The Flying Red Horse Read online

  “Yes,” Patrick said. “Just a conk on the noggin. Just missed an eye, though.”

  Sally faced Iles. She was shaking with hysterical anger.

  “This time, if you don’t do something, I will. Sam was murdered. I told you so. You didn’t believe me. This time …”

  “Now, listen, Sally, maybe somebody was prowling …”

  “That’s what you said before. But this time it’s Jean’s dog. We’re responsible. We have to do something.”

  “It’s all right, Sally,” I said.

  Patrick set the dog down. Pancho whimpered and strained at the leash. Patrick let the dog draw him down the steps along a flagstone walk which followed the creek.

  “Hey?” Iles called. “I wouldn’t go on there if I was you, Pat.”

  Patrick went on, guided by the dog. They disappeared around a great forsythia bush.

  Iles turned suddenly, and without another word stepped inside, fastened the door, and snapped off the terrace lights.

  “I’m following Pat, Sally,” I said.

  “I’ll come too.”

  We found our way in thick darkness. We rounded the big clump of forsythia. Patrick was on ahead. In the darkness I let Sally go first. We were near the edge of the grounds when not six steps away Patrick turned his pocket flashlight on a dark thing on the bank. It looked like a sprawl of dark clothing.

  “It’s Rosemary!” Sally cried out.

  Patrick handed me the dog’s leash and stooped to pull the woman’s head out of the creek. He turned her over.

  The moon came out. I could see Sally Dollahan’s face as she stared at the woman on the grassy bank. It was stiff and incredulous.

  “There has been some mistake,” she said.

  Chapter 5

  A black cloud again crossed the moon. We stood in shadow. The moving water glistened, and the butterfly blossoms of the forsythia seemed to float further away. The dark thing on the creek’s bank emerged with the darkness of grass and shrub.

  Sally said, “It must be Rosemary. She came upstairs and changed to a dark outfit. The water may have made her hair dark.”

  “Not water entirely. There’s blood.” Patrick’s voice was angry. I could see his face, cold and angry and puzzled. I knew the woman must be dead.

  “Blood?” I said.

  Patrick said, “What makes you think it is Rosemary, Sally?”

  Sally’s behavior, for a girl who was crying like a child a few minutes before, was remarkably calm.

  “Wishful thinking, I suppose.”

  “Be careful, Sally. This could be murder.”

  Patrick sounded clinical, but’ still angry, as he stood up and said, “It’s Juliana Willoz. She’s been shot. Jean, go and find a phone and notify the police.” Then he said, “No, I’ll go. You stay here with Sally.”

  Sally got upset again.

  “I won’t stay here,” she declared.

  “Why not?”

  “I’m sorry,” Sally said. “I know I sounded odd when I spoke as I did, and for insisting it was Rosemary. But I won’t stay here. I must see my father, at once.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he saw Rosemary upstairs a few minutes ago. There must have been some mistake.”

  “Apparently,” Patrick said drily. “Okay. Give me the dog, Jean, and go with Sally. Call the police. You know what to say.”

  The black clouds overhead had thickened. We had to walk slowly again because of the darkness. The door leading from the bar was locked, so we walked around to the service entrance, talking in whispers as we moved.

  “What made you think it was Rosemary, Sally?”

  “Because she’s always asking for trouble, I guess.” Her tone was bitter.

  “You mustn’t say such things. This may be murder.”

  “Nobody would murder Juliana, poor thing.”

  “Apparently somebody did.”

  “Then it was an accident. Anyway, it wasn’t me did it, Jean.”

  “Nobody said it was, Sally. But you were outside when it happened.”

  “I don’t think I was.”

  “Didn’t you hear a shot?”

  “No, I did not. But I should have heard a shot if I had been outside at the time. The creek is making a lot of noise and so are the frogs, but you would have heard the shot above that sort of racket. If the gun was fired near our house.”

  The frogs had begun to warble again. Those nearby had kept quiet while we had the lights on, when we were on the terrace, and while Patrick was using the flash-light along the creek. Once more they were filling the night with their foolish trills and bellows.

  From a short hall inside the service entrance the service stairs led up to the wing which included Sally’s bedroom. Rosemary’s too, as we were to learn. On the ground floor a door opened from the hall into the kitchen. There was a telephone on a small desk near a door from the kitchen into the pantry.

  “This phone is out of order,” Sally said. “We’ll use the one in the bar.”

  A voice stopped us as we were entering the bar. The room itself was dark.

  “Who is it?”

  It was Iles Dollahan speaking. His voice was thick and confused.

  “It’s me, dear.” Sally spoke gently. “We’ve got to use the phone, Iles. Something awful has happened. Juliana has been—hurt.”

  “She’s dead,” I said.

  “What do you mean, dead?” Iles growled.

  “Well, she is,” Sally said. “She’s up by the creek. Dead. Pat thinks she’s been shot.”

  Sally touched a switch that turned on the concealed lighting of the attractive room. Iles was leaning against the bar. Near his right hand was what looked like a half-tumbler of straight whisky. The guns I had noted previously all rested on their racks on the wood-paneled walls.

  I said, “We’ve got to call the police.”

  “Oh, no.” Dollahan’s eyes under their straight thick brows were gray and cruel. “No, you don’t call no police. I ain’t going to have the law bothering around here.”

  “But you’ll have to,” I said. “This is murder, Iles.”

  “Oh, no, I don’t have to. No police, see? Just you wait till I finish the drink and I’ll go and talk to Pat about the way to handle this. I’m not going to have the police nosing around here.”

  He was drunk. There was no use arguing. Sally said nothing, and I waited.

  Iles took a long drink. “There’s some mistake. Juliana went home a good while ago.” He finished the drink and got a glass of water. “I’ll go and talk to Pat. We’ll fix things up among ourselves, see. Just take it easy for a minute and then I’ll see Pat.”

  I had a brain wave.

  “Sally, I’ll run back and tell Pat not to do anything till they have talked it over.”

  Sally made a move towards the outside door.

  “You can go out this way, Jean.”

  “I’ll go the way we came in.” I walked back through the living room, across the hall, into the dining room, and through the butler’s pantry to the kitchen. There I grabbed the phone.

  The operator answered at once.

  “The police,” I said. “Homicide.”

  Immediately the connection was made, I gave my message and cradled the phone. Sally spoke behind me.

  “That was a dirty trick!”

  “I was obeying Pat’s orders.”

  “You tricked my father. It was a low-down thing to do.”

  Without another word she turned her back and left me.

  I left the house feeling miserable and angry.

  “I thought you were never coming!” Patrick said.

  “Iles tried to interfere.”

  “He did, huh? Here, take Pancho. Keep him quiet, mind. Here are the car keys. Take the dog in the car and wait for me on the bridge by the waterfall.”

  “But the police.…”

  “Do as I say! Hurry!”

  Waiting on the bridge by the waterfall … or the dam if you prefer … had been romantic a f
ew minutes ago. Now I sat numbly, but not for long, for in two minutes I heard a siren and the first police car appeared and ran through the red blinker at the intersection of this street with the boulevard. It went straight on, slowing for the turning which would lead into the one-way street which passed the Dollahan house.

  A second car followed. As its taillights vanished rain began to fall suddenly and heavily. I turned on the windshield wipers. The motor was idling. The wipers swung back and forth with a mechanical flip-flop.

  The dog pressed against me for comfort. He had a blanket in the back seat. I twisted to get it and whirled back into my seat as the car door opened. My heart was beating like mad.

  Pancho’s tail was wagging. It was Patrick.

  “You scared me to death!” I said.

  “Whew!” he said. “Get going. Turn left at the blinker and I’ll direct you as we go.”

  We were already moving. I made the stop at the blinker, turned left and followed Turtle Creek Boulevard.

  “Where are we going, Pat?”

  “To the Adolphus.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to get hold of Kim Forsythe.”

  “Oh?” Patrick didn’t crash through with any information so I said, “Did you get very wet?”

  “No. I was waiting under a tree till the patrol cars passed. I left Dollahan’s almost as soon as you did. I didn’t want to be seen leaving. Also I wanted to get the lay of the land on this side of the house. They’ll spend time looking for me, too, which I can use looking for Kim.”

  “You don’t think Kim …”

  Patrick said, “Angle off here under the viaduct. Isn’t it marvelous how a dog gets over things? Operate on one and he’s up and about in an hour. Knock him out, and …”

  “Pat, stop it! Why do you want to see Kim? Either Iles did it, or Sally.”

  “Why?”

  “From the way Sally behaved. And Iles, too. Iles was busy getting drunk. Sally tried to keep me from phoning the police. There’s an extension in the kitchen. She said it was out of order and took me to the bar. Iles was there, drinking straight whisky.”

  “You’re sure it was straight whisky?”

  “Oh, Pat. I’m not, of course. But it looked it. Anyway, there was Iles, in the dark, having a solitary drink. He said straight off he didn’t want the police called. He said he’d talk to you first. He stalled and got a glass of water. So I pretended to be coming back to tell you what he’d said and stopped and called the police from the kitchen phone. It wasn’t out of order. Sally lied. And she followed me and when I hung up she said I’d played her father a dirty trick. I feel awful.”

  “Iles is used to running his own shows, Jeanie.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Turn left at the second red blinker.”

  “Okay. What made you say …”

  “Well, under his gentle exterior Iles Dollahan is a very tough hombre. He’s lived in a tough world. He has, incidentally, killed people before.”

  “Before? Then you think …”

  “Two men. In self-defense, I believe.”

  I shuddered.

  Patrick said, “Out on a lease. But this is Dallas, not a lonely oil lease in West Texas, and it was your duty to call the police.”

  “I’m afraid Sally will never like me again, Pat.”

  “Hey! Red blinker!”

  I slamtned on the brakes, signaled, and made the turning.

  “You said Juliana had been shot. I took a look at those guns on the walls in the bar. They were all there.”

  Patrick chuckled.

  “If the Dollahans wanted to go gunning they wouldn’t have to resort to their souvenirs, Jean. No rain fell here. None fell apparendy from about three blocks this side of the viaduct.”

  The clouds had passed over and the moon was shining again when we stepped out of the car in front of the hotel. The pavement was dry. Patrick tucked Pancho under one arm. We stopped at the desk for the key. Nobody made any objection to the dog. The clerk handed out the key, and said nothing. In the big leather chairs beside the baskets of spiky greenery opposite the desk, three men with bronzed skins and small Stetsons talked together, giving the otherwise unpeopled lobby a feeling of life. We took the elevator up to our floor. The operator said what a cute dog, and we agreed.

  “Well, I guess they don’t mind,” I said, as we walked along the hall towards our rooms. “There may be a ruling in this hotel against dogs, but in Texas they hate to remind you of a ruling.”

  Patrick snapped off Pancho’s leash and set him free. Straight away he started investigating everything, sniffing at each object as if he meant to know all that had happened to it.

  The telephone sounded brusquely.

  “Oh dear! The police already,” I said.

  Patrick said, “Hello? … Oh, yes, but we’re going right out again.… yes, we do know.… Good night.”

  He cradled the receiver. He was smiling.

  “House detective,” he said. “Dogs are not allowed.”

  He took up the phone and asked for Kim Forsythe’s room. Kim answered at once. Patrick asked if he would mind coming to our rooms. Kim asked why, and Patrick said please to come at once, that it was a matter of urgent importance.

  Kim was on our floor, further along the hall. He knocked on our door within half a minute. He was dressed as we had last seen him. His hair and the shoulders of his jacket were wet.

  We had not yet sat down. Kim stood, his eyes puzzled.

  Patrick said, “You got rained on?”

  Kim smiled his shy, winning smile.

  “I say. But I was lucky and picked up a cab before I was soaked through.”

  “Where were you at the time?”

  “Don’t ask me. Somewhere between here and the Dollahans.”

  “Did you come directly here?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Follow the way we took when we drove back there tonight?”

  “No. I had never walked it before and I got off the course. Not that it made any difference.”

  “It might,” Patrick said. “Remember the number of your cab? Or the driver?”

  Kim stiffened. “Hey, what is this?”

  “One of the Willoz sisters has been murdered.”

  Kim turned livid under his tan. He could hardly speak. He left the door and came close to where we stood near the middle of the room. Then he said. “Not … Rosemary?”

  “That’s funny,” Patrick said. “Sally said the same thing.”

  “Who was it?” Kim demanded harshly.

  “Juliana,” Patrick said. “Sit down, Kim. The police will be after us all, muy pronto, and we might as well sit it out together. Why did you think it might be Rosemary?”

  Kim took out his cigarettes. His hand trembled.

  “Wishful thinking, I guess.”

  “Just what Sally said,” I said.

  Kim gave me a vague glance and then said, “I hate to talk against a woman, but when they do the things Rosemary does, you can’t always stick to the rules, can you? She’s a devil and it’s no wonder if she gets herself murdered.”

  “You had trouble with Rosemary?”

  “Plenty.”

  “Care to tell me about it?”

  “Why should I?” Kim gave Patrick a hard, straight, gray glance. “Did you say Juliana? Must have been an accident or something.”

  Patrick said. “She was shot through the head. On the bank of the creek. She was still dressed in the clothes she wore last evening. But her slippers looked scuffed, as if she had been walking where it was rough. The police are there now. We came back here to see you. To warn you, I should say.”

  Kim moved to his right, and sat down. Pancho had been sniffing around his feet. He left him to explore behind a sofa.

  “It must have been an accident,” Kim said again, wearily.

  “Why?”

  “Well, Juliana was so nice. Not very interesting, but nice. I know her ex-husband. He’s out in Odessa. H
e’s always been sorry about the divorce and he wanted her back. He made a pile of money in a big strike around six months ago and I happen to know he’s been after Juliana to marry him again.”

  “Did she tell you?”

  “He told me. He told me other things, too.”

  “Care to pass them along?”

  “Certainly not,” Kim said. “What’s it got to do with you?”

  “Nothing,” Patrick said. “But if you happen to need any help, Kim, and I can give it, let me know. You don’t like Rosemary Willoz. At least you’re definite about that.”

  “I certainly don’t.”

  “What’s the name of Juliana’s ex-husband?”

  “Green. Ulysses B. What has that got to do with this?”

  “Nothing, maybe. Did you have a date to meet Rosemary tonight after you left the Dollahans?”

  Kim’s gray eyes widened. Then they went blank.

  “Look here, Pat. When I need what you call help I’ll let you know. Meanwhile mind your own business.”

  “All right,” Patrick said. “But one more thing, if you don’t mind. How did you leave the house?”

  “By the door on the terrace.”

  “Where’s your topcoat?”

  “I forgot it there. I’ve got to phone Iles to fetch it in the morning.”

  “Did you walk around the house and use the street?”

  “Why, of course. What other way is there?”

  “Then which way did you walk?”

  Kim frowned, but replied. “I walked along that narrow street in front of the house till I came to a wider cross street, turned right, crossed the creek by a bridge near a dam, and turned left at the traffic light on Turtle Creek Boulevard. I walked on and came to a sort of park. I don’t remember going through this part when we drove to the house. I’m not well acquainted with Dallas. It began to rain about the time I got to another boulevard. I caught a cab there.”

  “See anybody who would remember seeing you?” Kim looked puzzled. He asked again, “Remember your cab? Or the driver?”

  “What is all this, anyhow?”

  A light knock sounded on the hall door.

  “That house detective,” I said.

  Pancho’s long face appeared between the sofa, and the wall. His ears were up for listening.