Free Dread Journey by Dorothy B. Hughes Page A

got her aboard without Mike knowing. Mike wasn’t as indispensable as she thought.
    She said, “I’ll take the steak.”
    He ordered for them. The couple across left the table. It brought Gratia’s face into frame. He couldn’t resist. He said quietly, “That’s Gratia Shawn.”
    “Yes, I know.”
    Yes, she knew. He’d just congratulated himself that she didn’t know and she knew. He was pricked and he scowled at her. “How is it you know? She’s never been on the lot.”
    “I met her this afternoon.”
    He was sharp. “How?”
    Mike was removing a cigarette from her black handbag. Her voice was easy. “I went to ask Kitten to o.k. the publicity for New York. That girl was in the drawing room.”
    He wanted Mike to talk about her, to react to her, but she was silent.
    He was forced to ask, “Lovely, isn’t she?”
    “Yes,” Mike said.
    He burned silently. Mike mustn’t be allowed to think he had any interest in the girl save professionally. Actually he hadn’t. He’d treated her like a daughter. If within him he felt those stirrings, wanting to speak her name, to hear her mentioned, no one else must know. Not yet. Not while Kitten was in the way. He’d made a mistake allowing himself to be discussed publicly with Kitten. That wasn’t going to happen again.
    He said, “I have plans for her. I don’t want Kitten exposing her to her cheap friends.”
    “Les Augustin isn’t cheap.”
    “Who’s the other man?”
    “I don’t know,” Mike said. “I never saw him before.”
    “Some drunken bum she picked up. You tell her I want her to leave Gratia Shawn out of her bouts.”
    Mike looked at him. “You’d better tell her yourself. Kitten isn’t very friendly to suggestions these days.”
    Mike didn’t know. If she had any idea, she wouldn’t ask him to speak to Kitten. She didn’t know what was between them was beyond grace of words, acts alone remained. He’d fooled her completely. If he could fool Mike, he could fool anyone, including the police. Mike knew him.
    The steward had set two other persons across the table. He didn’t see their faces, he smiled amiably at their anonymity. “Did you know Kitten Agnew is sitting back there?” He mimicked the middle-aged man’s voice. One of these men craned over his shoulder, the other one looked down into his plate. Mike’s heel caught his shin. He turned his amiable smile on her. “Good steak,” he commented.
    Did you know I’m going to kill Kitten Agnew? I had planned it for tonight. The Albuquerque police don’t know much. They’d take an accident. They wouldn’t doubt Vivien Spender’s sad regret. But maybe it’s better I’ll have to wait until tomorrow night. Maybe it’s better that Chicago will have to handle it. Sometimes tanktown cops get pretty officious. They might want to hold all of us for an inquest. Chicago will cooperate. There’s movie money there. The real issue will be so confused by the power of money and the industry, by the clutter of attorneys and advisers and officials and flacks and sob sisters, no one will suspect.
    Mike said, “Just rare enough.”
—2—
    Les said, “Don’t look now, darling, but the King of the May is behind you.”
    She controlled the lick of fear that might have curled in her eyes. What difference did it make if Viv were there? It was none of his business now with whom she dined. He was through with her; she was through with him. He couldn’t hurt her as long as she was protected by a diner filled with civilized beings.
    Hank growled, “Who’s the King of the May?”
    Kitten lilted sheer laugher. “Darling, who else could it be?”
    “Spender.” Les explained.
    Kitten looked under her eyelids at Les. “I wonder what drove him out among the peasants.” It couldn’t be because he was stalking her. It wasn’t that.
    Gratia’s voice was kind. “Perhaps he was lonely.”
    Kitten gurgled. The glance she slanted was as at a country cousin, a particularly gawky one. “Darling,