Read Online 1974 - Goldfish Have No Hiding Place by James Hadley Chase - Free Book Online
Authors: James Hadley Chase
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money I told Mayhew I needed money fast because your mother had to have an emergency operation. The news has spread as it always does on this goddam estate. Right now, you're supposed to be with your mother in Dallas.”
“Must you have dragged mother into this?” Her voice was shrill.
“I'm seeing Gordy tonight. I have only been able to raise three thousand dollars. He'll want more, of course, but he might just wait. If he won't wait, I am going to sell your car and the jewellery I've given you and anything else we have that could fetch money.”
Her one eye flashed and her mouth turned into a thin line.
“You don't touch my car nor my jewellery! They belong to me!”
I looked down at her. I couldn't understand how I had ever been in love with her.
“I'll see you after I have talked to him. We can then decide. You may, of course, prefer to go to prison.”
As I started towards the door, she said viciously, “I hope that Kesey bitch is taking care of you.”
“Don't make yourself more hateful than you already are,” I said and went back to my car.
As I reached my house, I saw a car parked outside.
“Hi, Steve! I was wondering where you had got to.”
Frank Latimer came out of the shadows as I pulled up.
Latimer was a successful insurance broker. He was around forty years of age, balding, potbellied but good fun.
“I heard the news about Linda's mum and I thought, as I was passing, I'll see if you felt like joining us for dinner. Sally has been on a shopping spree so we're eating late.”
“Thanks, Frank. I've already eaten. I've got a whale of a lot of work to do.”
“Yeah . . . I can imagine. That mag of yours is just dandy. Well, I thought I'd stop by. If there's anything we can do . . .”
“It's all under control. Linda will be back soon and Cissy is looking after me.”
“You know where we are if you want us.”
When he had driven away, I put my car in the garage.
According to Wally's report which Jean had told me about, Sally, Frank's wife, had been stealing. I wondered if Gordy had put the bite on him and if he was going to pay or had paid.
I looked at my watch. The time was 20.50: time I went to see Gordy. I locked up the garage, then walked down the avenue, passing the lighted windows of my neighbours, hearing the sound of television sets and wondering how Gordy would react when I offered him only three thousand dollars.
Turning to my right brought me to East Avenue.
According to the plan of the estate, Gordy's house was some two hundred yards at the far end.
I quickened my pace. The avenue housed the cheaper villas on the estate and was not all that well lit. I came suddenly on a figure who emerged from the shadows, a spaniel dog at his heels. I recognised Mark Creeden: a tall, heavily built man in his early sixties.
Creeden was regarded by those living in Eastlake as the Czar of the estate. He was nearly as wealthy as Chandler and his house, I knew, cost four times the amount I had paid for mine. He ran a Rolls Corniche and his wife, Mabel, a Bentley T. Although both of them were a little regal, they entertained so lavishly, they were popular, but not really liked.
He stopped and peered at me. His over-red face creased into his wide, rather patronising grin.
“Hello, Steve! What are you doing out here?”
“Taking a walk to solve a problem,” I said, wishing I hadn't run into him.
“Nothing like a walk to solve a problem. I'm exercising the dog. Mabel buys him and I have to do all the work.” He laughed his jolly laugh: the sort of laugh ambassadors use to get a party going. “When are you two nice people coming to see us?”
“I guess when we are invited. Right now, Linda is in Dallas. Her mother is sick.”
“Is that right? I'm sorry. There's a lot of illness around. So you are on your own?”
“Gives me a chance to catch up with my work.”
“That's a fine magazine you're producing, Steve. I read every word. I won't keep you. I'll get Mabel to give you a
“Must you have dragged mother into this?” Her voice was shrill.
“I'm seeing Gordy tonight. I have only been able to raise three thousand dollars. He'll want more, of course, but he might just wait. If he won't wait, I am going to sell your car and the jewellery I've given you and anything else we have that could fetch money.”
Her one eye flashed and her mouth turned into a thin line.
“You don't touch my car nor my jewellery! They belong to me!”
I looked down at her. I couldn't understand how I had ever been in love with her.
“I'll see you after I have talked to him. We can then decide. You may, of course, prefer to go to prison.”
As I started towards the door, she said viciously, “I hope that Kesey bitch is taking care of you.”
“Don't make yourself more hateful than you already are,” I said and went back to my car.
As I reached my house, I saw a car parked outside.
“Hi, Steve! I was wondering where you had got to.”
Frank Latimer came out of the shadows as I pulled up.
Latimer was a successful insurance broker. He was around forty years of age, balding, potbellied but good fun.
“I heard the news about Linda's mum and I thought, as I was passing, I'll see if you felt like joining us for dinner. Sally has been on a shopping spree so we're eating late.”
“Thanks, Frank. I've already eaten. I've got a whale of a lot of work to do.”
“Yeah . . . I can imagine. That mag of yours is just dandy. Well, I thought I'd stop by. If there's anything we can do . . .”
“It's all under control. Linda will be back soon and Cissy is looking after me.”
“You know where we are if you want us.”
When he had driven away, I put my car in the garage.
According to Wally's report which Jean had told me about, Sally, Frank's wife, had been stealing. I wondered if Gordy had put the bite on him and if he was going to pay or had paid.
I looked at my watch. The time was 20.50: time I went to see Gordy. I locked up the garage, then walked down the avenue, passing the lighted windows of my neighbours, hearing the sound of television sets and wondering how Gordy would react when I offered him only three thousand dollars.
Turning to my right brought me to East Avenue.
According to the plan of the estate, Gordy's house was some two hundred yards at the far end.
I quickened my pace. The avenue housed the cheaper villas on the estate and was not all that well lit. I came suddenly on a figure who emerged from the shadows, a spaniel dog at his heels. I recognised Mark Creeden: a tall, heavily built man in his early sixties.
Creeden was regarded by those living in Eastlake as the Czar of the estate. He was nearly as wealthy as Chandler and his house, I knew, cost four times the amount I had paid for mine. He ran a Rolls Corniche and his wife, Mabel, a Bentley T. Although both of them were a little regal, they entertained so lavishly, they were popular, but not really liked.
He stopped and peered at me. His over-red face creased into his wide, rather patronising grin.
“Hello, Steve! What are you doing out here?”
“Taking a walk to solve a problem,” I said, wishing I hadn't run into him.
“Nothing like a walk to solve a problem. I'm exercising the dog. Mabel buys him and I have to do all the work.” He laughed his jolly laugh: the sort of laugh ambassadors use to get a party going. “When are you two nice people coming to see us?”
“I guess when we are invited. Right now, Linda is in Dallas. Her mother is sick.”
“Is that right? I'm sorry. There's a lot of illness around. So you are on your own?”
“Gives me a chance to catch up with my work.”
“That's a fine magazine you're producing, Steve. I read every word. I won't keep you. I'll get Mabel to give you a
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