Read Online One Minute Past Eight by George Harmon Coxe - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: George Harmon Coxe
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“I didn’t know how long you would be so I curled up here.” She indicated the easy-chair in the corner. “I must have fallen asleep.”
She asked him to sit down and he swung out the desk chair, waiting until she had settled down on the one she had just left. While she made sure her knees were covered he had a chance to see that her hair had been combed out and fell softly along the sides of her face, and it occurred to him that she was more attractive this way than she had been on the plane. But he had not forgotten the Miami incident and waited with a mounting curiosity to see what she had to say,
“I had to talk to you,” she said finally. “I—I wanted you to understand.”
She hesitated, looking right at him now. When he made no reply she folded her hands and put them on one knee.
“I’m not apologizing for coming here,” she said, “I was hired to see if I could get an assignment of the stock your stepbrother will inherit. I still intend to try.”
“Then what is there to explain?” Jeff said. “You picked me up and steered me into the restaurant and gave me a mickey. You had a job to do and you did it. It didn’t matter how you did it or what means you used. I suppose if I’d refused the drink your pals there in the airport would have slugged me.”
“That’s what they said. That’s why I had to use that powder.”
“Oh,” Jeff said. “Then you didn’t make it yourself?”
That one brought the color to her cheeks. Her back seemed to stiffen and the dark-blue eyes had sparks in them.
“All right,” she said spiritedly. “If you don’t want to know the truth perhaps you’d better go. I can assure you it’s no fun for me either.”
He eyed her steadily for a long moment and decided she meant what she said. He also knew, though he could not tell why, that it was important to hear what she had to say.
“I don’t blame you for being angry,” she said. “If it will help any to know I’m ashamed of myself, I am. But if—”
She let the sentence trail. A small sigh escaped her. She no longer looked like the smart and worldly secretary she had claimed to be on the flight to Miami. With her head slightly bowed and her glance averted, she looked so feminine and desirable that his defenses were weakened and some of his annoyance evaporated.
“All right,” he said. “Let’s start over. You work for the Acme Agency. Let’s start there.”
“I’m afraid I’ll have to start before that. It will take a while and it won’t be easy.” She sighed again and her glance came up. Then, as though determined to make the effort, she straightened her shoulders. “I suppose you wonder why I’m a private detective.”
“Frankly, yes. I bought that insurance secretary routine. That I could believe.”
“What I told you about Wellesley and the secretarial school was right,” she said, “but that was not what I wanted when I was growing up. My father is a retired police captain. I had a brother who would have been a policeman too if he hadn’t been killed in the Pacific in 1945. I’ve read about little boys who want to grow up to be cowboys or baseball players or engineers. Well, I wanted to be a policeman.”
She tucked one foot under her and said: “At first my father accepted the idea because he thought I would outgrow it. Then, when we heard about my brother, Edward—I was twelve then—it seemed even more important. I couldn’t be a policeman, but I could be a policewoman. There was never any doubt in my mind. I took Dad’s kidding—he still wouldn’t believe I was serious—and I went to college as we’d planned. It wasn’t until I graduated that we really had it out together.
“He said I should go to secretarial school. He used every possible argument against my being a policewoman and when he realized I was still determined he thought of a compromise. He’s the one who suggested I try being a private detective. He had some friends in the business and there were
She asked him to sit down and he swung out the desk chair, waiting until she had settled down on the one she had just left. While she made sure her knees were covered he had a chance to see that her hair had been combed out and fell softly along the sides of her face, and it occurred to him that she was more attractive this way than she had been on the plane. But he had not forgotten the Miami incident and waited with a mounting curiosity to see what she had to say,
“I had to talk to you,” she said finally. “I—I wanted you to understand.”
She hesitated, looking right at him now. When he made no reply she folded her hands and put them on one knee.
“I’m not apologizing for coming here,” she said, “I was hired to see if I could get an assignment of the stock your stepbrother will inherit. I still intend to try.”
“Then what is there to explain?” Jeff said. “You picked me up and steered me into the restaurant and gave me a mickey. You had a job to do and you did it. It didn’t matter how you did it or what means you used. I suppose if I’d refused the drink your pals there in the airport would have slugged me.”
“That’s what they said. That’s why I had to use that powder.”
“Oh,” Jeff said. “Then you didn’t make it yourself?”
That one brought the color to her cheeks. Her back seemed to stiffen and the dark-blue eyes had sparks in them.
“All right,” she said spiritedly. “If you don’t want to know the truth perhaps you’d better go. I can assure you it’s no fun for me either.”
He eyed her steadily for a long moment and decided she meant what she said. He also knew, though he could not tell why, that it was important to hear what she had to say.
“I don’t blame you for being angry,” she said. “If it will help any to know I’m ashamed of myself, I am. But if—”
She let the sentence trail. A small sigh escaped her. She no longer looked like the smart and worldly secretary she had claimed to be on the flight to Miami. With her head slightly bowed and her glance averted, she looked so feminine and desirable that his defenses were weakened and some of his annoyance evaporated.
“All right,” he said. “Let’s start over. You work for the Acme Agency. Let’s start there.”
“I’m afraid I’ll have to start before that. It will take a while and it won’t be easy.” She sighed again and her glance came up. Then, as though determined to make the effort, she straightened her shoulders. “I suppose you wonder why I’m a private detective.”
“Frankly, yes. I bought that insurance secretary routine. That I could believe.”
“What I told you about Wellesley and the secretarial school was right,” she said, “but that was not what I wanted when I was growing up. My father is a retired police captain. I had a brother who would have been a policeman too if he hadn’t been killed in the Pacific in 1945. I’ve read about little boys who want to grow up to be cowboys or baseball players or engineers. Well, I wanted to be a policeman.”
She tucked one foot under her and said: “At first my father accepted the idea because he thought I would outgrow it. Then, when we heard about my brother, Edward—I was twelve then—it seemed even more important. I couldn’t be a policeman, but I could be a policewoman. There was never any doubt in my mind. I took Dad’s kidding—he still wouldn’t believe I was serious—and I went to college as we’d planned. It wasn’t until I graduated that we really had it out together.
“He said I should go to secretarial school. He used every possible argument against my being a policewoman and when he realized I was still determined he thought of a compromise. He’s the one who suggested I try being a private detective. He had some friends in the business and there were
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