The Surfside Caper (4 page)

M
ILO
C
RAYBAUGH
had succeeded where Annette and Dolphin couldn’t. He left me without any appetite. I made myself another drink and sipped it while I tried to add together bits and pieces of the visit I’d just had. The answer was the same one I’d got before.

Milo Craybaugh either wanted me in jail on a murder charge or he wanted me away from Surfside.

Who in hell was Milo Craybaugh?

I finished my drink, turned off the lights, and made the brief trip to the lodge building. I located the freckle-faced bellhop and signaled him over.

I said, “What’s with this Craybaugh character? Who is he?”

“Half of Rio Pollo,” the kid said. “He runs the biggest payroll in town.”

“Selling flowers?” It sounded ridiculous.

“He grows ‘em,” the kid said. “You should see his place. He’s got two hundred acres of the best land in the valley.”

Rio Pollo itself had a population of about three thousand people, not counting the tourists. If the kid was right and Milo had the town’s biggest payroll, I could understand Colton’s attitude a little better. I felt even sorrier for him.

I said, “You said Craybaugh was half of Rio Pollo. Who’s the other half?”

The kid grinned toothily. “Clams,” he said. “In town you work for Craybaugh and raise flowers or you raise clams in the bay. Take your choice. The clams are good too. We feature ‘em here.”

I let him go and made a tour of the lobby and adjoining facilities. I started with the cocktail lounge. It was roomy and light. Most of the customers were the well-dressed, quiet older guests. A three-piece string outfit was playing schmaltz of the Thirties. The customers were soaking it in with happy nostalgia.

The bar was a study in contrast. Here half the people were wearing bathing suits or shorts. Most of them were young. All of them were enjoying the brassy outfit making with hot, muted music. The liquor was flowing as fast as three bartenders could get it out of the bottles.

I worked my way around the big lobby to the door of the dining room. I still didn’t have much appetite, and I decided to go to the coffee shop instead.

Then I saw Milo Craybaugh looking at me. He was at a two-place table with Annette Lofgren.

I handed his look back. He moved his head aside slowly, making sure that I knew I hadn’t won a staredown. I changed my mind about where to eat. I let the headwaiter show me to a small table at one side of the room. It was a good spot. I could see Milo and he could see me. I hoped I was spoiling his dinner.

Annette looked as if her dinner had already been spoiled. She should have been radiant. She was dressed in a soft blue evening gown that did everything for her that a gown is supposed to do for a woman. She wore her hair piled in a swirl that softened her face.

But she wasn’t enjoying herself. Her expression reminded me of a certain queen on the way to the guillotine. I watched her for quite a while. Once she tried to smile in answer to something Milo said. The smile didn’t quite make. Then she frowned. She leaned toward Milo. Her lips moved in short, abrupt twitches.

It took me a few seconds to find out why she was telling Milo off. He was looking across the dining room, in the opposite direction from where I sat. And he had found something to look at that I had missed up to now: Ingrid and Dolphin eating together. If Milo had been a dog, his hackles would have bristled. He turned back to his dinner and stabbed at his plate with his fork. It was a vicious stab. His expression was tight and mean and ugly.

The waiter showed up. I ordered a club sandwich and coffee and turned my attention to Ingrid and Dolphin. She was still trying to give him the business. She was sparking as if she had just had a tuneup. Laughter rippled her throat every time Dolphin opened his thick lips.

He wasn’t the same surly man I had dealt with on the
lanai.
He was doing a good job of hiding any suspicions he might have about Ingrid. He was putting out in answer to her vivacity. And he was doing a softhanded, smooth job of it.

For a moment I held the hope that he had believed me as far as Ingrid’s being here was concerned. I junked the idea as fast as I’d got it. He hadn’t lived fifty years by forgetting to be cautious. I was willing to give three to one that right now he was pumping everything she knew about me, about Global, about the Surfside, right out from under her tousle of blonde hair.

My sandwich came. I bit into it. It was a very good club sandwich, but it tasted sour in my mouth. I was thinking of Ingrid in Paris. And Ingrid in San Francisco. She was good company, out for laughs and easy to get along with.

We met in Paris. She was there for Global’s travel service. I was there on an investigation for them. She was two months away from a messy divorce. But she never tried to drown me in her life’s story as so many dames would have. She took me the same way I took her: strictly for kicks.

The last night we were together, I made the usual move. She blocked it, but without much enthusiasm. I followed up and maneuvered her to my room. She came easily enough, but she didn’t even take off her coat.

I saw her again every time I managed to get home to San Francisco. Her divorce had had time to cool. And my apartment was available. But I didn’t make the same mistake again. I kept our relationship on the old fun basis.

She was the kind of girl you could do that with and still enjoy every minute of her.

I thought now about the hundred a week or so she took home. That didn’t go very far on a forty a day hotel room. Not if she was paying her own bills.

I watched Ingrid and Dolphin wind up their coffee and leave. I finished my sandwich but I didn’t enjoy it. My imagination was working. I pictured Ingrid and Dolphin in his cottage. He was getting out a bottle of mellow, old brandy. He was the kind who’d keep a bottle of fancy cognac on hand for just such opportunities.

I felt a sudden urge to do some private thinking. I left the dining room and hiked across the lawn toward my cottage. A faint touch of silver in the eastern sky said that the moon was going to come up soon. It would be spectacular on the water.

Dolphin and Ingrid would probably have a ball with it.

I got as far as the dark edge of the forest. I stopped. I had to. Tibbetts was standing on the path, blocking it. I said, “Looking for me?”

He said, “I know why you’re here, Flynn, and I don’t like it.”

I said, “I’ll check out as soon as I digest my dinner.”

He set his bulldog jaw and glowered at me. I looked him over thoughtfully. I realized that he must have known about my reservation. A good security officer always checks the reservation lists daily. It’s one way of helping him with the job of preventing trouble before it can happen.

I said, “Maybe you tried to keep my being here from happening.”

He had a baffled expression. I said, “I’m talking about a guy named Samuels. He was driving a Craybaugh truck. He used it to try to run me off the road. He ended up dead.”

Tibbetts balled his fists childishly and took a step toward me. I said, “It looks like someone hired him to do the job on me.”

He said, “If I wanted a job done on you, Flynn, I wouldn’t hire a punk like that to do it.”

I said interestedly, “A punk like what? You knew him?”

The first of a nearly full moon cleared the eastern horizon. The light touched Tibbetts’ face. His eyes were glittering with some kind of secret triumph. Then the glitter faded. He looked as if someone had just taken away his best badge.

He said abruptly, “I saw him around Rio Pollo, that’s all.”

He wasn’t telling the truth. I could feel it. But I wouldn’t get any place pointing that out to him. I said, “So you didn’t try to get me knocked off. And you don’t like me around here. Maybe you don’t like Dolphin being here either. Have you told him so?”

He said, “I can handle him. I can handle you too.”

I said, “Start handling anytime, friend.”

He started past me. I moved aside so he wouldn’t ram me with a swinging shoulder. He said, “Just leave her alone, Flynn. Don’t give her any more of a hard time.”

I said, “If you mean Mrs. Lofgren, I haven’t been. But Milo Craybaugh’s company isn’t making her very happy. Maybe you should go talk to him about it. A good security officer always keeps his boss happy.”

He kept on walking. I let him go. I didn’t know whether to feel sorry for the guy or irritated with him. He hadn’t done much for himself or for Annette by pushing his jaw out at me. He hadn’t even added to the upset of my digestion. He wasn’t worth the effort.

I went on to the cottage. I stopped short of the steps. The rooms were dark, as I had left them. But the porch was discreetly lighted. I was sure I hadn’t turned on any lights.

I padded quietly up to the door. I stood a moment listening. There was nothing to hear but the soft night breeze in the trees and the distant murmur of the surf, like the sounds you capture in a seashell.

I opened the door and found the light switch. The living room had no overheads. The switch activated two strategically placed floor lamps that gave a soft, pinkish glow. I stepped into the room and pulled the door shut.

I said, “Hello, you.”

Ingrid Calhoun said, “It’s about time you gave me a tumble, snob.”

She was on my divan, stockinged feet curled under her. Evening slippers lay on the floor. She was a great one for kicking her shoes off anywhere, anytime. She was still in the dinner gown. Seen close up, it was even more startling than it had been from a distance.

I said, “I didn’t want to break up your friendship with my neighbor.”

She just looked at me with an expectant smile. I knew the routine. I was supposed to kiss her hello. I didn’t feel like it. I offered her a cigaret instead.

She said, “What’s the matter, Larry? Remember me? Ingrid Calhoun. The girl who gave you all the laughs. The one who held your head after a roller coaster ride.”

I wouldn’t get anywhere showing her my irritation. I walked to the divan and bent down to kiss her. It was a mistake. Ingrid wasn’t a girl you could slug and then soothe with a soft line. I didn’t get near her mouth. She put both hands on my chest and pushed. She had a lot of muscle for a woman. I backpedaled and ran into the chair across the room. I sat down.

She swung her legs to the floor and stood up. She said, “Go to hell. You aren’t working for Global right now. You don’t have to put yourself out to make the hired help happy.”

I let her get as far as putting on her shoes and picking up her evening bag. Then I said, “When did you make your reservation for this place—the day you knew I was coming or when you found out that Dolphin was going to be here?”

She was heading for the door. She stopped in midstride. “Who?”

I said, “Jacob Dolphin. The big man who bought you dinner. My neighbor. Lover boy.”

She went back to the divan and sat down. She said in a clearly puzzled voice, “Are you talking about Mr. Dorffmann? And just what are you driving at, Larry Flynn?”

I kept on the pressure. I said, “How many working girls do you know who can spend a vacation here?”

She could have turned nasty on me. She had every right to. My voice made the implication clear enough. But she crossed me up. She started to laugh.

It was genuine laughter. It rippled into her throat and burst from her lips in a gusty guffaw. It ended in a delighted squeal.

“You think someone is paying my bill?” she gasped. “And you act as if you care!”

I growled, “For God’s sake, it’s a joke?”

“It’s a wonderful joke,” she said. She squealed again. “I didn’t think you’d get
that
idea about Mr. Dorffmann and me. When you snooted me this afternoon, I just thought your bachelor blood was running high again. I thought you’d guessed why I was here.”

She hadn’t said anything yet to make me happy. I said, “I don’t like to guess. Why are you here?”

She said, “For heaven’s sake, Larry, you don’t have to bite every time you open your mouth. I came because I knew you’d be here. And why not? A girl has to do something constructive when a man she likes only lands in her territory once or twice a year.”

I said, “Lay it out for me—when you decided to come; how you’re going to pay the hotel bill.”

The last of her laughter drained away. She said with quick anger, “Damn it, I didn’t come to marry you. I came because I thought you’d like to see me again.”

I said, “You still aren’t leveling with me.”

“Just what do you want me to say?” she demanded.

I said, “I want to know if Global sent you here.”

She seemed genuinely puzzled. “Since when does any company stake its employees to a week at a resort like this one?”

If she was dodging me, she was doing a neat job of it. I began to feel a little like a fool and a lot like a heel. But I made one more stab. I had to be sure where she stood.

I said, “Since when can a company’s employee afford a resort like this one?”

Color flooded her cheeks. She said, “Let’s get one thing straight, Larry. Dorffmann isn’t paying my bill. Nobody else is either, but me. I decided to come when I handled your reservation last week. I went to a lot of trouble to swap vacation time with another girl. I took the money out of my savings, if you have to know. I even went into hock for this dress. Because it was something like the one you wanted to buy me that time in Paris.”

I didn’t say anything. What was there to say?

Her words bit at me, “And I got here yesterday. Dorffmann was here already. I’d never seen him before. He started to move in. I ignored him until you showed up and looked right through me. What did you expect me to do after that? I can play games too, you know. I didn’t know it was going to make you this way.”

I still didn’t say anything.

She said, “A girl has to have some weapons. I used what few I’ve got. But when you ignored me in the dining room too, I decided you were really mad at me. So I came here to find out why.”

I said, “Maybe I just didn’t want to foul up your job by making it obvious that we knew one another.”

“My job? What job?”

Gusty relief blew through me. I had never known Ingrid to fake an attitude for over a few minutes. She was puzzled and she was angry. I was convinced that both were genuine emotions.