“You know judo?” she asked, looking me over coolly.
“Black Belt, First Degree,” I said and her eyes said she thought I was a liar.
“How did you know my name? Tennis fan?”
“Going to be. I'm Hal Darling. The janitor at your house said I'd find you here.”
She went over to a bench in the shade of the shack she'd been bouncing the ball against, brushed herself off, tossed a sweater on her shoulders as she sat down. She was sweating a little, but not as much as she should, a sign she was overtrained. But even her sweat smelt like perfume to me.
“All right, Mr. Darling—what is it?” Her voice was hard and tough, yet I had a feeling it was all a sham—an old act.
“I'm a detective and...”
“Christ, I've seen enough detectives.”
“Private dick. Have ideas about your father's murder.”
“Not interested in hiring you. The police are handling the hold-up and...”
I wanted to jar her. “I didn't ask you to hire me. And it wasn't a hold-up, it was deliberate murder.”
Nothing happened, except her eyes narrowed and her large mouth tightened. “The police will be interested in you—your ideas.”
“Going to the police when I can prove my... eh... ideas. Look, I was working on another case, but it keeps crisscrossing your father's murder, so I...”
“Murder?” she snapped. “I guess a hold-up killing can be called that.”
I wanted to reach over and stroke her tense face, or slap the coldness out of it. “Two more killings make it out-and-out murder. Interested in finding the killer...?”
“Yes!” she said with a savage fierceness that made me jump. “I
I waved my hands. “We have a lot in common, same size, judo, now this. I'd like to ask you some questions, frank ones that may...”
“Be as frank as you wish.”
“Thanks. Mr. Shelton come into any money before he died? Talk of expecting any?”
“No.”
“Did he gamble, play the market, seem in debt... have any women...?”
She looked away as she said, “If you knew my father....”
“Hear he was a tight guy with a buck. Was he in any kind of money trouble?”
“Never.”
“Did a phony detective search your place week or so before the shooting?”
Now she stared at me. “Why, yes, a man from some insurance company. How did you know?”
“Upset your father a lot?”
She nodded. “His life followed a certain mold, anything out of way upset him.”
“Then why didn't he report it to the banks, to the cops?”
“Dad wasn't the kind to start trouble.”
I had to take a quick guess. “Why didn't you tell the cops this after the shooting?”
She stared at me with hard eyes, her mouth a sullen smear... and I was so nervous my legs were trembling. “What are you getting at?”
“That your father was dipping in the till, was shot because of that,” I said, giving it to her without any gloves.
She jumped up. “If this is your idea of a joke....”
Our eyes were on the same level. It was a relief not to have to look
“I don't know what you're talking about. But I'll tell you about my father: he was a good man, devoted his life to me. Everything he did was for me. We played tennis, went hiking, hunting, fishing together. Ever since mother died, all we had was each other. Does that sound like a man who would rob?”
“Nope, but that's how the thing has to add up. Unless... you have a boyfriend in a jam or...?”
“I have no time for... boys.”
I smiled at her.
“What's so damn funny, Mister...?”
“Darling. I like you.”
“Now isn't that just peachy! You walk on the court, tell me Father was murdered, that he was a thief, and now that you like met What am I supposed to do, turn handsprings!”
“Bet you can, too. Look, Laurie, we're both driving at the same goal, and we can either work together or bat
