Dead Low Tide by John D. MacDonald Read Free Book Online Page B

he
did
say you wouldn’t be cheated out of this bonus you’re supposed to get. What does that mean?”
    “Well, if he couldn’t actively run the business somebody else would have to, and their ideas might be different.”
    “Did you ask him directly what the trouble was?”
    I had expected a rattled woman, and Mrs. District Attorney seemed to have arrived. “I asked him if something was bothering him. He said nothing bothered him long.”
    “But it all sounded as if he expected—his work to be interrupted.”
    “That’s right.”
    “And soon?”
    “I don’t know. He’s getting me out there soon to break me in on the job.”
    “And you think it could be sickness.”
    “It just—Well, it just sounded that way.”
    She leaned forward suddenly, her arms crossed, braced down against her knees, head lowered so that I was looking directly at the top of her head.
    “It sounds as if he thinks he’s going to die,” she said softly. “It sounds just like that. Oh, God—”
    “It probably isn’t that serious,” I said.
    She sat up, picked up her drink, belted it down without apause. As she drained it I heard the shrunken ice cubes clink forward against her teeth.
    “What are you going to do?” I asked.
    “I truly don’t know. If it’s something I—something he doesn’t want me knowing, then I’ve got to make out to him like I don’t know. I want to thank you for helping me, Andy. It was nice. It was sweet.”
    “I didn’t know it was going to come out this way.”
    “Of course you didn’t. Andy—you won’t tell anybody about this? That girl, even.”
    “No,” I lied. “I won’t tell anybody.”
    “He’s a proud man. He wouldn’t like anybody knowing anything like this.”
    “Sure.”
    She got up in a weary way. She said, “How soon will you go out there? To Key Estates?”
    “Tomorrow’s Friday. I guess about the middle of next week, if he gets a man I can break in on chasing materials soon enough.”
    I walked her to the door and out to her car. She walked slowly, her head bowed, scuffing her heels. At the car she turned, and said, “If anything—happens to him, Andy, I want you to know I’m glad you’re close by.”
    “Thanks.”
    She put her hand out and I took it. She held my hand in both of hers. Her hands were small, hot, dry, thin-fingered. There was a feel of restlessness in them.
    “I’m still thanking you for finding out, Andy.”
    Standing that close, with her hands on mine, I became acutely conscious once more of that invisible emanation, that faint tart effluvium of desire. In spite of her spindly littlebody, the chipmunk look of her face with its dark eyes and oversized front teeth, she had that weird knack of making you overly aware of her femininity, aware of a thin urgency in her body, a sort of prehensile inventiveness. I had the crazy feeling that I could kiss her once, pick her up, and carry her—burning in my arms—right back into the house. Maybe there’s an extra sense that enables a woman to sense that particular moment. She let go of my hand and turned and got into her little black bug of a car. I chunked the door shut and she looked up at me. “Anyways, I can see if I can find out what it is. From Dr. Graman. I’ll let you know.”
    “I hope you find out we’re wrong.”
    “I hope so, Andy. I hope so.”
    Her lights went on and she backed in a sharp arc, shot forward down the road, raining shells and sand into the foliage. She left me feeling ashamed of my base instincts, and impressed by her courage. I pried up the top of my car and rolled up the windows. There was a wind off the bay, driving the mosquitoes inland, and the tide was down so there was a fishy tang in the wind. I wandered down the road. There was a light on at Christy’s. I started to look in and then said, “Ooops!”
    “Damn Peeping Tom,” I heard her say.
    I turned my back and pretty soon, she said, “O.K.” I turned back and she had a robe on and she was on her stomach on