Double

“What about someone named Rick?”

“Rick?” An odd look passed over his face and he turned to refill our glasses. “Can’t say as I do.”

“He either belonged to or worked for the club.”

Woodall set the bottle down. “What club?”

“The health club downtown that she belonged to.”

“Oh, that. Elaine was very conscious of her body. Liked to keep in good shape.”

“But you don’t know Rick.”

“No.” There was an edge to his voice. “Look, I’m getting tired of all these questions about Elaine. I’ve had a hard day. I go into work on a Saturday to plan the spring promo, I get home expecting to relax the rest of the evening, only to find my gate has been tampered with and I have to rush out to find another chain...” He was complaining like a small, peevish boy.

“Yes, what about that? Who would want to break into your yard anyway?”

“I don’t know.” His mouth twisted. “But I’ll tell you, it’s lucky for him I wasn’t here, because if I had been, I wouldn’t have thought twice. I’d have blown him away.” He motioned toward the formal living room. Through the two-sided fireplace, I could see a rack of hunting rifles mounted on one wall.

“That’s strange,” I said.

“What is?”

“A man who loves animals being a hunter.”

Woodall. gave me a look that suggested women shouldn’t attempt to talk about such things. “You have to keep the herds thinned out,” he said. “But I’m not going to explain the balance of nature to you at this hour.”

I sipped wine, just as glad he wasn’t going to bother to trot out that old overworked argument.

“So why are you here, exactly?” Woodall asked. “You didn’t drop by to commiserate with me on my loss of Elaine

“No. I’m merely checking all the people in her address book. It’s the only lead I have.”

He went a little pale at that and took a hefty gulp of wine. “You’re a private detective, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Who hired you to look into this?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t give out the names of my clients except to the police.”

“Did your client give you my name?”

I shook my head in a way that could have been either yes or no.

Woodall looked petulant. “What did he say about me?”

“Who?”

“Your client.”

“I didn’t say that he told me about you.”

“Then who—”

“Rich,” I said, “did Elaine mention anything to you about something being wrong at the Casa del Rey?”

Whatever he had expected me to ask him, that wasn’t it, and in a way it seemed to put him at ease. “No. But as I told you, I hardly knew the woman.”

Their relationship had deteriorated markedly in the time I’d been talking to him. I started to phrase yet another question, but Woodall stood up. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I’ll have to ask you to leave now. I have... a lady coming over in a little while.”

His resistance was pretty high now; I’d get no more from him tonight. Nodding, I got to my feet. He led me through the tastefully appointed living room, past the gun rack, to the front door.

By the time I’d stepped out onto the walk, Woodall had recovered his poise. “I wish I could have helped more,” he said, spreading his hands in a helpless gesture and smiling. “But you know how it is.”

“Yes, I know how it is.”

And how it was was pretty damned suspicious.

18: “Wolf”

On Sunday morning, things at the Casa del Rey took an abrupt twist. And not for the better, either.

I went down about eight-thirty, on my way to breakfast, and detoured by the desk to drop off my key. The Esquire fashion-ad clerk was back on duty. He looked at me as if I had suddenly turned into a minor V.I.P. and said, “Excuse me, sir. Aren’t you the gentleman who asked about Bungalow Six yesterday?”

“That’s right. Why?”

“Well, sir, I really must apologize. I was under the impression that Bungalow Six had been empty, but that wasn’t the case at all.”

“It wasn’t, huh?”

“No, sir. A young woman and her son were staying there; you were absolutely right about that. Mrs. Nancy Clark and Timmy. One of our assistants checked them in and failed to fill out a registration card or notify any other member of the staff.”

I looked at him for a time without saying anything. He looked right back at me; he was somebody you wouldn’t want to play poker with, not unless you had a .38 cocked in your lap. Pretty soon I said, “What about the maid?”

“Sir?”

“I talked to the maid who was cleaning Bungalow Six yesterday afternoon. She also said it was empty, hadn’t been occupied for a week.”

“A heavyset black woman? Middle-aged?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I must apologize for her too. We’ve had trouble with her before. She’s not very friendly with guests and sometimes tells lies when she doesn’t want to be bothered. Mr. Beddoes intends to dismiss her.”

“Uh-huh,” I said. “All right, where did Nancy and Timmy Clark go in such a hurry? And how come they didn’t check out first?”

“Oh, they did check out, sir. With Mr. Ibarcena, who is a personal friend of Mrs. Clark’s. They had a plane to catch and he drove them to the airport.”

“A plane to where?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“So Mr. Ibarcena must have known they were staying in Bungalow Six. How come he didn’t say anything to anybody about it?”