Ross Macdonald - The Ivory Grin

Ross Macdonald

THE IVORY GRIN

Ross Macdonalds real name was Kenneth Millar. Born near San Francisco in 1915 and raised in Ontario, Millar returned to the U.S. as a young man and published his first novel in 1944. He served as the president of the Mystery Writers of America and was awarded their Grand Master Award as well as the Mystery Writers of Great Britains Gold Dagger Award. He died in 1983.

ALSO BY ROSS MACDONALD

The Dark Tunnel

Trouble Follows Me

Blue City

The Three Roads

The Moving Target

The Drowning Pool

The Way Some People Die

Meet Me at the Morgue

Find a Victim

The Name Is Archer

The Barbarous Coast

The Doomsters

The Galton Case

The Ferguson Affair

The Wycherly Woman

The Zebra-Striped Hearse

The Chill

Black Money

The Far Side of the Dollar

The Goodbye Look

The Underground Man

Sleeping Beauty

The Blue Hammer

FIRST VINTAGE CRIME/BLACK LIZARD EDITION, JULY 2007

Copyright 1952 by Alfred A. Knopf, Inc.,
copyright renewed 1980 by Ross Macdonald

All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Vintage Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto. Originally published in hardcover in the United States by Alfred A. Knopf, Inc., New York, in 1952.

Vintage is a registered trademark and Vintage Crime/Black Lizard and colophon are trademarks of Random House, Inc.

The Library of Congress has cataloged the Knopf edition as follows:
Macdonald, Ross.
The ivory grin / Ross Macdonald
New York, Knopf [1952].
1. Archer, Lew. (Fictitious Character)Fiction.
2. Private InvestigatorsCaliforniaFiction.
p. cm.
P23. M59943
51013221

eISBN: 978-0-307-77287-9

www.vintagebooks.com

v3.1

To all HANDS

CHAPTER:I found her waiting at the door of my office. She was a stocky woman of less than medium height, wearing a blue slack suit over a blue turtleneck sweater, and a blue mink stole that failed to soften her outlines. Her face was squarish and deeply tanned, its boyish quality confirmed by dark hair cut short at the nape. She wasnt the type youd expect to be up and about at eight thirty in the morning, unless shed been up all night.

As I unlocked the door she stood back and looked up at me with the air of an early bird surveying an outsize worm. I said: Good morning.

Mr. Archer?

Without waiting for an answer, she offered me a stubby brown hand. Her grip, armed with rings, was as hard as a mans. Releasing her hand, she placed it behind my elbow, ushered me into my own office, and closed the door behind her.

Im very glad to see you, Mr. Archer.

She had begun to irritate me already. Why?

Why what?

Why are you glad to see me?

Because. Lets sit down and be comfortable so we can talk. Without charm, her petite willfulness was disquieting.

About anything in particular?

She seated herself in an armchair by the door and looked around the waiting-room. It was neither large nor expensively furnished, and she seemed to be registering those circumstances. Her only comment was to click her ringed fists together in front of her. There were three rings on each hand. They had good-sized diamonds in them, which looked real.

I have a job for you, she said to the sagging green imitation-leather davenport against the opposite wall. Her manner had changed from girlish vivacity to boyish earnestness. Its not what youd consider a big job, but Im willing to pay well. Fifty a day?

And expenses. Who sent you to me?

But nobody. Do sit down. Ive known your name for ages, simply ages.

You have the advantage of me.

Her gaze returned to me, tireder and older after its little slumming excursion around my antechamber. There were olive drab thumbprints under her eyes. Maybe she had been up all night, after all. In any case she looked fifty, in spite of the girlishness and the boyishness. Americans never grew old: they died; and her eyes had guilty knowledge of it.

Call me Una, she said.

Do you live in Los Angeles?

Not exactly. Where I live doesnt matter. Ill tell you what does, if you want me to be blunt.

I couldnt bear it if you werent.

Her hard dry glance went over me almost tangibly and rested on my mouth. You look all right. But you sound kind of Hollywood to me.

I was in no mood to swap compliments. The ragged edge on her voice, and her alternation of fair and bad manners bothered me. It was like talking to several persons at once, none of them quite complete.

Protective coloration. I caught her glance and held it. I meet a lot of different types.

She didnt flush. All that happened was that her face looked a little congested for a moment. It passed, and the incomplete boy in her came to the point:

I mean, do you make a habit of cutting your clients throats? Ive had some pretty discouraging experiences.

With detectives?

With people. Detectives are people.

Youre full of compliments this morning, Mrs.

I said just call me Una. Im not proud. Can I trust you to do what I want you to do and stop? Take your money and go about your business?

Money?

Here. She produced a crumpled bill from a blue leather pouch and tossed it to me as if it were an old piece of Kleenex and I were a wastebasket. I caught it. It was a hundred-dollar bill, but I didnt put it away.

A retainer always helps to establish a bond of loyalty, I said. Ill still cut your throat, of course, but Ill give you sodium pentothal first.

She addressed the ceiling, darkly: Why does everybody in these parts work so hard for laughs? You havent answered my question.

Ill do what you want me to do so long as its not illegal and makes some kind of sense.

Im not suggesting anything illegal, she said sharply. And I promise you it makes sense.

All the better. I tucked the bill into the bill compartment of my wallet, where it looked rather lonely, and opened the door to the inner office.

There were three chairs in it, and no room for a fourth. After I had opened the Venetian blinds, I took the swivel chair behind the desk. The armchair I pointed out for her faced me across the desk. Instead, she sat down in a straight chair against the partition, away from the window and the light.

Crossing her trousered legs, she pushed a cigarette into a short gold holder and lit it with a squat gold lighter.

About this job I mentioned. I want you to locate a certain person, a colored girl who used to work for me. She left my house two weeks ago, on the first of September to be exact. It was good riddance of bad rubbish as far as I was concerned, only she took along a few little knickknacks of mine. A pair of ruby earrings, a gold necklace.

Insured?

No. Actually theyre not very valuable. Their value is sentimentalyou know? They mean a lot to me, sentimentally. She tried to look sentimental and failed.

It sounds like a matter for the police.