Death Is My Comrade Read Free Page A

I’d felt uncomfortable and even a little irritable fighting the kind of urge you’d get with Marianne, who is all woman.
    â€œWell,” she said, “I told you you’d like Eugenie.”
    â€œLike her? I met her, but I don’t know one darn thing about her.”
    â€œSure you do. Put it this way. Ilya came there with something for her, and they got caught red-handed. It looked like Ilya was going to get away, except his boat didn’t start.” I’d told Marianne about that in the car. “So what does she do? She could have said it was a guy—maybe with a load on, Chet—banging at the wrong door. She could have said it was a prowler. That would have been dramatic enough. But she said someone had tried to rape her. Then when you and Laschenko brought Ilya back inside, she was stuck with her inspiration.”
    â€œMeaning?”
    â€œMeaning that’s Eugenie all over. She takes excitement like other people take vitamins. She’s spoiled to her ears, Chet. But she’s charming too. She’s always had everything she wanted, from money on down, and for years now she’s chased around the boarding-school circuit in Europe, escapading her way in and out as fast as a footloose traveling salesman. Lucienne Duhamel, to put it mildly, is loaded with the folding green and—”
    â€œIs there a Mr. Duhamel?”
    Marianne shook her head. “Duhamel’s the maiden name. Eugenie’s father is Mike Rodin. Lucienne divorced him years ago.”
    â€œThat wouldn’t be the financier?”
    â€œWould and is. You know him?”
    â€œBy reputation. He’s up to his wheeling-dealing ears in trouble with the Securities and Exchange Commission. Controls several corporations which haven’t made the proper kind of shareholder reports, so S.E.G. is breathing down his neck, threatening to deport him.”
    Marianne looked surprised. “Where to? Rodin’s a real mystery man. He’s not American by birth, but if anyone knows where he’s from originally, they’re keeping it a secret.”
    â€œSearch me,” I said. “But go ahead.”
    Marianne shrugged as I filled our glasses again. “That’s it, I guess. I just wanted to give you the background.” All of a sudden Marianne laughed. “We’re a couple of good ones,” she said. “A private eye whose middle name is curiosity and a magazine staffer who makes her living that way, and we haven’t even taken one tiny look at the envelope yet.” Marianne sipped her drink. “There’s a story in it, too.”
    â€œWhat kind of story?”
    â€œWhen Eugenie gave me the envelope she said, ‘This is for my father. I trust you. I have to trust you.’ Or something like that.”
    â€œFor Rodin?”
    â€œFor Mike Rodin, yes.”
    â€œWant to take a look at the envelope?” I asked.
    â€œWhat do you think Ilya’s going to do?”
    â€œSearch me. He didn’t want to go home with Laschenko.”
    The ice rattled against Marianne’s teeth as she drank. If you had to look for an overt sign of what Wally’s death had done to her, that was it. There aren’t many girls who will beat me twice running with two ounces of Jack Daniels on the rocks, and now Marianne was clinking her glass against the square bottle for another refill. I poured an ounce and she went right to work on it.
    â€œDid you get the impression,” she asked, “that Eugenie wasn’t wild about Laschenko?”
    â€œNow that you mention it, yeah.”
    â€œLucienne’s going to love that. She’s marrying the guy next week.”
    â€œWant to take a look at the envelope?” I said.
    Marianne grinned. “The implacable Chester Drum. Me, I’ve been stalling because my conscience is bothering me. I gathered Eugenie just wanted me to deliver the envelope to her father.”
    â€œOkay, then we