5 Detective Novels Magazine — page 37: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THANKS FOR MURDER monds might add another twenty-thou- sand dollars to the take. I’m careful about the combination of the safe, but Joe could have got it—it’s rather com- plicated—from a slip of paper I carry in my pocketbook.” “Insurance companies ask embarras- sing questions,” I said, “and they don’t care who you are.” She dismissed the insurance company with a hand wave. “You’ve a maid and a housekeeper on the premises,” I said. “What about them and the safe?” “Mrs. Byram has been with me for twenty-five years and I have no secrets from her and she’s no thief. The maid —Eve Ankins—five weeks. The decora- tive type. ... What I want you to do, Darling, is find Joe and bring him home. He wouldn’t kill a woman with a gun. He might get drunk and run down a pedestrian but he wouldn’t kill a woman with a gun. If you can wash this dirty linen without Joe’s getting hurt—and I’m sure you can—I’]] be happy to thank you and Judge Harg.” She stood up, suddenly. I stood up. She walked close to me and I could see her deep, worried eyes and down into her heart that beat only for son Joe. “See Mrs. Byram before you leave and—and please bring my Joe back to me.” I walked to the house. In the kitchen, Mrs. Byram was baking a cake. She glanced up sharply, and said softly, “This must be pretty bad, Darling. You shocked her—I was watching from the window—and she’s got a pretty strong constitution. Joe’s been itchy for three- four days, like something big was in the wind. She thinks he didn’t come home last night, but he did. I heard him in her office around four o’clock and then he went off. Twenty-one thousand dollars in hundred and five-hundred dol- lar bills, not to mention the diamonds, is a lot of money for one man to carry around.” “You’ve got a lot of information, haven’t you?” I asked. 37 GEE dismissed the question with a hand wave that she’d picked up from Mrs. Macon. “I can even tell you the names of the mice in the cellar,” she said. “What’s he done this time?” “How good is he?” I countered. “Not even good enough to be no-good, but she loves him. What’s he done this time and what’s on your mind?” There were two doors open in the kitchen. I closed them.*I told her exactly what I knew. Not a muscle moved in her face as I told her, and her eyes never left mine. Afterward, she was silent for a long moment, then pursed her lips and said, “Joe wouldn’t shoot a woman, and I don’t make the man with the Luger. He runs around with some strange play- mates, though. What’s on your mind?” “What’s he look like? What kind of a car does he drive?” “Skinny, dark, weight about one- forty. A woman wouldn’t give him a second glance if she didn’t know how much money his mother has. She got that from her husband. Meat packer, dead four years. Joe’s got the cream- colored Cadillac out and if he’s in the Cadillac he’l] have dark glasses on and a blue beret. License number, RS-3. He’s —” She must have noticed my expres- sion because she asked, “Did you catch up with him, Darling?” “I didn’t catch up with him. If he knows about the corpse, he’ll start run- ning. Any ideas?” She thought a moment, said, “He’s got an apartment in Paterson, 3-C, at 598 Rumney Court. That’s not a good bet. He seems to follow a pattern when he’s in a jam, Darling. Try the Paramus gin mills on Route 17 and 4. They all know Joe. Check back here every couple of hours. I’ve got my own phone here and an extension in my upstairs room. Ridgewood 8-940. Sometimes Joe calls me and not her.” : She picked up a large spoon, started to beat the batter in a brown bowl. “Well,” she snapped, “don’t stand there! Get moving!” GoIMmnilGebdoo ”) S