Read Online And 47 Miles of Rope (Trace 2) by Warren Murphy - Free Book Online Page A

it?”
    “No,” Trace said. “Not when I know he didn’t do it. Thanks, Spiro.”
    “Okay, man. Anytime.” Spiro got up and walked toward the exit of the room, but he walked slowly, ogling National Anthem across the pool. Then he shook his head in admiration and left.
    “How do you know he didn’t do it?” Hubbaker asked.
    “I don’t. But if I asked him, he’d tell me he didn’t, whether he did or not. Now at least he thinks I trust him, so maybe I can get him to drop his guard.”
    “Very clever.”
    “Just routine for us fancy detectives,” Trace said.
    When he went back outside, both parrots were screaming, “Polly want a hit, Polly want a hit.” The countess had taken off her bikini bottom and was in the swimming pool.
    “You have to go?” she said.
    “’Fraidso.”
    “Figure out anything yet?” she asked.
    Trace noticed that when she stood still in the chest-high water, her breasts floated. Looking down at her from his elevated viewpoint, with her bosom floating that way, Trace thought she looked like something conceived in a Howard Hughes design shop. “Not yet,” he said.
    “Make them give me my money,” she said. “I need it, especially if I’m going to keep, supporting all these parasites. Bend down here and give me a kiss.”
    Trace held onto the ladder, leaned over, and for his effort was tongued by the countess.
    “Next time, give me a call first. I’ll get rid of this crew and you and I can splash around together.”
    “Listen. My insurance company is having a hospitality thing tonight. Maybe you and your friends would like to come.”
    “Is their liquor going to be any different from my liquor?” she asked.
    “It’ll cost you less ’cause we’ll be paying for it. If you can make it. Maybe these folks would like to see how the bourgeois middle class lives. We’ve got a bank of hospitality rooms at the Araby. Just show up if you want.”
    “Maybe we will.”
    “You can try charming Groucho again. That might get you your money,” Trace said.
    “I’ll be there.”

8
     
    Trace was in the bathroom, but he came running out when he heard a shriek from Chico.
    He found her as he had left her, sitting in a lotus position in the middle of the floor, wearing only a leotard. Except tears were now streaming down her face.
    He knelt next to her. “What’s the matter?”
    She turned her sloe black eyes toward him.
    “Eeeeyou,” she squealed, and then collapsed backward on the floor, laughing, holding her sides, in such pain from laughing so hard that she rolled from side to side, trying to stop.
    She finally did, looked at him, squeaked “Eeeeyou” again, and started all over. Trace stood up in disgust and put his foot on her stomach.
    She pointed a finger at him. “National Anthem?” she said. Tears rolled down her face. She rolled out from under his foot.
    “You’re listening to my tapes. I go into the bathroom and you start listening to my tapes. You’re not supposed to listen to my tapes.”
    She was still laughing.
    “At least a half-dozen beautiful women threw themselves at me today,” he said. “How are you going to feel when you hear all that on tape?”
    “They all mistake you for a donkey?” Chico asked. “Eeeyou.” More laughter.
    “You really have the capacity to be a hateful little coolie,” Trace said. “At least National, Anthem was friendly and pleasant. She held my hand for the longest time.”
    “Probably trying to think of what came after eeeeyou,” Chico said. “And stop complaining. I always wind up listening to your tapes anyway because you can’t figure out what’s going on and I have to listen to them to make sense out of things.”
    “That was true in the past,” Trace conceded. “When I was drinking too much. But now that I’m sobering up, my brain is functioning like a fine Swiss watch. I’ll never need your help again.”
    “That’ll be the day,” she said. “You really stay sober today?”
    “I haven’t had a