Case Pending - Dell Shannon by Dell Shannon Read Free Book Online Page B

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and, regaining his breath, hoped his quarry was in.
    When the door opened to him, he was gratified for
more reasons than one. Miss Alison Weir was worth the drive through
traffic, worth a wasted afternoon. A middling tall young woman, with
an admirably rounded yet slender figure, less conventionally pretty
than charmingly provocative—rather square chin, a nose too small, a
mouth too large, alert gray-green-hazel eyes under feathery brows, a
magnificent mattewhite complexion, and crisply cut and curled hair
somewhere between copper and auburn, which was moreover nature's own
choice for her. Her tailored dress was exactly the color of her hair,
there were discreet gleams of topaz costume jewelry, her lipstick and
nail polish were of the same burnt-orange shade. Twenty-nine, thirty,
he said to himself: recovered, thank God, from the arch uncertainty
of girlhood, and miraculously not bent on maintaining it: one might
even suspect that great rarity in a woman, a sense of humor.
    "Yes?" And her voice matched the rest of
her, a warm contralto. As he produced his credentials, explained, he
swore mentally at the destiny which involved the woman in a case. 
It was not a good idea to mix personal matters with the job, and he
was scrupulous about it. Until this woman was proved definitely to be
clear of any connection with the case—he would be extremely
surprised if she had, but it had to be checked, of course—strictly
business, Luis, he said to himself regretfully.
    "Good lord!" she exclaimed. "Well,
come in, Lieutenant—you're lucky to catch me, I've just got in
myself."
    "Then you're excellent advertisement for your
business. Any woman who can come in out of a rainstorm looking so
charming—" It was the usual apartment of this vintage, but the
personal touches were firmly individual: a good many books in cheap
low cases against the wall, a row of framed pen sketches above them,
a coffee table with Chinese teak underpinning topped with a large
Benares brass tray, in serene indifference to incongruity with the
rest of the furniture, and an enormous aerial photograph of a
suspension bridge over the simulated hearth. He sat down facing that,
at her gesture, on the sofa, and disposed his hat and coat beside
him.
    "I shouldn't give myself away," she smiled,
"but I came in looking like a drowned rat, I'm afraid. I'd be in
a hot bath now if Marge hadn't called to warn me that a mysterious
sinister-looking strange—"
    "That one's not such a good advertisement,"
he grinned.
    "But I can't keep books.  what's all this
about the Ramirez girl? Cigarettes in that box, by the way—and
don't you usually hunt in couples?"
    "I've got no business hunting at all," said
Mendoza, lighting her cigarette, then his. "I ought to be in my
office doing this and that about a dozen other cases. As it is, I'm
tying up loose ends—"—he gestured—"you might say, on
the perimeter of this business. I don't think it was a personal
business, you see—I think it was more or less chance that the
Ramirez girl was the one killed—but we have to be sure. I don't
know what I expect from you, but you've been seeing the girl five
days a week for the last couple of weeks, and anything she said to
you—any little problem she mentioned, maybe—?"
    "I see." Alison studied her cigarette.
"You're always reading about these things in the papers—never
think of its happening to anyone you know. The poor kid . . . . I
don't know that I can tell you anything."
    "I'm hoping you can't," he said frankly.
"We've already run across a couple of things in her personal
life that might—just might—have led to murder. They have to be
looked into. If you tell me something else, that's got to be
investigated too. And I don't believe anything personal is behind it,
I don't want to waste time on that."
    "I see," she said again. "One of these
psychos, blowing off steam every so often, on anyone convenient at
the moment."
    "They exist. Something like that, anyway. And I
don't