I felt her tight and warm against me. Her body surged with vitality. Her beautiful arms held me tight.
And again in the darkness that muted cry, and then again the slow quiet peace.
“I hate you,” she said with her mouth against mine. “Not for this, but because perfection never comes twice and with us it came too soon. And I’ll never see you again and I don’t want to. It would have to be forever or not at all.”
“And you acted like a hardboiled pick-up who had seen too much of the wrong side of life.”
“So did you. And we were both wrong. And it’s useless. Kiss me harder.”
Suddenly she was gone from the bed almost without sound or movement.
After a little while the light went on in the hallway and she stood in the door in a long wrapper.
“Goodbye,” she said calmly. “I’m calling a taxi for you. Wait out in front for it. You won’t see me again.”
“What about Umney?”
“A poor frightened jerk. He needs someone to bolster his ego, to give him a feeling of power and conquest. I give it to him. A woman’s body is not so sacred that it can’t be used—especially when she has already failed at love.”
She disappeared. I got up and put my clothes on and listened before I went out. I heard nothing. I called out, but there was no answer. When I reached the sidewalk in front of the house the taxi was just pulling up. I looked back. The house seemed completely dark.
No one lived there. It was all a dream. Except that someone had called the taxi. I got into it and was driven home.
14
I left Los Angeles and hit the superhighway that now bypassed Oceanside. I had time to think.
From Los Angeles to Oceanside were eighteen miles of divided six-lane superhighway dotted at intervals with the carcasses of wrecked, stripped, and abandoned cars tossed against the high bank to rust until they were hauled away. So I started thinking about why I was going back to Esmeralda. The case was all backwards and it wasn’t my case anyway. Usually a PI gets a client who, for too little money, wants too much information. You get it or you don’t, depending on circumstances. The same with your fee. But once in a while you get the information and too much else, including a story about a body on a balcony which wasn’t there when you went to look. Common sense says go home and forget it, no money coming in. Common sense always speaks too late. Common sense is the guy who tells you you ought to have had your brakes relined last week before you smashed a front end this week. Common sense is the Monday morning quarterback who could have won the ball game if he had been on the team. But he never is. He’s high up in the stands with a flask on his hip. Common sense is the little man in a gray suit who never makes a mistake in addition. But it’s always somebody else’s money he’s adding up.
At the turn-off I dipped down into the canyon and ended up at the Rancho Descansado. Jack and Lucille were in their usual positions. I dropped my suitcase and leaned on the desk.
“Did I leave the right change?”
“Yes, thanks,” Jack said. “And now you want the room back, I suppose.”
“If possible.”
“Why didn’t you tell us you were a detective?”
“Now, what a question.” I grinned at him. “Does a detective ever tell anyone he’s a detective? You watch TV, don’t you?”
“When I get a chance. Not too often here.”
“You can always tell a detective on TV. He never takes his hat off. What do you know about Larry Mitchell?”
“Nothing,” Jack said stiffly. “He’s a friend of Brandon’s. Mr. Brandon owns this place.”
Lucille said brightly: “Did you find Joe Harms all right?”
“Yes, thanks.”
“And did you—?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Button the lip, kid,” Jack said tersely. He winked at me and pushed the key across the counter. “Lucille has a dull life, Mr. Marlowe. She’s stuck here with me and a PBX. And an itty-bitty diamond ring—so small I was ashamed to give it to her. But what can a man do? If he loves a girl, he’d like it to show on her finger.”
Lucille held her left hand up and moved it around to get a flash from the little stone. “I hate it,” she said. “I hate it like I hate the sunshine and the summer and the bright stars and the full moon. That’s how I hate it.”
I picked up the key and my suitcase and left them. A little more of that and I’d be falling in love with myself. I might even give myself a small unpretentious diamond ring.
15
The house phone at the Casa del Poniente got no reply from Room 1224. I walked over to the desk. A stiff- looking clerk was sorting letters. They are always sorting letters.
“Miss Mayfield is registered here, isn’t she?” I asked.
He put a letter in a box before he answered me. “Yes, sir. What name shall I say?”
“I know her room number. She doesn’t answer. Have you seen her today?”
He gave me a little more of his attention, but I didn’t really send him. “I don’t think so.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Her key is out. Would you care to leave a message?”
