Chapter 5

I made my way back into the kitchen, where Annette was busy putting dirty dishes in a washer. She looked up and smiled pleasantly.

'Anything I can do for monsieur?" she asked.

I stared at those lovely French features. She had an innocent child's face, with large liquid blue eyes mascarad to make them look more provocative. I stared also at the full French body straining at her maid's uniform, and somehow I refrained from asking her what was really on my mind.

"Annette, did anyone come in here to use the phone a moment ago."

She shook her head. "No, monsieur. I have been here, and no one came in."

That still left the upstairs phone and a couple of other possibilities: Annette could have been listening in out of curiosity; it could have been Charlotte Rice, who had heard me say I was going to make a phone call and she was busy playing a defensive mother hen.

Or, yet, it could have been Carol Rutledge.

"Oh, there you are," a voice said behind me, and I looked around to see Joanne Murray's blond head peering through the doorway. She glared at Annette, then returned her attention to me, coming into the room and grabbing my arm possessively. "How about that ping pong game?"

I gulped. Joanne's something-more-comfortable was a bikini halter that was almost useless as either a restraint or a covering, and a pair of the tightest white short-shorts I'd ever seen.

"Yeah," I managed. "How about that?"

She took my arm and led me through the alcove and out into the patio. The afternoon sun was shining warmly, and a gentle breeze rustled green banana palms. There were three girls sunning themselves at the edge of the pool. Tall, willowy Christina had returned to her white bikini and was stretched out on a deck chair, her long blonde hair streaming in a golden cascade over the edge of the chair. Carmen was sitting beside the pool, stretching, luxuriating as the golden rays of the sun caressed her magnificent dark-skinned body and lost themselves in the darkness of her coal black hair. The third girl was Janet Hooper, who had looked at me strangely during lunchtime. Janet's short brown hair was fluffed with wild abandon to frame a pretty, sensitive face, and her slim figure bore two slim pieces of cloth in strategic places. As we passed her, she glanced up briefly and for a moment I thought I could detect a wild animal quality shining through those normally sedate eyes.

I had decided that, gentleman that I was, I would let Joanne come close to winning a game of ping pong. However, she had two factors on her side: she was an expert player and I found myself fighting to keep up with her; and she was wearing a costume that made it difficult for me to concentrate on the game.

With every movement, her breasts jiggled up and down and/or sideways, and when she bent over to pick up the ball, the view was fantastic. The halter was secured by straps running under her arms and snapped in back, and as we played the straps slipped lower and lower, and every once in a while we would stop the game so she could pull them up again. It was at one point where I had delivered a particularly fast ball in self-defense and she was reaching to swing at it with all her might, that the halter unsnapped and fell to the ground.

The ping pong ball hit her paddle with a resounding whap, as she returned it expertly and ignored the fact that her breasts were bare. The score was 20-20 and so was my vision, but somehow I managed to hit the ball back over the net to her. They were firm, full breasts and they danced in unison as she hit the ball back to me, as I gave it back to her, as she hit it back to me-

"Joanne!" came a stern voice from the opposite end of the patio.

Startled, I looked up and the ping pong ball hit me low in the stomach. Miss Charlotte Rice, looking very stern and self-righteous, was marching down the concrete patio toward us. I noticed that Joanne had retrieved her dropped halter and was busy putting it back on. I thought this might not be a good time to offer to help.

"Joanne," Miss Rice said, "your conduct is disgraceful. Playing ping pong naked to the waist. The idea is disgusting."

That was a matter of opinion, obviously, but I said, "It was an accident. We were playing a game here, and the law of gravity just-"

"And as for you, Mr. Sly," she said, turning on me, "you seem to be having more accidents today than is good for you. One more like that and I'll see to it that Oscar replaces you with someone else."

With that, she marched off down the patio and disappeared.

"The old biddy," Joanne said, reaching around her to fasten the snaps holding the halter in place. "She's just jealous because she hasn't got anything to show off."

That could be, but the job was just getting interesting, and I hated to get pulled off of it just then. Besides, I needed the money. The longer I put off looking for the birthmark, the more dangerous it was for Carol Rutledge. With time running out the Mafia might just decide to take a chance and kill all of the girls.

Joanne came up to me and thrust her breasts into chest giving me something more pleasant to think about. "Will you help me with this. I'm having trouble fastening the snaps." reached around her under her arms and fumbled with the snaps. The fact that she was pressing herself against me and moving her body didn't help a bit. Finally, I got them together, and started to step back, but her arms went around my neck and she pulled herself to tiptoe to kiss me warmly on the lips, It was an unexpected surprise, and I looked up to if Charlotte Rice had been watching. Charlotte didn't seem to be around, but I noticed Janet Hooper staring in my direction. "Thanks," Joanne said.

Gently, I unwound her arms from me. "You're welcome," I said, a little hoarsely.

She smiled. "You like me, don't you?" nodded.

"I'm glad. Most men like me. I've got sex appeal, some people say I could be another Marilyn Monroe, affect men the way a meatball affects a dog. It's just natural, I guess."

"The most natural thing in the world," I agreed, "In fact, I was going to suggest that maybe we might talk about it later-you know, just the two of us."

"That would be nice," she said thoughtfully. "Most men I've met seem to think I'm just a sex boat, without any brains. I'm sure Miss Rice wouldn't object if I don't wear a bra in my own room."

"I don't see how she could," I agreed, "especially if we don't tell her."

I looked up to see Janet Hooper looking at me in that strange way I couldn't seem to analyze. Then she turned away, got up and walked toward the house, my eyes following her lithe movements.

"Do you know Janet very well?" I asked Joanne.

She shook her head. "Not very well. When I first got here, she seemed pretty friendly, but then I guess she got angry with me for asking her so many questions."

That was interesting. "What questions did you ask her?"

She shrugged. "Oh, just questions. You know, about where she came from and who her friends were."

"I see."

"Some people even think I look like Marilyn Monroe," she said. "What do you think?"

"Better than that," I said. "I think Marilyn Monroe, looks like you."

She smiled, pleased, and then frowned. "What?"

"I'll explain later," I told her. "Right now, I've got to get to work."

I walked across the concrete patio, where the other two girls were. Christina had stretched her long legs out and was lying with her arms under her head, her eyes closed, her amazonian body soaking up the sun's rays. Carmen was watching me with those dark eyes of hers, and she gave me a brilliant smile as I looked at her.

I went into the house and into the kitchen, where Annette was puttering about. I wondered what she would look like in a bikini.

Annette, what room is Miss Hooper in?" I asked.

"The second on the right, monsieur," she said, looking wonderingly at me.

"Thanks," I said.

I went into the living room and crossed to the stairs. I hesitated, then started up slowly. Boards creaked underfoot, and I knew that the sounds were magnified in the rooms underneath. In the daytime, Charlotte Rice wouldn't know whether it was one of the girls or me, so I walked boldly up the stairs to the top and down the corridor to the second door on the right.

I knocked softly and waited. The sounds of footsteps approached, and the door swung open. Janet Hooper stood in the doorway, wearing a bathrobe over her slim body and a puzzled and surprised expression on her face.

"May I come in?" I said.

"What is it you want?" she said coldly.

T want to talk to you," I said. "What about?"

I forced a laugh. "About smog and taxes, if you like. May I come in?"

She hesitated, obviously curious. "All right," she said.

I walked in, and she closed the door. The room was similar to my own, but larger and furnished more luxuriously. I sat down on the bed and looked at her, standing uncertainly at the door.

"What is it you want?" she said.

"I just thought we might have a talk," I said. "You don't seem to like me."

She moved away from the door, went to the dresser, lit a cigarette, took time to puff on it. "I'm sorry if it hurts your vanity," she said.

"And yet when I was out on the patio just a few. minutes ago," I continued, "you looked at me-how; can I describe it?-hungrily."

She laughed and came to sit down on the bed beside me. The bathrobe fell apart to reveal slim, tanned legs. Involuntarily, my eyes fell upon the legs, caressed them. She noticed my interest, but she made no move! to pull the bathrobe together.

"Tell me, Mr. Sly," she said, "do I appeal to you-sexually, I mean?"

The question startled me, but I said, "Yes, of course," and as long as we were going in for the direct approach, I put my hand on her leg.

I could feel her skin tremble beneath my touch.

"Looking for something?" she said calmly.

"As a matter-of-fact," I said, moving my hand, "Yes."

"Let me help you," she offered, and she unfastened the cord of her bathrobe and threw open the folds of cloth to reveal her nude body underneath.

Her breasts were small, but firm and well-shaped Her stomach was flat. Her hips were graceful curves.

"Tell me, Mr. Sly, does it give you a thrill?"

I stared at her.

She threw the folds of bathrobe around her, and stood up, wrapped the cord securely around her waist.

"You men disgust me," she said, "with your incredible vanity. You thought I was looking at you downstairs. You're wrong. I was looking at your friend, Joanne, and hating you because she likes you instead of me. I almost had her once, and maybe I could have had her again if it weren't for you. Do I make myself clear?"

I stood up. "I got the message, Janet," I said sadly. "You're trying to tell me you like to play with girls instead of boys, is that it?"

"That's it," she said. "Now, will you get the hell out of here and leave me alone!"

I paused at the doorway.

"I'm sorry," I said.

She didn't answer. I went out into the hallway and closed the door behind me. It was a shame, a damn shame. She was a pretty girl, and I hated to think of that slim figure going to waste.

But at least it did eliminate one of seven suspects. Only six more to go.

I went back down the stairs and into my room, closed the door and sat down on the bed to think. Naomi was still high on the list of targets. Then there was Joanne, who had expressed interest in a get together. And four others I hadn't yet laid the groundwork for. It promised to be a busy week.

For a moment I stared at the suitcase protruding from beneath the bed. It didn't stick out very much, just enough to remind me that I'd put it completely under the bed where it wouldn't be visible. Someone else had moved the suitcase, and possibly other things, in a search through the room while I was away.

I wondered who and I wondered why, and then I got up in a sudden panic and went to the dresser drawer and looked under the pile of underwear.

The picture of Carol Rutledge was missing!