Free The Case of the Poisoned Eclairs: A Masao Masuto Mystery by Howard Fast Page A

hid their wealth under a bushel. Next, a Cadillac Seville, sixteen thousand dollars. The third in line was a Porsche Turbo Carrera, the price of which, Masuto guessed, ranged between forty and forty-five thousand dollars, just about twice what he and Kati had paid for their little house when they first purchased it. Well, he thought, his two children were safe at home in their beds and Kati was at a consciousness-raising session, while the four women inside the house were in deadly danger. He made no moral judgment, nor did he place value on a piece of shiny machinery priced at forty thousand dollars. Himself, he was paid to protect these people, and this he would do to the best of his ability.
    Masuto rang the bell. Beckman opened the door for him. “Thank God you’re here, Masao. You’re five minutes late.”
    â€œYou’re counting?”
    â€œYou’re damn right I am. These dames are driving me nuts.” He spoke in a whisper.
    â€œHow’s that?”
    â€œThey been drinking. I tried to lean on them and make them hold back, but they just don’t listen.”
    â€œAre they drunk?”
    â€œNot so you can notice, but they put down the stuff like it was going out of style.”
    â€œWhere are they?”
    â€œIn what she calls the library.”
    â€œLet’s go in.”
    He followed Beckman into the room. The four women sat facing each other, two on easy chairs, two on the couch. Each had a glass in her hand.
    â€œWelcome, Oriental sleuth,” Mrs. Crombie said. “Has the stalwart Beckman been telling you we are drunk? We are not—only nicely, warmly lit. Do you want a drink?”
    â€œNo, I don’t want a drink.”
    â€œHe’s very handsome but severe. So severe. So straight,” a pretty red-headed woman said. She was the youngest of the four, and Masuto guessed that this was Mitzie Fuller.
    â€œFuzz,” a slender blonde said, shrugging. Alice Greene, Masuto decided.
    The fourth, Nancy Legett, just stared at him. Her eyes were full of fear. She was small and dark. She was in one of the big easy chairs, not just sitting in it but giving the impression of being trapped there, trapped and doomed and afraid.
    Masuto reacted to her. Her fragile, empty world of wealth and possession had come tumbling down around her head. As for the others, they could put on masks. She had no masks. He scarcely heard Laura Crombie introducing the women. For one long moment, he was in a state reached sometimes in his meditation, when he knew things that he did not otherwise know.
    â€œThe whole thing,” said Alice Greene, “is a crock. A well-filled crock. I’m here because Laura pleaded with me to stay. Otherwise, I’d tell you to take your fantasy and stuff it. How dare you do this to us! This is Beverly Hills, not the South Bronx. As for this business of being in danger, another crock! That chocolate was not meant for me. It was delivered to the wrong house.”
    â€œAlice, for Christ’s sake, shut up,” Laura Crombie said.
    â€œGive me another drink.”
    â€œNo!”
    â€œThen I’ll get it myself.”
    â€œLike hell you will! This is my house!”
    â€œGreat. I’m glad you told me. Now I’m going to get the hell out of here!”
    Both women were on their feet, and Laura said, “No—no, I’m sorry. Please. Please stay.”
    â€œNot on your life.”
    â€œAlice, I’m begging you.”
    â€œPeddle it somewhere else.”
    Laura turned to Masuto. “Stop her. Make her stay here.”
    Facing him, Alice Greene said, “Just try it, buster. Just lay one hand on me.”
    â€œI’m not going to lay a hand on you,” Masuto said gently. “You are in danger, great danger. Believe me.”
    â€œI’ll handle it. I’ve handled it for thirty-six years, mister. I’m all grown up. You might not think so to look at me, but I’m all grown up. Now