“Can’t they be asked over the phone?”
“Hardly. It would take too long. May I come up?”
“All right. I’ll be waiting.”
I thanked her and said good-bye, then climbed into my coat and went downstairs to my car.
Esther was the replica of her sister. If there was a difference, I couldn’t see it. I hadn’t taken time to look for any the first time I met them. Probably all in the personality. Mary was strictly a nymphomaniac, now let’s see how this sister was.
She greeted me cordially enough. She was wearing a dinner dress that was a simple thing, cunningly revealing the lovely lines of her body. Like Mary, she too had a tan and the appearance of having led an athletic life. Her hair was different. Esther had hers rolled up into a fashionable upsweep. That was the only thing I objected to. With me, a girl in upswept hair looks like she needs a pail and mop, ready to swab down the kitchen floor. But the way she was otherwise built more than made up for that objection.
I took a seat on the divan I had before. Esther went to a cabinet and took out glasses and a bottle of Scotch. When she came back with the ice and had the drinks poured she said, “What is it you wanted me to tell you, Mr. Hammer?”
“Call me Mike,” I said politely. “I’m not used to formalities.”
“Very well, Mike.” We settled back with the drinks.
“How well did you know Jack?”
“Casually. It was a friendship that comes with constantly meeting after an introduction, but not an intimate one.”
“And George Kalecki? How well did you know him?”
“Not well at all. I didn’t like him.”
“Your sister gave me the same impression. Did he ever make a pass at you?”
“Don’t be silly.” She thought a moment before continuing.
“He was grouchy about something the night of the party. Hardly sociable, I’d say. He didn’t strike me as being a gentleman. There was something about his manner that was repulsive.”
“That isn’t unusual. He was a former racketeer. Still active in some circles, too.”
When she crossed her legs I couldn’t think of anything more to ask her. Why don’t women learn to keep their skirts low enough to keep men from thinking the wrong things? Guess that’s why they wear them short.
Esther saw my eyes following the outlines of her legs and made the same old instinctive motion of covering up. It didn’t do a bit of good. “On with the game,” she told me.
“What do you do for a living, if you don’t mind?” I knew the answer already, but asked it just to have something to say.
Her eyes glittered impishly. “We have a private income from stock dividends. Father left us his share in some mills down South. Why, are you looking for a rich wife?”
I raised my eyebrows. “No. But if I were I’d be up here more often. What about your home? You have quite an estate, haven’t you?”
“About thirty acres in lawn and ten in second-growth woods. A twenty-two-room house sits right in the middle surrounded by a swimming pool, several tennis courts and generally a round dozen ardent swains who never tire of telling me how lovely I am just to get their paws on half of it.”
I whistled. “Hell, someone told me you occupied a modest residence.” Esther laughed gaily, the sound coming from deep in her throat. With her head tilted back like that she gave me the full view of her breasts. They were as alive as she was.
“Would you like to visit me sometime, Mike?”
I didn’t have to think that over. “Sure. When?”
“This Saturday. I’m having quite a few up there to see a tennis match under lights at night. Myrna Devlin is coming. Poor girl, it’s the least I can do for her. She’s been so broken up since Jack died.”
“That’s an idea. I’ll drive her up. Anybody else coming that I know?”
“Charlotte Manning. No doubt you’ve met her.”
“No doubt,” I grinned.
She saw what I meant and wiggled a finger at me. “Don’t get any ideas like that, Mike.”
I tried to suppress a smile. “How am I going to have any fun in a twenty-two-room house if I don’t get ideas?” I teased her.
The laugh in her eyes died out and was replaced by something else. “Why do you think I’m asking you up as
I put my drink down on the coffee table, then circled it and sat down beside her. “I don’t know, why?”
She put her arms around my neck and pulled my mouth down close to hers. “Why don’t you find out?”
Her mouth met mine, her arms getting tighter behind me. I leaned on her heavily, letting my body caress hers. She rubbed her face against mine, breathing hotly on my neck. Whenever I touched her she trembled. She worked a hand free and I heard snaps on her dress opening. I kissed her shoulders, the tremble turned into a shudder. Once she bit me, her teeth sinking into my neck. I held her tighter and her breathing turned into a gasp. She was squirming against me, trying to release the passion that was inside her.
My hand found the pull cord on the lamp beside the divan and the place was in darkness. Just the two of us. Little sounds. No words. There wasn’t need for any. A groan once or twice. The rustle of the cushions and the rasping sound of fingernails on broadcloth. The rattle of a belt buckle and the thump of a shoe kicked to the floor. Just the breathing, the wetness of a kiss.
Then silence.
After a bit I turned the light back on. I let my eyes rove. “What a little liar you are,” I laughed.
She pouted. “Why do you say that?”
“No strawberry mark—Mary.”
She gave another chuckle and pulled my hair down in my face. “I thought you’d be interested enough to go looking for it.”
“I ought to swat you.”
“Where?”
“Forget it. You’d probably like it.”
I got up from the divan and poured a drink while Mary readjusted herself. She took the drink from me and polished it off in one gulp. I reached for my hat as I rose to leave. “Does that date still hold for Saturday?” I asked.
“Damn well told,” she smirked, “and don’t be late.”
I sat up late that night with a case of beer. We were coming around the turn into the home stretch now. With a spare pack of butts and the beer handy, I parked in the overstuffed rocker by the open windows and thought the thing out. Three murders so far. The killer still on the loose.
Mentally, I tried to list the things that were still needed to clean up the case. First, what did Jack have that caused his death? Was it the books, or something else? Why did Hal die? Did he go to that house to kill her, to threaten her, to warn her? If the killer was someone I knew how did he follow him in without me seeing him? Plenty to go over here. Lots of probable answers. Which was right?
And George Kalecki. Why was he on the loose? If he had no part in it there was no reason for him to lam. Why did he shoot at me—just because he knew I was after the killer? Possible, and very probable. He had every reason to be the one.
There wasn’t a single person at the party who didn’t have the opportunity to kill Jack. But motive was another thing. Who had that? Myrna?—I’d say no. Purely sentimental reasons.
Charlotte? Hell, no. More sentimental reasons. Besides, her profession didn’t go with crime. She was a doctor. Only a casual friend of Jack’s through Myrna’s sickness. No motive there.
The twins, how about them? One a nymphomaniac, the other I never studied. Plenty of money, no troubles that I knew about. Where did they fit? Did Esther have a motive? Have to find out more about her. And the strawberry mark. Could Mary have been snubbed by Jack? Possible. The way she was, her passions could get the better of her. Could she have made a play for Jack, been rebuffed, then taken it out in murder? If so, why take the books?
Hal Kines. He’s dead.
