Dead Seed by William Campbell Gault Read Free Book Online Page B

me his father and mother had gone fishing up at Lake Cachuma. They wouldn’t be home until late tomorrow. Bernie had found his two days of peace.
    It clouded up again that night, promising us the beneficence of rain. But if it rained every time it clouded up in Southern California, we would have to live in boats. The morning brought the sun again.
    Jan and I had finished breakfast and were about to divide up the Sunday Los Angeles Times when Mrs. Casey came in with a pronouncement.
    “They’re home next door,” she told us. “I was watching the late movie in my room last night at one o’clock when I saw her car drive in.”
    “I hope they came home with answers,” I said.
    “And I hope you’re not going over there with questions,” Jan said. “If they have something they want to tell us, they will.”
    “I hope so,” I said.
    The kitchen radio was on, giving us the weather report. It was interrupted by a news flash. The legendary Hollywood agent, Sidney Morgenstern, had been found dead on the sand some two hundred yards east of the Hotel Biltmore beach. He had been murdered, bludgeoned to death.
    “I’m going down there,” I said.
    “We have a date for golf with the Vaughans at eleven o’clock,” Jan reminded me.
    I stared at her.
    “I’m sorry,” she said. “God, how trivial can I get? Go!”

SEVEN
    I HAD EXPECTED TO see the Biltmore crawling with cops, but decorum reigned; the law had left. Service and decorum are Biltmore hallmarks. I knew the manager; he was one of Bernie’s poker victims.
    He told me, in his office, that the body had been discovered at five o’clock this morning by a pair of lovers on the beach. The local news station had not been alerted until after eight.
    “Do the police have any suspects?” I asked.
    “An actor. Fortney Grange. Do you remember him?”
    I nodded. “Was he staying here?”
    “No. He came to see Morgenstern. One of our room-service employees was going past Morgenstern’s suite around ten o’clock, and he heard Grange and Morgenstern having a loud argument inside.”
    “Did they go to the beach together?”
    “Not according to the desk clerk. Tell me, what’s your interest in this, Brock?”
    “Grange is a friend of a neighbor of mine. Bernie and I have been working on some shenanigans that might possibly involve him.”
    He looked at me skeptically.
    “Scout’s honor,” I said. “Bernie is up at Lake Cachuma, fishing. So I thought I’d get what I could before tomorrow. I know Morgenstern was Grange’s agent, and Grange has been missing for a couple of days, so—well, I thought there might be a connection.”
    He still didn’t look convinced.
    “Why would Morgenstern wander on the beach at night?” I asked.
    He shrugged. “He quite often did at night on his previous visits here. He told me he planned to move here.”
    “Could I speak with the employee?”
    “He’s not here. He works nights. He’s probably down at the station, answering questions. His English is poor, so we sent his sister down to interpret for him about an hour ago. She works here as a maid. They are Chicanos, but the boy hasn’t been in this country long.” He smiled at me. “And that’s all I can tell you—now.”
    There was no police officer at the station today who would welcome my appearance there. The few friends I had at the station didn’t work on weekends. I went home.
    “I phoned Carol,” Jan told me, “but Charles said she was not accepting any calls. He told me Fortney is down at the police station with Carol’s attorney. Are you going down there?”
    “No. Did you phone the Vaughans to cancel our date?”
    “Not yet. I wasn’t sure when—”
    “Then let’s play golf,” I said. “Our neighbors don’t need us. They’ve got her money.”
    She stared at me. “Now, what’s bugging you?”
    “Butterflies,” I said. “Let’s go. I want to hit a bucket of balls before we play.”
    I can sympathize with victims. But not people who run away