with what he hoped was proper significance. “Yup. I see. Umhum.”

“Oh, Trace, will you stop the bullshit?” Felicia said. “What are you doing?”

He looked at her. Her shirt had slipped open and her breasts were exposed again.

“Just thinking out loud,” he said darkly. “Is Spiro working today?”

“Was the Jeep parked outside?”

“Yes.”

“Then he’s here.” She went to a speaker box on a small table and called into it.

“Spiro, come into the living room.”

Just then, Willie Parmenter came into the living room from the hallway at the front of the house. He was carrying a tall highball glass.

“Sorry, I didn’t think to ask. Would anyone like’ a drink?”

“No, Willie,” Felicia said. Hubbaker and Trace shook their heads.

The small man walked through the cool room and out onto the patio. Trace followed him and stood in the doorway, looking across the pool at National Anthem, who was doing jumping-jack exercises. The Neddlemans were still unmoving on their twin chaises. Maybe they weren’t husband and wife, Trace thought. Maybe they were Siamese triplets. Francis, Frances and the Chaise Lounge all joined at the back.

Ferrara took the glass from Willie Parmenter and sipped it. Trace heard him snap, “Jesus Christ, what’d you do, fill this with water?”

“Sorry, sir. Ice melts,” Parmenter mumbled.

Trace felt Felicia brush alongside him.

“You know anything about Jarvis’ passport?” he asked.

“No. What about it?”

“Police didn’t find it on him,” Trace said.

“I don’t know. Maybe one of those dopey cops lost it.”

“You called me, ma’am,” said a voice behind them.

Trace remembered Spiro from the last time he had been at Felicia’s home. He was a swarthy man in his early thirties, with a
Viva Zapata!
moustache and greasy black hair.

“Mr. Tracy here wants to talk to you. Trace, I’m going outside before the sun’s all gone. Call me if you need anything. I’ve heard all this before.”

“Mind if I stay?” Hubbaker asked Trace.

“If you want,” Trace said. “Sit down, Spiro.”

The man sat stiffly on the edge of a small wooden desk chair.

“Is Spiro your last name or your first name?” Trace asked.

“Both names.”

“Spiro Spiro? How’s that?”

“Well, if you really got to know, my name’s Spirakos Spirakodopolous. My father was Greek.”

“The hell you say.”

“Yes, he was,” Spiro said. Obviously no sense of humor, Trace thought. “He was a fisherman in Maryland. My mother was a bakef.”

“Okay. How long have you been working for the countess?”

“About a year. Since right after she moved here. Jarvis hired me.”

“You lived in town before that?” Trace asked.

“Yes.”

“What were you doing for a living?”

Spiro hesitated slightly. “Mostly odd jobs,” he said.

Trace changed the subject quickly. “The night that Jarvis called you from the airport, how did he sound?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did he sound nervous or in a hurry or anything?”

“He was always in a hurry. But, no, I guess he didn’t sound nervous or anything. He was like he always was.”

“What did he say? Wait. Before you answer. Where were you when the phone rang?”

“In the kitchen. I was just getting ready to watch a movie.”

“What movie?” Trace asked.

“
Mildred Pierce
. It’s my favorite movie. It just came on.”

“I think Joan Crawford always overacted,” Trace said. “You were alone?”

“You better believe it,” Spiro said quickly. “This is a good job and I wouldn’t have anybody here ’cause Jarvis and the countess say don’t have anybody here. See, I only spend nights here when the countess and Jarvis was away; otherwise, I stay at my own place. I wouldn’t go messing up my job by fooling around here.”

“Okay. Spiro, I just want you to know I’m not accusing you of anything or anything like that. I just want to try to get this whole thing straight in my mind.”

Spiro nodded, and Hubbaker, who had been watching from the couch, said, “So you were in the kitchen watching television when the phone rang.”

“Hey, Baron,” Trace said, “if something comes up about heraldry or falcon-training, pitch right in. Otherwise, I’ll do this.”

“Sorry,” Hubbaker said.

“So you were in the kitchen and the phone rang,” Trace said.

“Yeah. So I reached up and grabbed it and said ‘hello.’”

“Did you say ‘hello’ or ‘Countess Fallaci’s residence’ or something like that?”

“No. I just said ‘hello’ ’cause this isn’t the only house phone. The countess’s other number, she has a tape machine on it, but if I answered that one, I’d say ‘Fallaci residence,’ but the phone in the kitchen’s like my work phone so I just said ‘hello.’”

“Okay. And what then?”

“It was Jarvis and he said—”

“Be exact,” Trace said. “Word for word. Try to remember. You said ‘hello.’

“Okay. I said ‘hello’ and let’s see, he said, ‘This is Jarvis. Come and get me at the airport. I’m waiting at the middle door of the terminal.’”

“Yeah?” Trace said.

“And that’s it?”

“What’d you say?”

“I said, ‘Okay, I’ll come right now.’”

“And what’d he say?” Trace asked.

“He said, ‘And wait for me if I’m in the men’s room or something,’ and then he said thank you and that was funny ’cause he never said thank you. He didn’t have any manners, that man,” Spiro said, shaking his head.

“Okay. You left right away?”

“Right away. I went right away.”

“Did you lock the front gate when you left?”

“It locks automatically. You open it with a key or a beeper thing, but it’s got springs and it closes automatically unless you tie it open. Like now, I got it tied open. I keep it open during the day.”

“So you went to the airport. What, then?”

“Jarvis wasn’t there. I waited for him and he wasn’t there. So I parked and went inside and looked for him, but I didn’t see him, so I had him paged.”

“Who paged him?”

“I asked at the American Airlines desk. They paged him but he didn’t come, but I was afraid to leave, so I waited a long time before I came back here.”

“How long?”

“A couple of hours it must’ve been, because when I got home
Mildred Pierce
was off.”

Trace had thought all the while that Spiro was shifty-eyed, unable to look at him, because the young man’s eyes seemed to dart left and right. Now he realized that they darted more to the right than to the left, and he glanced out toward the pool and saw why. National Anthem was lying on her back on a kapok mat, with her legs up above her head, pedaling an imaginary bicycle.

“That girl can pedal it all over town,” Trace said. “So when you came back, was the gate still closed?”

“Yeah. Like I said, it closes automatic. So I came in and I didn’t see anybody or hear anything and I went over to the kitchen and turned on the television. I missed
Mildred Pierce
.”

“Then what?”

“Then, later, I decided to go to bed, so I started to walk around the house, just to check, you know, like I always do, and I came in here and I tripped over Jarvis’ bag.”

“Where was it?”

Spiro turned around and pointed to the steps leading down into the room. “Over there. I nearly broke my neck falling down the stairs. And then I saw the doors was open to the patio and I walked over there, by that switch, and turned on the patio lights and then I seen Jarvis laying over there by the fish pond.”

“What’d you do then?”

“I looked at him and touched him, but he didn’t move. And I felt for a pulse in his neck but he didn’t have one and there was blood all over, it was like a lake, and then I looked real close and I saw his eyes was open and it scared the shit out of me ’cause I knew he was dead. So I came back in here and called the cops.”

“When’d you notice the safe was open?”

“I didn’t even notice. I went down to the gate to open it for the cops. They came right away and they saw the safe was unlocked. And they asked me all these same questions and that’s all I know.”

“Okay,” Trace said. He turned to Hubbaker. “I forget anything?”

“Aren’t you supposed to ask him if he did it?”

“No,” Trace said. “Not when I know he didn’t do it. Thanks, Spiro.”

“Okay, man. Anytime.” Spiro got up and walked toward the exit of the room, but he walked slowly, ogling National Anthem across the pool. Then he shook his head in admiration and left.

“How do you know he didn’t do it?” Hubbaker asked.

“I don’t. But if I asked him, he’d tell me he didn’t, whether he did or not. Now at least he thinks I trust him, so maybe I can get him to drop his guard.”

“Very clever.”

“Just routine for us fancy detectives,” Trace said.

When he went back outside, both parrots were screaming, “Polly want a hit, Polly want a hit.” The countess had taken off her bikini bottom and was in the swimming pool.

“You have to go?” she said.

“’Fraidso.”

“Figure out anything yet?” she asked.

Trace noticed that when she stood still in the chest-high water, her breasts floated. Looking down at her from his elevated viewpoint, with her bosom floating that way, Trace thought she looked like something conceived in a Howard Hughes design shop. “Not yet,” he said.

“Make them give me my money,” she said. “I need it, especially if I’m going to keep, supporting all these parasites. Bend down here and give me a kiss.”

Trace held onto the ladder, leaned over, and for his effort was tongued by the countess.

“Next time, give me a call first. I’ll get rid of this crew and you and I can splash around together.”

“Listen. My insurance company is having a hospitality thing tonight. Maybe you and your friends would like to come.”

“Is their liquor going to be any different from my liquor?” she asked.

“It’ll cost you less ’cause we’ll be paying for it. If you can make it. Maybe these folks would like to see how the bourgeois middle class lives. We’ve got a bank of hospitality rooms at the Araby. Just show up if you want.”

“Maybe we will.”

“You can try charming Groucho again. That might get you your money,” Trace said.

“I’ll be there.”