Read Online Red Gardenias by Jonathan Latimer - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jonathan Latimer
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Peter said. "I saw it the other day."
"Why not?" Dr Woodrin demanded. "The hospital courts don't have nets."
And the scent of gardenias... How did that fit into the case? That was a creepy angle, Crane thought. It looked as though someone wanted to implicate Carmel. And why was Talmadge March so eager to establish the odor? Just being with someone didn't leave a smell of gardenias about them. Or did it?
Carmel asked, "Bill, you're not asleep?"
"What? Me? Oh no."
"You're so silent."
Ann said acidly, "His edge has worn off."
Crane didn't like that. Maybe he'd had a few too many cocktails before dinner but he'd been a gentleman. He said, "I hope we're not getting a dose of carbon monoxide."
This was not the right thing to say. Peter March hastily pointed out the left window. "Down there," he said, "you'll see our fair city."
Street lights crisscrossed a spot on the valley below them, made the whole valley look like a velvet setting for an intricate pattern of diamonds. The limousine was no longer climbing. The city looked small and compact.
"Only two miles," Peter said.
Carmel's face, faintly illuminated by the light from the dash, looked sad. Her cheeks were hollow and her red lips had a tragic downward curve. "That's good," she said. "I need a drink."
"Me, too," Crane said.
He had, at that, done one thing during the day. Or rather, Williams had. He'd located both Richard's and John's cars. It would be interesting to examine them, to see if they had been tampered with. That might show...
A swerve of the car interrupted him again. They had turned into the driveway leading to the night club. The white cement building was large and had a Spanish appearance. There was a row of small balconies in front of the upstairs windows. A big red cat, with an arched back and a fuzzy tail, was formed by neon lights over the entrance.
"They've a hot band here," Dr Woodrin said.
There was no doorman. Crane helped the women out. Carmel's hand, in his for an instant, was hot. He let the others start into the club.
Williams eyed Carmel's ankles, slender and seductive, under her mink coat. "I'd like to get trapped in an elevator with that dame," he said.
Crane said, "You do and the newspapers'll have a story headed: New Carbon-Monoxide Victim."
"You think she's the one?"
Crane shrugged his shoulders. He went into the building and checked his coat and hat. He started for the main room, but went by mistake into a taproom with modern tables made of chromium and glass, red leather chairs and a bright red bar. He paused for a double scotch and soda.
"Doing a good business?" he asked the bartender.
The bartender had two gold teeth. "Wouldn't you like to know, pal?" he said.
Crane let the matter drop and found the main room. He could see Peter March and Dr Woodrin at a table by the dance floor. He felt better because of the whisky. He stood and watched the Negro orchestra come through a door in back of the stand. He wondered if he ought to go back and sock the bartender. He guessed not.
A pretty blonde in a cheap evening gown stopped him on his way to the table. "Alone?" She looked about seventeen years old.
"Practically," he said, "except for a wife."
"Oh, excuse me."
He took her arm. "Come on." If Ann was going to be nasty he'd give her something to be nasty about. "We've got an extra man." He grinned at her. "He'll take care of my wife."
"All right." A closer inspection showed she was more mature than he thought. "At least for a while. Later I got to dance."
"I'll dance with you."
"No. I mean in the floor show. I do a specialty."
"Every woman should have a specialty," he said. "I tap-dance," she said.
"I think that's nice. And here are our friends." He bowed to Peter March and Dr Woodrin. "This little lady is going to sit with us for a short time and partake of champagne."
"If it's champagne I may sit for a long time." She sat down by Dr Woodrin. "My name's Dolly Wilson."
"Mine's Bill Crane." Crane waved for a waiter.
"Why not?" Dr Woodrin demanded. "The hospital courts don't have nets."
And the scent of gardenias... How did that fit into the case? That was a creepy angle, Crane thought. It looked as though someone wanted to implicate Carmel. And why was Talmadge March so eager to establish the odor? Just being with someone didn't leave a smell of gardenias about them. Or did it?
Carmel asked, "Bill, you're not asleep?"
"What? Me? Oh no."
"You're so silent."
Ann said acidly, "His edge has worn off."
Crane didn't like that. Maybe he'd had a few too many cocktails before dinner but he'd been a gentleman. He said, "I hope we're not getting a dose of carbon monoxide."
This was not the right thing to say. Peter March hastily pointed out the left window. "Down there," he said, "you'll see our fair city."
Street lights crisscrossed a spot on the valley below them, made the whole valley look like a velvet setting for an intricate pattern of diamonds. The limousine was no longer climbing. The city looked small and compact.
"Only two miles," Peter said.
Carmel's face, faintly illuminated by the light from the dash, looked sad. Her cheeks were hollow and her red lips had a tragic downward curve. "That's good," she said. "I need a drink."
"Me, too," Crane said.
He had, at that, done one thing during the day. Or rather, Williams had. He'd located both Richard's and John's cars. It would be interesting to examine them, to see if they had been tampered with. That might show...
A swerve of the car interrupted him again. They had turned into the driveway leading to the night club. The white cement building was large and had a Spanish appearance. There was a row of small balconies in front of the upstairs windows. A big red cat, with an arched back and a fuzzy tail, was formed by neon lights over the entrance.
"They've a hot band here," Dr Woodrin said.
There was no doorman. Crane helped the women out. Carmel's hand, in his for an instant, was hot. He let the others start into the club.
Williams eyed Carmel's ankles, slender and seductive, under her mink coat. "I'd like to get trapped in an elevator with that dame," he said.
Crane said, "You do and the newspapers'll have a story headed: New Carbon-Monoxide Victim."
"You think she's the one?"
Crane shrugged his shoulders. He went into the building and checked his coat and hat. He started for the main room, but went by mistake into a taproom with modern tables made of chromium and glass, red leather chairs and a bright red bar. He paused for a double scotch and soda.
"Doing a good business?" he asked the bartender.
The bartender had two gold teeth. "Wouldn't you like to know, pal?" he said.
Crane let the matter drop and found the main room. He could see Peter March and Dr Woodrin at a table by the dance floor. He felt better because of the whisky. He stood and watched the Negro orchestra come through a door in back of the stand. He wondered if he ought to go back and sock the bartender. He guessed not.
A pretty blonde in a cheap evening gown stopped him on his way to the table. "Alone?" She looked about seventeen years old.
"Practically," he said, "except for a wife."
"Oh, excuse me."
He took her arm. "Come on." If Ann was going to be nasty he'd give her something to be nasty about. "We've got an extra man." He grinned at her. "He'll take care of my wife."
"All right." A closer inspection showed she was more mature than he thought. "At least for a while. Later I got to dance."
"I'll dance with you."
"No. I mean in the floor show. I do a specialty."
"Every woman should have a specialty," he said. "I tap-dance," she said.
"I think that's nice. And here are our friends." He bowed to Peter March and Dr Woodrin. "This little lady is going to sit with us for a short time and partake of champagne."
"If it's champagne I may sit for a long time." She sat down by Dr Woodrin. "My name's Dolly Wilson."
"Mine's Bill Crane." Crane waved for a waiter.
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