Free The Bamboo Blonde by Dorothy B. Hughes Page B

defensively, "I didn't know Mannie Martin, I'd not heard his name in ages until—" Until Major Pembrooke spoke it. But she didn't want to mention that. She said honestly, "I wish you'd tell me about Mannie Martin." She felt a little sorry for herself. "I don't know what's happened to him or why everyone's so interested in him or anything."
    Thusby said complacently, "Nobody knows what's happened to him. And I don't know myself why everyone's so interested. I only know why I am. The Los Angeles police have asked all the lower coast towns to keep an eye out for him."
    She wondered. "Where did he disappear?"
    He grimaced at her. "That's kind of like losing the dollar, ma'am. If I knew where I'd lost it, I'd go get it. Nobody knows exactly. The police weren't called in on it until the trail was cold."
    Major Pembrooke had said those very words, said them with scorn.
    "He took his boat—a speed launch—from the Santa Monica Club Monday afternoon. Two weeks ago last Monday. It was found at Navy Landing, across the bridge down here, the next morning. Hadn't any business being docked there but it was. Nobody's seen him. At least nobody's said anything about seeing him around here. Nobody's said why he'd want to disappear either."
    She forced brightness into her voice again. "Well, we couldn't have seen him, could we, Captain Thusby? We didn't come to Long Beach until a week ago. And Kew's only been here a few days." She didn't mention Dare; she didn't know.
    He was calm. "None of you further away than Hollywood. And seems like you all moved in fast enough when the investigation started."
    He couldn't, actually he couldn't, believe any of them had caused a man to disappear. They weren't magicians—or murderers. Her heart beat more quickly. He had connected Con with the blonde's murder; he might incredibly extend it to this other unsolved case. He couldn't; it was rank stupidity; she wouldn't allow it. But she must get rid of him and find Con. Con must know about this visit. Pointedly she looked at her watch.
    He rose to the hint. "I'm keeping you, ma'am. You don't know where Mr. Satterlee is, do you?"
    She said. "No." That was truth. "He went out before I wakened."
    "Don't matter anyhow. Tell him I'll drop by tonight to see him." He rolled jauntily away.
    She sank down again on the lumpy cushions. He had checkmated her departure. He had seen the preparations. She moved to his chair. There was no doubt. The opened grip was framed in the doorway. She'd have to be here tonight; give some explanation for Con's absence. She'd have to stay, not knowing what danger Con was forging into. She felt so futile; her hand holding the cup trembled.
    She wouldn't sit here in the cottage all day alone. Inaction would be insufferable. Her nerves couldn't stretch to it. She must find out more about the missing man, what made him secret and important to Con and Kew, and, she was certain, to Dare. Con wasn't going to tell her. They'd talked over her head last night; furthermore, he was not here but in Avalon. Kew had definitely been noncommunicative. There was one person who might know something, who had been here two weeks ago, who would at least have heard gossip. A young Navy wife with time on her hands wouldn't scorn gossip. And Dare had suggested that Kathie had avid interest in Hollywood; it was possible the girl might even have met Martin.
    Griselda's spirits lifted. She would go see Kathie. If she broke the jesting lunch invitation of Kew's, it wouldn't matter.
    Mrs. Travis was in. Griselda used the Hilton house phone. Kathie's voice was mildly surprised. "Yes, do come up, Mrs. Satterlee."
    It was an average hotel room, neither the best nor worst in the house. Kathie was untidy in negligee. Her dark hair tumbled to the limp shoulders of the bright pink stuff. There were even brighter pink marabou feathers flittering at the neckline.
    She slid back into the unmade bed. "I'm just having my breakfast." She had a wistful smile. "When Walker isn't