Chapter 4

I brought my suitcase in from the car, unpacked, and put things away, including the picture of Carol Rutledge which I placed face down under a pile of underwear. The bedroom was good-sized and comfortably furnished. It had a single bed, a writing desk and lamp, a few chairs, some landscapes on the walls, a dresser, a walk-in floset, and no windows. In one corner was a small portable television set on a stand. It was a functional room and not very exciting without a lovely female to dress it up.

Apparently, these were the servants' quarters, and in a sense I was a servant, along with Charlotte Rice the chaperone and Annette the cook.

While I was arranging things, I heard the squeak of the stairs as bodies ascended and descended, and I decided that Charlotte was right: it would be difficult for any of the girls to sneak out at night without me hearing them. And-unfortunately-for me to sneak upstairs at night without Charlotte hearing me!

It would be easier if Charlotte were on my side, and I considered telling her why I was really here. Except the idea would undoubtedly shock her to the core, if she had one.

"You see, Miss Rice," I pictured myself saying to her, "I'm not really a lecherous coot. I just want each one of your girls to take off her clothes and-"

I shook my head. It was impossible to imagine me saying anything like that to her, and even more impossible to imagine her being sympathetic. It would be dangerous trying-dangerous to Carol Rutledge, who might even run away, change her features again so we could never find her.

Having one of the girls on my side would be a definite advantage, though. Possibly Naomi. She seemed eager to please. But I'd have to check her for the birthmark first. Tonight, if I could get past those creaky stairs.

Meanwhile, I had to learn to find my way around the house. With fifteen minutes to go before lunch, I started out on the expedition.

The first turn led me into the kitchen, where Annette was busily preparing an army-sized meal for nine hungry people. She was standing on a small stool reaching into a high cupboard, and she presented a pretty intriguing picture from the rear. She was dressed in a mauve uniform trimmed in white, and as she reached, the skirt pulled up on the gracefully curved legs encased in sheer black stockings. She had a full round bottom that shifted provocatively with each delicious movement.

"Can I help you with that?" I asked her.

"Oh!" she said, startled.

The stool tottered precariously, and I rushed to catch her as she fell. She turned as she fell and I caught her about the waist and let her slide down against me until her feet were touching the floor.

She was a very solidly constructed young lady, and I found myself reluctant to let go. Her head was tilted up at just the right angle, and I had a desire to kiss those full red lips.

"Monsieur startled me," she said.

I decided to let her go, which I did. "Sorry," I said. "I was just wandering around, and I came in here accidentally. Do you mean you feed all these people by yourself."

Annette waved her arm in a casual gesture. "It is not so bad. My father taught me how to cook for people. He used to be a chef in Paris. And with all these wonderful electrical appliances I have to do very little work really. I put the food in the oven, and the oven cooks the food until it is done. Afterward, the garbage disposal unit takes care of the garbage, and the electric dishwasher takes care of the dirty dishes. All I have to do is serve the food."

I sat down in a nearby chair and watched her continue those feminine movements. "How long have you been here, Annette?"

"Just two weeks, monsieur. This is my first job in the United States."

"You speak English very well."

"But of course. I studied it in school. I always dreamed of coming to America, and I wanted to be ready." She grinned shyly. "I-I thought maybe I could get in the movies."

"Maybe you can. You're very pretty."

She hesitated. "Can-can monsieur help me get into movies?"

I did a little hesitating myself, and during that time I tried not to look at that voluptuous figure working under the uniform.

I was honest with her. "I probably can't do very much, but I do know a few people in the industry, and I'll be happy to put in a good word for you."

With a grateful cry, she unexpectedly threw herself at me, arms around my neck, and the chair went over backward with a loud crash. Black-sheened legs, white thighs and a black garter belt flashed across my vision as we struggled to entangle ourselves. We were just getting to our feet, when I looked up to see Miss Charlotte Rice standing in the doorway looking very stern and very unhappy at the scene she was witnessing.

"Annette," she said icily, "I think you'd better get on with lunch-and it would be most prudent of you to avoid any future wrestling matches with Mr. Sly."

"Look, it was an accident," I said. "Lunch will be ready in a few minutes, Mr. Sly," she said. "Shall we go in?" I sighed. "Sure," I said.

I cast a deploring look at Annette and followed Miss Rice through the corridor.

"I told you to stay away from Annette," she said, when we were alone. "She's in this country for a probationary period, and if she does anything morally wrong during that time she can be deported."

"It was very innocent," I insisted. "An accident."

"I hope you're not accident prone, Mr. Sly," Miss Rice said.

It reminded me. "What happened to the former guardian of the girls?"

"He was killed," she said, matter-of-factly. "It had nothing to do with his job here, of course. Apparently, the man had enemies. He was found one morning lying face down in the pool, dead."

"Did the police find who did it?"

"Not yet," she said.

"Are you sure it had nothing to do with his job here?"

She looked at me. "What would it have to do with watching over seven young girls?"

I couldn't answer that one without telling her about my assignment. "I don't know," I said, "I was just wondering. By the way, where is the phone?"

"There are three phones. One upstairs in the hallway, one in the library, one in the kitchen. I'd suggest you use the one in the library."

Since Annette was in the kitchen and the girls were upstairs, I thought that might be her suggestion. "Are they all connected together?"

"There are buttons that will connect one line with another. But don't worry, I never listen in on other people's conversations."

I was going to open my mouth and lie that that wasn't what I'd had in mind at all, then thought better of it. Her tone was matter-of-fact, not indignant.

We went into the living room where the girls were waiting for us. They had all taken off their bikinis, and had put on clothing that covered them more, slacks or skirts. They were chattering busily among themselves, but when we walked in, the chattering stopped. Apparently I was still somewhat of a curiosity to them, for seven pairs of lovely eyes swiveled to watch my progress as I went to one end of the table, sat down, I forced a bright smile at the assembled beauties, aware that Miss Charlotte Rice had seated herself opposite me and was watching carefully.

I recalled that the girls were severely restricted as far as dates were concerned, until after the picture opened. They would attend the premiere and then be let loose upon the masculine world. Till then, I was the only male in the area, and my job-among other things-was to chase other males away. It gave me a feeling of power; the girls' lack of male companionship would help me find Carol Rutledge.

We ate lunch, we chatted idly, the girls talked among themselves, occasionally Miss Rice would grunt some answer to a question, and Annette bustled about with soup and salad and so forth.

I took the opportunity to watch the female faces around me, trying to figure which one might be the girl I was looking for. To my right was Joanne Murray, the baby-faced blonde whom someone had apparently told looked like another blonde named Marilyn, because her gestures and mannerisms were ala Monroe. Would this be the type that Nick Matcha would pick for a girl friend?

Except, I reminded myself, if Carol Rutledge changed her features, she would also change her habits, even put on an act.

Or develop a Southern accent, I added silently, as demure Mary Ellen Cuthbert smiled sweetly and asked me if I would pass her the "buttah."

Or possibly it could be Christina Ekberg, the tall Swede. She was taller than some of the others, and built like an amazon. I wished I knew what Carol's figure looked like; it would help.

Then there was Carmen Cervantes with the long black hair, who kept glancing at me with eyes that threatened to devour me alive.

And Janet Hooper with the brown hair and the slim tanned figure, who sat aloofly and only glanced at me occasionally. I wondered if I made her nervous, if maybe she suspected what I was really there for, if perhaps she might be the girl I was looking for. She was a pretty girl, and what was it Naomi had said to me about her?-"Janet Hooper will cover for me; at least, she'd better, with what I've got on her!" Blackmail, and for what reason. It was possible that Naomi knew that Janet was the girl friend of a Mafia member, or perhaps it was only that she had had plastic surgery done, or-

I glanced at Janet Hooper with possibly more than passing interest, and she met my eyes briefly and then turned away. I'd have to ask Naomi about that. It look promising.

Across the table from her was Eva Slater, with the band of snow white running through her otherwise black hair. Eva was a girl who would stand out in any crowd. Surely, Carol Rutledge would want to blend into the crowd and not go to theatrical extremes to be noticed-unless, of course, this was the sort of reasoning she'd planned on.

The simple fact was, I'd just have to look for the diamond-shaped birthmark. There were only seven places to look, but getting the view might prove difficult.

Naomi would be first on the list. As I thought of her, I looked at her, and she seemed to be smiling in a subtle, mysterious fashion. It would certainly simplify matters if she were Carol Rutledge, but I wasn't sure I wanted the job to be that easy. Every one of these girls was a doll in her own special way.

The lunch continued to its conclusion, with only one outstanding incident. Joanne Murray was wearing a blouse that wasn't cut particularly low, but the neckline was wide, and when she bent to retrieve a fallen napkin, the blouse parted obligingly to show a pair of creamy breasts unrestrained by a bra. I wondered if she'd done that for my benefit, or whether it was accidental, and whether the rest of her would be as easy to see. In any event, my curiosity was aroused, and I was more determined than ever to look into the matter.

Chairs scraped back, and we adjourned. Naomi looked at me, then hesitated, glanced at Charlotte Rice and went out to the patio. The girls drifted off, singly and in pairs. Joanne Murray turned to me.

"Care for a ping pong game, Mr. Sly?" she invited.

That wasn't the game I had in mind, but it was a start. "Okay, but first I've got a phone call to make-if I can find the library."

"Through that door," she said, pointing, "and on the other side of the living room. I'll get into something more comfortable and see you in the patio."

I wondered what her more comfortable clothing would consist of. It was a pleasant thought. It was also very pleasant watching her walk away. I wondered if she didn't believe in panties as well as bras.

I went in the direction indicated, found myself in the large room I'd compared to a railroad terminal, and walked through a pair of double doors into the library. I closed the door securely behind me.

Two of the walls were covered with books. One had a fireplace built of heavy-built stone. Another had French doors, with drapes drawn across them. There was a grand piano in one corner, and a huge desk near one wall. The telephone was on the desk, a white plastic phone with a row of buttons.

I picked up the receiver, and one of the buttons lit. I dialed a number, waited.

"Majestic Studios," a pleasant female voice said.

"Oscar Devlin's office, please," I told her.

There was a click, and a buzz, and another female voice came on, also sweely but with a definite trace of sensuality, "Mr. Devlin's office." I recognized her as Oscar's secretary-wife who had impressed me so much when I visited the studio.

"This is Christopher Sly," I told her. "Is Oscar in?"

"Yes, Mr. Sly. Will you hold on, please."

Oscar Devlin came on like gangbusters. "Hello, there, Sly, how's it going. You out at the house."

"Yeah," I told him. "I thought I'd report that I've become one of the family here and that everything is under control."

"Have youer-done any of the research we talked about?"

"Not yet, but it looks promising. By the way, you didn't tell me the last bodyguard was murdered."

"Didn't think it was important. Probably somebody had a grudge against him. Pumped a few .38 slugs into him and pushed him into the pool."

I recalled that the ape who'd paid me a visit in my apartment had carried a .38 special. Oscar could afford a casual attitude. If I wound up face down in a pool, he'd only have to hire a replacement.

"Do you suppose-" I started to wonder aloud if it could have been the Mafia's long black hand pulling the trigger. But then I remembered that there were two other phones connected in with the line I was using, one in the kitchen and one upstairs. I also became aware that there was on the line someplace the subtle sounds of someone breathing. Or else it was my active imagination.

"Well," I said casually, "that's about it. I'll give you a call if anything interesting happens."

We said goodbye, and I waited until he hung up, the phone still at my ear. There was the more pronounced sound of breathing, and then a click as someone who had been listening in hung up.

I replaced the receiver in its cradle and stood there for a moment wondering which one of the girls had been listening in, and why. Another thought was rapidly occuring to me, that maybe Carol Rutledge would be so desperate to avoid being found out that she would resort to murder to escape detection.

Like the murder of my predecessor, for example.

And me, for another!