1975 - The Joker in the Pack by James Hadley Chase Read Free Book Online

health with a kitchen equipment salesman.
    “Are you enjoying your vacation, Mr. Jackson?” she asked. When the need arose she could put steel into her voice. She did so now.
    “Excuse me, but I’m not just being curious. It’s important to me to know.”
    She looked swiftly at him. He was staring out to sea, relaxed, smiling: a good-looking specimen of male flesh.
    “Why should it be important to you?”
    “A good question. You see, Mrs. Rolfe, I have a problem.”
    Instinctively a red light began to flash in her mind.
    “Should I be interested in your problems, Mr. Jackson?”
    “Problem, not problems.” He dug more sand and allowed it to trickle between his fingers. “I don’t know. I’m wondering, you could be . . .”
    “I don’t think so. I have many problems of my own.” She abruptly stood up. “Have a happy vacation. I must get back to my hotel.”
    He looked up at her. The smile was a shade less friendly.
    “Sure. I was just trying to decide whether to talk to you about my problem or to Mr. Stanley Winborn.”
    She felt a little jolt that set her heart racing, but she was touch enough to keep her face expressionless. She reached for her wrap and put it on.
    “Do you know Mr. Winborn?” she asked.
    “I don’t and between you and me, Mrs. Rolfe, I’m not crazy to get to know him. He looks a pretty tough character. He doesn’t look a helpful guy. Would you say that’s right?” He smiled at her.
    “I don’t understand what you are talking about,” she said curtly. “Well, I must be going.”
    “Please yourself, Mrs. Rolfe. I can’t stop you. I just thought you could be more helpful about my problem than Mr. Winborn, but if you’re in a hurry, then I guess I’ll have to take my chances with your attorney, that’s who he is, isn’t he?”
    Helga leaned against the fender of the beach buggy. She opened her bag, took out her gold cigarette case, took out a cigarette and lit it.
    “Go ahead, Mr. Jackson: tell me about your problem.”
    Jackson smiled up at her.
    “You haven’t only beauty, Mrs. Rolfe, you have brains: a very rare combination.”
    She waited while he dug more sand.
    “A couple of days ago, Mrs. Rolfe, your husband telephoned me and hired me to put you under surveillance,” Jackson said.
    This time Helga couldn’t quite conceal the shock. She dropped her cigarette, but she quickly recovered. With steady hands, aware Jackson was watching her admiringly, she found and lit another cigarette.
    “Are you telling me you are the peeping Tom my husband hired?”
    “Well, I’m called an inquiry agent,” Jackson said and chuckled. “peeping Tom is all right though: not a bad description.”
    “I was under the impression you were a kitchen equipment salesman,” Helga said contemptuously, “a considerable cut above a spy.”
    Jackson laughed.
    “You have a point there. Actually I was a kitchen equipment salesman but it was rough going. Agency work pays a lot better.”
    “Spying on people doesn’t bother you?” Helga asked, flicking ash on the sand.
    “No more than you cheating on your husband, Mrs. Rolfe,” Jackson returned, smiling at her. “It’s a job, although cheating isn’t.”
    She decided she was wasting time. This man, with his deceptively friendly smile had the skin of an alligator.
    “What is your problem, Mr. Jackson?”
    “Yeah, my problem. When Mr. Rolfe telephoned me I was pretty shaken. I am associated with Lawson’s, the New York inquiry agency, and they recommended Mr. Rolfe to call me. You know, Mrs. Rolfe, big names awe me. I don’t know why it is, but they do. Maybe, I’m a hick . . . could be the answer. Anyway, when Mr. Rolfe dropped this assignment into my lap I kind of flipped my lid. All I could say was ‘Yes, Mr. Rolfe, sure Mr. Rolfe . . . you can rely on me, Mr. Rolfe.” You know . . . like a hick.” He shook his head frowning. “Well, he so flustered me with his grand manner, his curt voice – looking at me, Mrs. Rolfe, do