Love Me and Die Page 10

  Healy had his glass halfway to his mouth. He let it stay there. He said thickly, “Toby shot at? You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure,” I told him. I emptied my wineglass and lit a cigarette. This looked like a good time to open Healy up a little more. He didn’t have quite the same cocky confidence of a moment before.

  I said, “But I’m not sure it was on the level.”

  His voice was hard. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  I said, “The sniper waited until Toby was some place where I could see her being shot at. She made a perfect target but he still missed her. Later he went to her apartment to wait. He could have gotten her then, but he didn’t bother. He let me almost get my hands on him and then he ran.”

  I took a deep drag on the cigarette. “Only he didn’t run fast enough. I trailed him to the door of Rod Gorman’s apartment.”

  Healy lit a cigar for himself. He had himself under better control now. He said, “I don’t follow your reasoning. Why should all this make you suspicious of Toby?”

  I said, “The guy led me straight to Gorman’s. Then he clobbered me and ran away. Toby and Gorman have no use for one another. I saw that last night. And she doesn’t like or trust Bonita. She could be trying to hurt Bonita and put the finger on Gorman.”

  “What motive could she possibly have?” he demanded.

  I said, “Money’s always a good one. Toby owns ten per cent of a company her father helped found. Bonita owns sixty per cent.”

  He scraped back his chair. He said, “Come with me, Coyle.”

  I went with him into the living room and toward the front window. He said, “Just before we went into the war, Toby’s father asked Thaddeus to buy out his share of Jessup. He wanted the money for real estate speculation. He bought property that the government later leased for military use. After the war, he took his profits and invested in more real estate—in time to catch the boom that hit here.”

  He pointed down the hill toward town. “When he died, he left Toby the three biggest apartment houses you see there. And a half-dozen choice pieces of industrial property, including one leased by the copper company. And,” he added, “a section of the richest irrigated land in the area. One thing Toby doesn’t need is money.”

  I looked out at the apartment-house towers and watched my pet theory come to pieces like a soap bubble under a hot desert wind.

  Healy said, “As for anyone putting the finger on Gorman, my guess is that wouldn’t be necessary.” He turned away from the window. “Bonita brought Gorman here to be traffic manager—and her lover.”

  I remembered something Toby had told me last night. I said, “Eight months ago Turk Thorne was hired. Three months ago Bonita dropped Gorman and took up with Thorne. Is that about the time the trouble with the trucks started?”

  Healy tried to look blank. I said savagely, “Don’t make me pry information out of you. I know there’s been trouble with the trucks. Toby told me. And I know that no one has put in any insurance claims to ask payment for that trouble.”

  Healy walked into the kitchen and started fussing with an electric coffeemaker. I followed him. He said suddenly, “It was just about three months ago, Coyle. You’re right. I hadn’t thought of that before.”

  I yelled, ”What was three months ago?”

  He said, “We depend on hauling produce for a good share of our business. That’s why we bought refrigerator trucks when we expanded two years ago. We use them to carry fresh produce to the freezing plant in Ramiera and to distribute frozen foods throughout the state.”

  He snapped a switch on the coffeepot. “Just about three months ago, when the early crops were beginning to roll in, one of the refrigerator units went haywire. We lost a truckload of produce. Naturally we had to pay the shipper.” His voice flattened out. “Since then we’ve lost fifteen more expensive loads.”

  “You pay the shipper and then collect from the insurance company?” I asked.

  He nodded. He said, “That’s Bonita’s department. She’s supposed to have sent the claims in.” He made a sighing noise. “But I don’t suppose she dared.”

  I waited to find out why she didn’t dare. He said, “I don’t seem to have much choice, Coyle. I’ll have to tell you what I intended to tell Ditmer—and hope you’ll be as understanding.”

  “I can judge that better after I’ve heard what you have to say,” I told him.

  He said sourly, “Ditmer had ethics too. I tried to buy information from him. I won’t make the same mistake with you.”

  I said, “Thanks.”

  He listened to the coffemaker gurgle for a moment. He said reluctantly, “A little over two years ago Bonita got the idea of expanding. I was against it. We didn’t have the cash reserves. But she wanted to be ready for a big upswing in the market when a lot of new land was brought under irrigation on both sides of the border.”

  He opened the cupboard and took out cups and saucers. I had the feeling doing something with his hands helped him say all this.

  He went on, “She went ahead against my better judgment and had the new terminal and office built and bought the refrigerator trucks I mentioned. We were all ready by last summer to catch the first crops off the new land.” His voice dropped. “And that was the year the border country from here to the Gulf had those floods. There weren’t very many crops harvested.”

  He carried the cups into the other room and came back. “Bonita did a little juggling of accounts in an effort to hide our losses from me. But I’m a better bookkeeper than she is. I’ve never told her but I’ve known for some time what she was up to.”

  I said, “Just what was she up to?”

  He said flatly, “She went to San Francisco and borrowed on her stock and on the equipment and buildings. She wanted to keep it quiet, of course, so she dealt with one of those outfits that keep such matters under cover. They charged her usurious rates of interest for the privilege.”

  He unplugged the coffepot and carried it to the dinette. I followed. He said, “In other words, Coyle, Bonita doesn’t own sixty percent of Jessup. She doesn’t own any part of it. She hocked it all.”

  He poured the coffee. “She was counting on this year’s crops to recoup. And I think she would have—only then the trouble started and most of our profits have gone to pay shippers for their losses. And to keep up the interest on her loans.”

  I said, “And she doesn’t know you’re aware of all this?”

  He said simply, “She doesn’t know. And that’s why I’ve kept two sets of books—I’ve been trying to cover for her.” He acted as if he wanted to say more, but instead he sat down and lifted his cup.

  I said, “If Gorman knew about all this, he’d have a readymade pattern for revenge.”

  Healy said, “That’s possible. It’s also possible that Bonita put Turk up to it in an effort to cover for herself.”

  “And killed him when Art Ditmer got too close to the truth, thereby protecting herself from exposure.”

  Healy said, “You might attribute the same motives to me.” He smiled crookedly. “Or to Toby. She thinks a great deal of the name of Jessup too.”

  I said, “Just how much do you think of the name, Healy?”

  He said, “Not enough to commit murder.”

  “But enough to condone it?”

  He looked at me levelly. “If you mean would I hide you here to protect Jessup, the answer is yes. And that goes for anyone else as well.”

  12

  I DIDN’T stay around after the coffee. I wanted to do some thinking and to frame the questions I was going to ask Bonita Jessup. By the time I had made a six block safari to the top of the hill, I had the questions pretty well arranged in my mind.

  But I wasn’t in the best shape to ask them. The broiling sun had taken care of all the liquid I’d drunk. I was wrung dry and beginning to see dancing spots in front of my eyes.

  Bonita herself answered the doorbell. It was a relief to step into the coolness of her thick-walled, high-ceilinged h
ouse. I followed her into the living room and collapsed gratefully on a couch.

  She took a quick look at me and disappeared. She came back with a pitcher of water and two salt tablets. I washed the tablets down with three glasses of water and began to come back to life. The spots went away from my eyes and I took a close look at Bonita.

  She looked different and I could see why. She was wearing a cream-colored lounging robe with a low-cut bodice and a loose, flowing skirt. It was made of some cool-looking material that hinted she was wearing nothing underneath it.

  She said, “The maid is out for the day but I can get you anything you want.”

  I told her I was fine now. She said that she was too and sat at the other end of the divan. “How did you make out with Chester?” she asked.

  I said, “I learned a lot from what he didn’t say. I expect you to make it easier on me.”

  She said, “Now that I know who sent you, I’ll be glad to co-operate.”

  I had a sudden premonition that the redhead was trying to help out again. I said, “Ellie Lucas called you?”

  Bonita smiled the same kind of secret little feminine smile the redhead did when she was about to spring something on me. She said, “She called just a few minutes ago. She wanted to speak to you. She sounded rather excited.”

  I got to my feet to find a telephone. Bonita said, “She won’t be in her office. She’s already left for here.”

  I sat down again. “I said, “Just what girlish confidences did you two exchange?”

  “She told me about the anonymous telephone call and she admitted that she sent Mr. Ditmer here last week.”

  I said, “Do you have any idea who could have made that phone call?”

  She said, “Nobody could have. Nobody could know that much about the company but me. And I certainly didn’t make it.”

  She got up and walked to one of the French windows that overlooked the rear garden. Bright daylight silhouetted her body against the thin, cream-colored cloth. I lit a cigarette and reminded myself that I was here only to get information.

  I said, “The person who wrote that letter offering you ten cents on the dollar for your sixty percent must know a good deal.”

  She turned to me with a worried frown. “I thought of that. But there’s one thing the letter writer didn’t know—that I don’t own my stock any more.”

  I listened quietly while she told me substantially the same story Healy had. I tried to act as if this was all new information.

  When she finished, I said, “Why haven’t you put in claims for the damage to those truckloads of produce?”

  She walked back to the couch and sat on the cushion next to me. She said, “I borrowed the money to pay my last insurance premiums. And I’m on the verge of having my notes called in, of losing the company to the creditors. If I put in claims for so many failures, there’d be an investigation. Then my whole financial problem would come to light, and any chance I still had of being able to recoup would go up in the smoke of publicity.”

  She lit a cigarette nervously. “After all, when I borrowed on the equipment and buildings, I was also borrowing against Chester’s and Toby’s interests. That isn’t exactly legal.”

  I said, “How did you ever keep all this from Healy?”

  She said, “I made out the insurance claims but I never sent them in. Chester will find out when payment doesn’t come through, of course, but I’ve been hoping something would happen before he does.”

  “Something did happen,” I said. “Turk Thorne was murdered.”

  She moved closer and put a hand on my arm. I could feel her warmth and catch the subtle scent she wore. She said with soft pleading, “I’ve told you all this without asking for a promise of silence. I’ve hoped for your understanding.”

  I didn’t say anything. I was watching her warm mouth and those tremendous, luminous eyes. She leaned forward and dropped her cigarette into an ashtray. She didn’t move as far back on the divan as she had been.

  She said desperately, “I need someone to understand, to help me. Do you know how it feels to have everything you possess either mortgaged or bought on credit?” Her voice turned bitter. “I don’t even own the piece of cloth I’m wearing.”

  I put my hands out to touch the piece of cloth. Somehow it wasn’t there to touch. I could feel only Bonita. Her eyes and mouth grew larger until they swallowed me.

  • • •

  I thought idiotically, “The redhead wouldn’t like this.” We were on Bonita’s big soft bed.

  Bonita seemed to catch my thought. She stirred against me. “Miss Lucas called at one-fifteen. How long will it take her to get here?”

  I managed to focus my eyes on my watch. It was three straight up. I said, “In her car, another half to three-quarters of an hour. It’s only a hundred and forty miles.”

  I added reluctantly, “But if you don’t get back to the office, Farley will be the one who comes here first.”

  Bonita moved an arm languidly to the night stand and captured two cigarettes and the lighter. She said, “I called in before you came and said I was going out to check some farms.”

  “I thought Lerdo had that job.”

  She lit two cigarettes and slipped one between my lips. “Only in Lozano,” she said. “Rod Gorman or I check those on this side of the river.”

  A thought struck me and I laughed. I said, “Speaking of Lerdo, I feel sorry for him. I think he’s interested in Toby.”

  Bonita said without rancor, “Why shouldn’t he be? She’s cute and she has money.”

  I said, “Is that the reason for the chilly façade? To protect herself from fortune hunters?”

  Bonita rolled over so that she could rub her mouth against mine. “Are you interested in Toby or are we talking business again?”

  I said, “Sorry. It’s business. I was wondering if her dislike of Gorman is because he made a pass or two at her.”

  “It isn’t dislike,” Bonita said, “it’s hate. At least on Rod’s part. Yet I’m sure they’re sleeping together.”

  I said, “Back up and try that one again. I thought Toby only slept with ice cubes.”

  “It’s very simple,” Bonita said. “When Toby first came home from college—that was just after Thaddeus died—she carried a hundred and sixty-five pounds on her five-foot-two frame. You can imagine what she looked like, and how she felt. She’d never had a date, and she’d built up a protective front against men that was almost pathological. I took her to a diet specialist and a psychiatrist. You can see the result.”

  I said, “Are you trying to tell me that Gorman batted his eyes at her, and she flipped because she didn’t know how to handle men? Then she decided she’d been done in by the dirty villain and started hating him?”

  Bonita laughed and said, “I’d better start at the beginning and fill you in. I brought Rod here because he’s the best traffic manager I know—and because I was interested in him. And I wasn’t the woman who furnished him information in San Francisco,” she added. “I didn’t know him that well then.”

  She paused to take away our cigarettes and put them in the ashtray. “When I saw Turk—well, to be frank, he appealed to me. So three months ago Rod faded out and Turk stepped in.”

  “So Gorman turned to Toby?”

  Bonita said, “It was exactly that simple. They kind of turned to each other.” She paused and said earnestly, “You see, I honestly didn’t realize that Turk and Toby were lovers when I—attracted him. He was the one who took advantage of her ignorance about men. I didn’t mean to hurt Toby. But it was too late when I found out. So she and Rod turned to one another.” She shivered. “She never did like him. It’s rather ghastly to think of taking someone you dislike as a lover just out of spite.”

  I found the idea of Toby taking a lover for any reason hard to swallow. But I said, “Maybe Toby and Gorman are working together to ruin you—he for money and revenge; she for simple revenge. That would explain Turk’s death.”

  Bonita said
thoughtfully, “Rod is capable of it, and he knows enough about the company to do it, I suppose. But if Toby is involved, she doesn’t realize it. She just isn’t that kind of person.”

  I thought about that. Toby providing her lover with information and not realizing what she was doing. It was a theory that also explained her being shot at. Gorman could have been trying to get rid of her to keep her from tumbling to the truth.

  But in a way the theory fit Bonita too. And it wasn’t past logic to consider that Healy could be trying any means to save the company from scandal and failure.

  The sound of a car roaring up the driveway broke into my thoughts. Bonita gave me a wide-eyed look and rolled off the bed. She hurried to a window and drew back the drapery. She turned, her face white.

  “It’s Farley,” she whispered. She got her robe and slipped into it. “I’ll tell him you’ve already gone.”

  I watched her hurry out of the bedroom. I got my clothes on and went to the window. I could see the tail end of a black car parked by the garage. Bonita had left the door open and by straining I could hear what she was saying.

  Then I heard Farley. He said, “We’ll need any information you can give us, Mrs. Jessup. We’ve discovered that this man Brogan is really the Joseph Coyle who owned the camper that carried Thorne’s body to the river. We’re looking for him and for the woman who stayed with him at the City Center Motel last night. She registered as Mrs. Brogan.”

  I wondered if there was a way out of here. I peered out the window again. My breath stopped somewhere between my chest and throat. I could see down the sweeping driveway leading to the street.

  I could see very clearly. I thought that Farley probably could too. And he wouldn’t miss the big magenta Mercedes that I could see turning into the driveway.

  13

  I SWUNG the drapery aside and opened the French windows behind it. I stood in full view of the driveway. I held my hands up and made a pushing motion in the direction of the redhead.

  A car door slammed. A man in a gray suit came running in my direction. Farley’s partner, I thought. I had taken the gamble and rolled snake eyes.