Chapter 15

It was close to one in the morning as I guided the Porsche up the winding road into the Hollywood Hills. I pulled the car into the curved driveway and parked in front of the silent white mansion overlooking the city.

I got out, walked up the steps, applied my key to the lock, and went in. It was dark, but I didn't switch on a light. I walked through the dimness as quietly as I could, crossed the large center room, and went into the corridor leading to the room I'd occupied.

I pushed open the door, switched on the light, closed the door behind me. Naomi w as sitting on the bed, my .38 special-the one the hood had taken from me when she and I were parked down the road-in her hand. She looked up.

"I knew you'd come back," she said unemotionally.

There was no welcome in her voice. It was matter-of-fact, almost toneless, yet a little weary.

"Would you like to tell me about it?" I said.

"I think you're the one who's got to do some explaining," she said. "You lied to me. Joanne Murray is not Carol Rutledge." I stared at her. "What?"

Her face became a mask of anger. "Don't give me the innocent routine. I don't know how long you knew I was hired by the Mafia, but it's obvious you did know. Otherwise, why lie to me about which girl it is. It was a great plan. As soon as you pointed her out, I was to step in and kill her."

"As you killed Frank Sheldon?" I suggested.

She grinned. "Eliot did that. He's my husband, the one who visited you in your apartment, and also who saw us parking. He tried to control himself, but he gets jealous sometimes." Her face grew angry again. "If you'd hurt him with that door routine-"

I didn't tell her he was dead. "How do you know Joanne is not Carol Rutledge?"

"After you left, I went up to her room. I got in without her seeing me, and I hit her with your gun. I was going to shoot her and then leave the weapon behind to involve you. And then I thought I'd better check. So I ripped her clothes off-and there was no birthmark."

I was silent. I looked at her, wondering if this was really the girl I'd almost fallen in love with.

She motioned with the gun. "I'm not fooling around, Chris. I've got a job to do, and I've got to do it or else I'll get in trouble myself. Which girl is it?"

"I don't know," I said.

"I don't want to have to kill you," she said.

"I'm telling you the truth," I said. "None of the girls has a diamond-shaped birthmark."

She searched my face. The gun wavered, indecisively. "You're lying."

The bedroom door swung open noiselessly. "He's not lying," Charlotte Rice said calmly.

Startled, Naomi swung the gun toward the intruder. I stepped toward her and knocked the weapon clattering from her hand.

"My turn," Charlotte said.

She took a determined stride and swung a fist that connected with Naomi's chin. The redhead staggered back and slumped to the floor, unconscious.

"Not a bad right for an old lady," Charlotte Rice said proudly.

"I don't get it," I said to her. "How do you fit into the picture?"

"Right in the center," she said. "Here, I'll show you."

She smiled. It was a strangely pleasant smile. And she took off her glasses, and removed two pins from her hair to let it fall gracefully down around her shoulders.

"I'll have to wash the grey out later," she said.

She unbuttoned the front of her dress and stepped out of it clad only in panties and bra, and with a series of quick, uninhibited motions she stripped herself of those undergarments. She stood naked in the center of the room, stretching and running her hands along her hips and breasts.

"You're magnificent!" I gasped.

"Thanks," she said. "You weren't so bad yourself."

I wondered what she meant by that, and then I thought of a rendezvous that had been consummated completely in the dark.

"Annette?" I said.

"Oui, Monsieur," she said.

"But what about Carol Rutledge?"

She walked across the room, brushing tantalizingly against me. "It's been a long time since I've had a man," she said. "We'll talk about Carol Rutledge later, when we have more time."

She stretched out on my bed and held out her arms invitingly toward me. I joined her, and during the next ten minutes I found out about Carol Rutledge and about the birthmark, which had in a sense been under my nose all this time.