Gat Heat Read Free Page B

“The Smiths?” she said. “That’s John and Nella. I haven’t any idea what—”
    Hugh looked at her. “Smiths?”
    â€œYes, you … dear,” she said. “That’s who Mr. Scott is asking us about. John and Nella, who were here earlier, but who aren’t here now.”
    â€œI didden even know they left,” he said.
    His wife was right, I had indeed been asking about the Smiths. But I was now more interested in Hugh’s woozy response, so I tried to keep him going. “You say two couples dropped out earlier? You mean they were here tonight?”
    He looked at me blankly.
    â€œWhists and Rileys, wasn’t it?” I encouraged him.
    He began shaking his head again. “No, they weren’t. They weren’t here.”
    â€œYou said—”
    â€œNo,” he broke in. “Ackchully, they weren’t. I must’ve been thinking about another part—another time, somewhere.” He squeezed his eyes shut for a couple of seconds. “I mus’ confess, I had a little to drink, had a couple. Couple thousand, it feels like. You mus’ excuse me, Mr. Scott.” He paused. “Smiths, huh? I didden even know they left.”
    Then the first police car arrived, without siren.
    George Halstead’s body was on its way to the morgue, and the police were still taking statements when I decided to leave. I’d told them all I knew, and they would efficiently cover everything to be done here.
    Also, if they came up with anything significant, I knew I could probably get the info tomorrow. Not only am I on very good terms with the Hollywood and Los Angeles police, but Captain Phil Samson, head of Central Homicide downtown at the L.A.P.D., is my best friend in town. So I led Mrs. Halstead aside and told her I was going to take off.
    She was pale and unsteady, not in very good shape, her large green eyes dulled with shock, but holding up well enough under the circumstances. I knew she wanted to take a sleeping pill and get back into bed, but there were a few questions I had to ask.
    I told her what Hugh Pryer had said, but she merely frowned and shook her head.
    â€œI don’t understand what he could have meant, Mr. Scott. John and Nella were here. The Smiths. I’ve no idea what happened to them. But neither the Whists nor Rileys was here at any time tonight. I haven’t seen them for, oh, weeks.” She smiled wanly. “No telling what Hugh meant—or thought. I’ve never seen him so drunk.”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œHugh seldom drinks more than a highball or two,” she assured me. “But he did tonight. Of all nights.” She chewed on her lower lip. “In fact, most of us did. The party got … well, a little out of hand. If you know what I mean.”
    â€œUh-huh.”
    â€œGeorge made a punch. I don’t know what he put in it. But it must have been …” She finished with an expressive shrug of her eyebrows.
    I didn’t say anything.
    She went on, “It was awfully good punch. And everybody … It’s embarrassing to talk about it …”
    â€œSo forget it,” I said. “You don’t have to explain anything to me, Mrs. Halstead.” I smiled. “After all, I’m supposed to explain things to you.”
    She smiled slightly again, and I said, “In which connection, I would like the addresses of those couples Mr. Pryer mentioned.”
    â€œI told you, none of them was here tonight.”
    â€œI know. But the person we’re looking for was either somebody present, or—perhaps more likely—somebody not known to have been present. Someone who simply walked in.” I paused. “It’s just for a check. You never know where a lead might come from.”
    She nodded, then gave me the names and addresses from memory, and I jotted them in my notebook.
    She had already told me, and the police as well, that she knew of nobody