Free The Blonde Died Dancing by Kelley Roos Page B

this?”
    “Jack!” Louise cried. “It’s Hester Frost!”
    “Hester,” Jack said, very slowly. “Hester Frost.”
    The name had rung a bell with him. His memory wasn’t playing tricks. He was remembering, no doubt, that Dottie had told him about a babe named Hester Frost who had come snooping around, minding their business.
    His face wasn’t pleasant anymore. His lips thinned into a hard, tough line. His eyes turned frigid. He looked like a kid who was handy with a switch blade and proud of it. He didn’t like me at all. His attitude started the fright churning inside me.
    Louise was saying, “She went to grade school with you, she’s been telling me. Grade school!”
    “Why, sure, yes!” Jack said. His voice was hearty, playing the big reunion, but his eyes were still frozen. “Sure, little Hester Frost! You sat beside me in Miss Koehler’s room. Whatever happened to you?”
    “Whatever happened to Miss Koehler?” I asked.
    “Say, do you remember Archie Hall?”
    “That stinker? Well, it’s been swell seeing you again, Jack. I’ll be running along now…”
    I started for the door. His hand was around my right arm, just above the elbow. I had no idea dancing teachers were so strong. This was painful.
    “What’s the rush?” he said. “Let’s have a drink down the street… for old time’s sake.”
    “Thanks… but no.”
    “Go ahead, honey,” Louise said. “It’s all right. Dot-tie’s not the jealous type.”
    “No, really… I’m late.”
    “I’ll drive you there,” Jack said. “Wherever it is.”
    “Don’t bother, I…”
    “It’ll be a pleasure.”
    He steered me forcibly toward the door.
    “Drop in again, Hester,” Louise called after us. “This has been fun.”
    Jack Walston pulled me into the front seat of the car. He flicked on the headlights and started the motor, his right hand still on my wrist. I never had liked one-arm drivers; I hated this one. At the first corner he turned right. He stopped, parked in the middle of the block. He let go of my wrist. He swung his body around under the steering wheel to face me.
    He said, “Hester Frost… is that your real name?”
    “Of course.”
    He was silent for a moment.
    “You got yourself a job teaching at Crescent… the morning after the murder. You got Anita Farrell’s job. Coincidence, isn’t it?”
    “Somebody had to take her place,” I said.
    “But then you start prying into other people’s affairs… why?”
    I didn’t answer him; I couldn’t.
    Again he said, “Why?”
    I heard myself babbling something about being a special investigator for the police… that the cops wanted to know why he was so interested in Anita Farrell’s apartment… that if he’d answer a few questions I might consider giving him a break…
    He was laughing at me. He wasn’t making any noise, but he was laughing.
    “Hiya, Blondie,” he said. “You’re cute.”
    “Now, listen,” I said, “I don’t want to have any trouble with you…”
    “Mata,” he said. “Mata Hari.”
    “You answer my questions and…”
    “Oh, stop it,” he said.
    “You just answer my questions and I’ll let you go.”
    “You’ll let me go?” he asked quietly. “Look, you don’t have me. I have you.”
    “Let’s put it this way… we have each other.”
    He said, “Your hands are shaking.”
    I clenched my hands together, tight.
    He said, “They should be shaking. I have a very vicious streak in me. I fight people who bother me… and bother Dottie…”
    With one of my shaking hands, I jammed down the door handle, shoved against the door with my shoulder. He grabbed at me and missed. I was out on the sidewalk. He got out the door on his side and started around the hood of the car toward me.
    I scrambled back into the car, got the door closed and locked. I lurched across the seat and locked the other door just in time. I turned on the ignition, stepped on the starter. He was shaking the door handle.
    The car lunged forward and sent him