Jackpot (Nameless Dectective) Read Free

just that one time he struck you as upset about something? Or did you notice it before then?”
    “He was like that a couple of days earlier, too, when he asked me to return the necklace he’d bought and to borrow my savings. That was when he said he’d lost all his jackpot winnings and more with the sports books.”
    “He told his fiancée the same thing?”
    “Yes. She finds it just as hard to believe.”
    “What about his friend, the one who was in Reno with him? Did you ask him about it?”
    “Jerry Polhemus. He and David used to share an apartment, before David moved in with Karen last year. Yes, I asked him. At the funeral. He couldn’t tell me anything ... didn’t have much to say at all.” She paused, frowning. “It was odd, though, the way Jerry acted that day.”
    “Odd in what way?”
    “He seemed ... I don’t know, angry about something. Almost as if he weren’t ...”
    “Weren’t what?”
    “Weren’t sorry David was dead.”
    “Why wouldn’t he be, if they were close friends?”
    “I don’t know. Maybe I’m wrong. I was so upset that day ...”
    “Had he and your brother had some kind of falling out?”
    “Not that I know of.”
    “You didn’t talk to him about it? Then or since?”
    “No. I haven’t seen him since.”
    I allowed another little silence to build. She looked so forlorn, sitting there. And I had a soft schedule at present, with more than a little extra time on my hands. And I needed to work as much and as often as possible....
    “Well,” I said finally, “I suppose I could talk to Jerry Polhemus for you. See what else I can find out.”
    “Would you?” Relief brightened her voice.
    “I’ll do what I can. But don’t expect too much of me. Detectives aren’t miracle workers.” Nor clinical psychologists, I thought.
    “I know. It’s enough to have you try.”
    It wasn’t and we both knew it. Still another little silence descended. Then Kerry came in—she’d been listening in the kitchen, if I knew her—and distributed coffee and gave me an approving glance before she went over to sit beside Allyn.
    There was some more talk, not much. I took down Allyn’s address and telephone number, the addresses of Jerry Polhemus and Karen Salter, and such other information as I thought I might need. Allyn asked me if I wanted a retainer—they get that word off TV—and I said no, not until I had drawn up a contract for her to sign. She thanked me again, and we shook hands, gravely, and Kerry showed her out while I sat there sipping my lukewarm coffee and wondering why I had never learned how to say no.
    When Kerry came back she plunked herself down in my lap and said, “That was nice of you, offering to help Allyn.”
    “Yeah.”
    “Well, it was. There really isn’t much you can do, is there.”
    “I doubt it. But I’ve always been a sucker for stray cats and lost waifs, as if you didn’t know. How much does she make at the agency?”
    “Three-fifty a week.”
    “Uh-huh. And the rest of her family’s poor as church mice.”
    “Her mother and father are dead too. All she’s got left now is an aunt in Los Altos.”
    “Christ. I’ll be lucky if I make expenses.”
    Kerry kissed me, ardently. “You’re a nice man, you know that?”
    “Yeah. And you know where nice guys finish.”
    “In my bed, if they’re lucky.”
    “I thought we were going out to dinner.”
    “We are. After dinner you get your nice-guy reward.”
    “So what are we waiting for? Go get your coat.”
    She went and got her coat. On the way downstairs I said, “That Hollywood producer called again today.”
    “What did he have to say this time?”
    “Fortunately I wasn’t home. He left a message. Things are getting burn-your-fingers hot, he said. He talked to one of the biggies on the little screen, he said, and the concept melted the guy’s chocolate bar. Once we get our signals straight, he said, there’ll be some extra maple syrup on my waffles.”
    Kerry shook her head.