partnership with me. The contracts are ready but I can do nothing until he is found. And my backers are becoming impatient.”
It sounded harmless enough but she didn’t want Con drawn into anything that this stone man was a part of. In fact, she didn’t want Con engaged in anything now, harmless or not. This was a honeymoon.
She spoke with a forced brightness, “Well, you’ve made a mistake, Major Pembrooke.” Her laughter sounded shallow, ha-ha. “Con isn’t here for any such reason. He hasn’t even mentioned Mannie Martin. I would advise you to go to the police with your problem.”
This time he accepted the dismissal. “The police have been informed,” he stated. He turned to descend. “You will tell your husband I called and that I wish to see him. About the letter.”
“What letter?” Major Pembrooke must be crazy. But he was leaving.
“The letter Mannie sent him before he disappeared.”
Con hadn’t mentioned a letter. There could have been one. Neither of them pried into the other’s mail.
“I am at Catalina, rather, off Catalina. The Falcon. I can’t delay longer. I have guests there. You will tell your husband.”
She didn’t speak. She would tell Con nothing. It would be just like him to take up a wild goose chase like this one to thwart his boredom. And even now that the Major had proved himself legitimate, she didn’t like him. She called after him, “If you want to see Con again, please don’t follow me. I don’t like it.”
He apologized without moving a muscle of his face. “I wished to make certain I could speak to you tonight. And you had made it definite that you did not care to be escorted.”
She frowned to his receding steps, then fumbled for her key, the kind you bought in the five and ten, rattled it into the lock. She wasn’t frightened; she was just cold from standing long in the damp dark.
She locked the door after her, then unlocked, it; Con had no key with which to get in. It would serve him right to be locked out but she didn’t want that. She wanted him with her. She left the living-room light burning, went into the bedroom, and undressed. She wasn’t afraid; there was nothing to be afraid of. There had been no harm in those echoing footsteps, her nerves alone had translated them as such.
She put on the pink-sprigged dimity nightdress that made her look like a Kate Greenaway illustration. Actually there was no point in looking like anything except a deserted wife. She turned out the bedroom light, climbed into bed, and put her face into his pillow.
A fine honeymoon, going to bed alone.
2
Con said, “Are you awake?”
It woke her. He was standing by the bed, his hands jammed into his pockets, rattling something. But he wasn’t smiling. The light from the living room made half-light here; she could see the disturbance in his frown. And a little fear without reason came into her heart.
“Yes, I’m awake.” She pushed over halfway to her own side of the bed. He sat down on the edge, pulled his hand out of his pocket. She saw what had made that rattling. On his palm lay a half dozen shells, not the kind you gathered on the beach, the kind that were put into revolvers for lethal purpose.
“Con!” She gasped it, moved back close to him. “Con–”
He said, “Want to hear what happened?”
“Yes. Con–” She stilled the quaver of her voice. After all there was no reason to be panicky just because once before he had been in danger. He wasn’t now, not here on vacation in Long Beach. Not with Garth safely gone. She spoke easily, “Give me a cigarette first.”
He lit one for each of them and began talking. She could see it as it unfolded.
He’d helped the girl into the old coupe, said cheerily, “We’ll go where we don’t have to be insulted. What do you say?”
She’d been drinking but she wasn’t drunk. She spoke without inflection, as if he were a cab driver. “I want to go to Saam’s Seafood Place.”
“O.K.” He’d started the noisy motor. “Where is it?”
“Down Seal Beach way. I’ll show you.”
They drove across the bridge, on down the San Diego highway. He tried to talk to her but she was silent. And then Con wanted another drink as Con usually did. Saam’s Seafood hadn’t appeared but other places were handy. He slowed at one, said, “Let’s have a snifter before we go on. What do you say?”
She said, “All right.”
It was then that her coat fell to the floor. It made more noise than a light green fleece should. She picked it up quickly, got out of the car quickly, and so did he. He didn’t know what it was all about, and, being Con, he wasn’t going to let her escape until he did. But she wasn’t running away. She went into the little place, took a seat in the second booth. He sat opposite her.
He ordered two beers, and eyed the girl. “Now what’s it all about?” he demanded. He had an idea maybe she was running dope. There was something dopey about her, he told Griselda. She acted as in a trance. But that didn’t disturb him; he was never afraid, not even when he should be. That was why he got involved in things; not scrapes that you could laugh at later, but serious trouble where death whispered, and which you tried never to remember after.
She did show some spirit now. She said, “I told you to skip it.”
“I’m not skipping it.” He waited until the beers were set down and paid for, then he said–Griselda could see him lolling back and saying it–“It’s a long walk back to town, sister. Either you’ll tell me what’s up or you can prepare to spend the night right here in this dump.”
She wet her lips, looked out again at the opposite booth, and quietly showed him the gun in her coat pocket. She said, “I’m going to blow myself out tonight. But I’m not going alone.”
Con said, “Oh no, you’re not.” He told her, “It isn’t that I give a damn if you blow yourself out or how many you take with you, but you’re not going to do it tonight. Too many people have seen you with me. I’m here on my honeymoon and I can’t be bothered hanging around inquests and spouting a lot of fool testimony. Give me the gun.”
They sat there arguing, fortified by beers. How long Con didn’t know. The girl and he were both adamant. She wouldn’t give up the gun; he wouldn’t drive her to Saam’s until she did. He could have reached over and taken it but he was afraid she might get it first, he said, and choose him to accompany her on the voyage out.
Finally he compromised. “I can’t sit here all night. I have a wife waiting for me.”
“You actually remembered me?” Griselda asked. But she didn’t say it acidly. She was holding tight to his hand now, pressed close against him.
He kissed the top of her head. “I never forget you, kitten.”
He told the girl, “I’ll take you back to town if you’ll let me hold the baby until we
