High Risk 11.3

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[Continuing chapter eleven]

"You've got an admirer," Desiree said when she and Cunningham caught up with him. "What a touching scene that was."

"Do you think that Eve was in any real danger?" Cunningham asked.

That's it, Casey thought. "Not for a moment," he said. "She wasn't frightened—though she was trying to pretend to be. You're right about her acting skills," he said to Desiree. "She was angry—I'd almost say furious. When she put her arms around me I found myself flinching and wondered why. Now I think it's because my body suspected she was going to try to throttle me."



"Well, our Evie has a healthy sense of her own worth," Desiree said. "I can just imagine her chagrin at being accosted by a drunken pilot, only to be rescued by another bird-man almost as uncouth. By her lights, of course. My own opinion of you, Casey, is rather better-informed."

"For which I am grateful. But I'm not sure if that's all it was, Desiree. What in the world would Hal Telford have to talk to her about? And why would anything he might say make her so angry?"

"Well, let's see," Desiree said. They began walking toward the commissary tent. "Telford works for Jerry. Jerry was interested in making a star of Lily Cross. Is it safe to assume that Lily's ascendancy would involve a diminution of Eve's own star?"

"From what I've been hearing, you could definitely say that," Cunningham said.

"Do tell, Jeff. Writers," Desiree said to Casey, "hear all the best gossip."

"That's because we're Hollywood's equivalent of eunuchs," Cunningham said. "Nobody takes us seriously."

"Unless you're independently wealthy like John Monk Saunders," Desiree said. "But what have you been hearing about Eve?"

"Only that her tantrums have been getting worse. I think that she knows she's losing Jerry's interest. And without Jerry's interest she doesn't have much of a career. None of the big studios has any interest in a superannuated Pollyanna, that's for certain. And the story is that Eve really wants a big-studio contract."

"'Superannuated Pollyanna'?" Casey asked. "Just how old is Miss Adams, anyway?"

"The very question," Desiree said. "Her studio bio says she's twenty-two, which would have made her fourteen when she first came here. Given that her parents sent her out here alone—remember, she lived at Mrs. Carpenter’s boarding house until only a year or two ago—I find that really hard to believe. And the little birdies tell me that she's closer to thirty than to twenty."

"I've heard that she'll never see thirty again," Cunningham said.

“That’s probably going too far,” Desiree said. “I’m not thirty yet, and I don’t think I look that much older than Eve.”

“And it’s beside the point, isn’t it?” Casey asked. “Our problem isn’t Eve, it’s Telford.”

“Hmm,” Desiree said. “I suppose that means I ought to warn dear Eve about Mr. Loopy Telford. Not that I think that she’s going to be anxious to seek out his company. But if he’s dangerous rather than just being annoying and odoriferous, someone ought to tell her.”

“You do that,” Casey said. “I’m going to see if I can find him at the hangars. If he really did try to sabotage my plane, we might have to get the police out here.”

“The Glendale police, of course,” Desiree said.

“Of course.” Casey started toward the hangars. “The last person I want to see out here again is Sergeant Clark.”

Mitch found Casey before Casey could find Telford, though. “Come on,” he called to Casey from behind the wheel of a small truck. “You can help me go through the woods out beyond the hangar line.”

“What the hell for?”

“Remember that film magazine case from the other day? Well, I haven’t had the chance to look for it yet. Hogan just bit my head off about it, so I’m dropping everything else until I find it. Since you’ve finished your big stunt for the day, you can help me.”

“I’m looking for Hal Telford,” Casey said.

“Like I told you,” Mitch said. “The guy’s a coward. He’s probably half-way to Tijuana by now.”

“Tijuana? What do you mean?”

“I saw him a couple minutes ago, gassing up that Jenny. My guess is, he’s going to take it on the lam before Mr. Hogan can rat him out to Straebo.”

“Why didn’t you stop him?” Casey asked, climbing into the passenger seat.

“What do I care what happens to Straebo’s plane,” Mitch said, “so long as it gets Loopy Telford out of my hair? If we’re lucky, we never see him again after this.”

Mitch stopped the truck at the edge of the woods. “This is real needle-in-haystack stuff,” he said as they got out. “I guess we should just split the woods down the middle. I’ll take the bit from the right of here, and you take the left.”

“Do we have to search the whole damned woods?” Casey asked. “Isn’t our time worth more than a film case?”

“That’s Mr. Hogan’s decision to make,” Mitch said. “On the bright side, he did say he was pretty sure the case fell out after he’d flown over the river. So we shouldn’t have to go down the bank, at least.”

“That’s something,” Casey said, walking into his part of the woods. “I’ve already been down there, and once was enough for me.”

Searching for Hogan’s lost case was a ridiculous way to spend the rest of the morning, but at least it would give Casey a chance to think. So far, he and Desiree hadn’t accomplished much in their search for Lily Cross’s killer. They’d been able to eliminate a couple of suspects—at least it looked as if neither Cambridge nor McGrath could have been the killer. Aside from learning that Lily Cross had had a strange ability to make men really care for her—in spite of a mercenary nature that left Casey feeling a bit nauseated—they hadn’t really come up with anything else yet.

The key, Casey decided, was Straebo. Both Cambridge and McGrath had pointed to him as being somehow responsible for Lily’s death. Straebo himself had attracted Casey’s suspicion with his behavior at McMahon’s house Monday night. Why have I been avoiding Straebo? Casey asked himself. Is it because I don’t want to risk losing the hundred-fifty dollars a week? And is that why Straebo offered it to me?

“Hey!” Mitch shouted from several hundred feet away. “We break for lunch early today!”

When Casey reached the truck, Mitch was leaning against a fender, turning a battered metal-and-leather case around in his hands. “Hardly worth the trouble, was it?” He handed the box to Casey. “This thing is too badly banged up to be of any use to anyone.”

For a moment Casey just stared at the case. She had several broken bones, Grey had said. “My God.” Casey began running in the direction of the hangars. Then he stopped. “Mitch, let’s get back there. Now. This is important.”

“What’s up?” Mitch was already in the driver’s seat, stepping on the starter. “You look like you seen a ghost.”

“The next best thing,” Casey said. “I think I know who killed Lily Cross. We have to get back there before he leaves.”

“Who leaves? What are you talking about?”

“Drive, damn it. It’s Telford,” Casey said as the truck lurched into motion. “I don’t know why, but it’s Telford.” Now he could see the Jenny out in front of the hangar—and the big Bristol as well. “Are we doing anything with the Bristol this afternoon?” he asked.

“Oh, shit,” Mitch said.

“You go find Hogan,” Casey said as they approached the hangars. “Get Straebo too. If you have a chance, tell someone to call the cops.” He stepped out onto the running board. “Just slow down enough not to kill me when I step off, then go get Hogan,” he said. As Mitch braked, Casey jumped.

Casey ran to the Bristol as Mitch roared off. Telford was standing on the lower wing, one hand gripping the windscreen. His other was inside the cockpit, and he cursed as he pulled at something. “They’re a bit different than the ships you’re used to, Hal,” he said. “You’re never going to get away using this bus.”

Telford glared at him. “Bastard,” he said, slurring the sibilant.

“I have to ask you,” Casey said. “I know how you killed Lily. What I don’t know is why.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Telford’s voice was taking on that unpleasant, whiny quality. “I didn’t kill nobody.”

“I’m sure the grand jury will believe you, Hal.”

“What the hell do you know?” Telford asked, straightening up, and then Casey’s vision went white, as though he’d looked directly into the sun, and he saw nothing. The last thing he was aware of was Telford’s whiny voice saying, “It wasn’t my idea. I didn’t want to do it.”

Next     Prologue    Chapter One    Chapter Two    Chapter Three    Chapter Four    Chapter Five
Chapter Six    Chapter Seven    Chapter Eight    Chapter Nine     Chapter Ten    Chapter Eleven