Gilded Nightmare Read Free

a little tighter than normal. “Mystery woman? I knew Charmian Brown when she wore pigtails,” he said. “Grew up with her. She’s complex, but not mysterious.”
    “I didn’t know anyone knew her. It’s rumored she hasn’t been off her island for twenty years. Zetterstrom brought the world to her there, according to Chambrun.”
    “The word is bought, not brought,” Sam said, staring into his blue cloud of smoke. “I’m interested to see what all that has done to her.”
    “Made her perhaps the richest woman in the world,” I said.
    “There you go with surface facts,” Sam said. “In my terms, it may have made her the poorest.” He tamped down the tobacco in his pipe with his forefinger. “Know that fellow at the end of the bar?”
    I looked. A tall, dark, good-looking man in a worn tweed jacket was brooding over a whiskey on the rocks. I guessed he was about Sam’s age.
    “Who is he?” I asked.
    “Not a Beaumont regular?”
    “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him before.”
    Sam’s smile grew tighter. “I don’t think Charmian will be pleased to see him,” he said.
    “Again—who is he?”
    “His name is Stephen Wood,” Sam said.
    “Do I have to pry it out of you with a can opener?”
    “Drama is uninteresting when it’s explained in advance,” Sam said. “But I suggest you watch the confrontation when it takes place.”
    “I have ceased being fond of you,” I said.
    “Oh, I’m playing it all very lightly, Mark. The cheerful smile hiding the cancerous growth.” His face had gone rock-hard. He slid down off his bar stool. “I think there’s time for a leisurely luncheon before the lady puts in her appearance.”
    I watched him head for the stairway to the Spartan Grill. …
    At two thirty-five that afternoon Mr. Atterbury received a phone call from Kennedy Airport. It was Helwig, the Baroness’ steward. They were, Helwig said, through customs and they would arrive at the hotel in about a half an hour. Helwig trusted that all would be ready for them. All would, Atterbury assured him.
    I was notified and I went down from my fourth-floor office to the lobby, leaving behind me a protesting Shelda.
    “Someone has to mind the store,” I told her.
    The luncheon crowd had pretty well gone back to its offices on Fifth and Madison when I got downstairs. The lobby was relatively quiet. There were, however, two rather interesting observers occupying two of the big overstuffed armchairs. Sam Culver was working on a pipe with a little pocket tool. The man named Stephen Wood was several chairs away from Sam, chain-smoking cigarettes. A waiter had brought him a whiskey on the rocks. I saw him toss half of it down in one swallow. His black eyes were fixed on the main entrance, and they looked hot and hungry.
    I walked over to Sam. “On the level, what’s with your friend Wood?” I asked him.
    Sam glanced at the dark man. “I’d say he’s been pouring it on,” he said. “Must have had half a dozen whiskies since we last saw him.”
    “Is he going to make some kind of trouble?”
    “Too bad,” Sam said. “It’s your job to prevent it, isn’t it?”
    “Sam, Chambrun’s your friend,” I said.
    He sighed. “I’ve been indulging myself in small-boy mystifying. I don’t think he’ll make any public trouble,” he said., “I think he just wants Charmian to see him.”
    “And then what happens?”
    “Presumably Charmian’s blood starts to run cold,” Sam said.
    Just then I saw Jerry Dodd across the lobby. He’s a thin, wiry little man in his late forties, with a professional smile that doesn’t hide the fact that his pale, restless eyes are always searching for a sign of anything inimicable to the Beaumont’s best interests. Chambrun trusts him without reservations, and his performance over the years as security officer has justified that trust. He’s a shrewd, tough, yet tactful operator.
    “It seems the staff is of the opinion the Baroness will do a strip tease as she comes