Talmage Powell - Murder on the Expense Account

Hector Drumm, roving operative for Speare We Hit The Target Private Investigations, Inc., arrived in Asheville late Friday afternoon. He came out of the smoky, domed terminal, leaving his bag checked inside, and asked a cab driver the fare to Kimberly Avenue. It was a dollar, and Drumm drew in his shoulders, boarded a municipal bus and dropped six cents in the fare box. In his seat, he took a small black notebook from his pocket and under the heading Expenses he jotted carefully: Cab fare, one dollar.

This he regretted; the closest bus stop was seven block from Alex Donnellys house, up a long sweeping hill that drained the strength from Drumms short legs. It was a hot summer afternoon with a glaring sun lying low over the ragged hills in the west. When Hector Drumm rang Donnellys bell he was sweating.

An ancient Negro came around the side of the house, a garden trowel in his hand. Yassuh?

Im looking for Mr. Donnelly, Drumm said.

He inside, the servant said. You jest go right in. These heah summah folk are infoamal. Jest open de doah.

Drumm shrugged, opened the door. He was in a short hallway. A door opened just past the walnut table with its fragile looking vase and wilted flowers. Without being told. Drumm had a hunch that the man coming toward him was Donnelly.

Drumm introduced himself. Donnelly was stiffly slim, as if he wore, beneath his soft gray, drape model suit, a supporter to keep his stomach muscles from bulging, his figure trim. Drumm didnt like the faint smell of perfume about the man, and he wondered how much longer Donnelly could hide those loose layers of skin under his eyes from a movie camera.

Without preamble. Drumm said, as they went toward the open door. I dont mind telling you. This had better be good. Old man Speare my boss chased me six hundred miles down here. Couldnt you find a detective closer?

No, Donnelly said. His face was suddenly lined, his liquid eyes mirroring something that might be fear. The job I hired you for, Drumm, is for you. Im in a helluva mess.

The last statement brought Drumms quick, keen gaze. His jet black eyes reflected light as he studied the evident fear on Donnellys face.

Donnelly closed the door behind them. They were in a room that had been used for lots of drinking. Several empty bottles were in evidence. Through the wide window in the other side of the room, Drumm could see the magnificent sweep of the Smoky Mountains, rolling away into the blue, hazy distance.

But he saw all that only in a flashing glimpse. His attention was held by a girl in a huge white leather chair. She was wearing white shorts and a blue sweater, and had one long brown leg curled up under her. She was deeply tanned; her hair was glittering blonde. She had eyes like blue ice, and Drumm compared her to solidified carbon dioxide; smoky, subzero dry ice. Then he remembered that he had held a piece of dry ice once and it had burned his hand with its cold.

She nodded at him as Alex Donnelly said, Miss Viola Munday, Mr. Hector Drumm.

She said, Hiya, Heck, and went on with her drinking.

Drumm said, Well, whats the turkey? He sat down, and when Donnelly offered him a drink, Drumm said, Never touch it.

Donnelly drank nervously. Drumm guessed thered been a party the night before. Seeing Donnelly in the flesh, it was hard to think of him as a movie idol in those dashing western roles where he personified everything that was noble and conrageous.

Donnelly said, I came to these widely-advertised hills for a rest, and I end up hiring a private dick. Your boss soaked me plenty for getting you down here, Drumm. The situation is plenty ticklish, and you sure as hell better earn your money.

Im a member of proletariat, Drumm said glumly, so dont start giving me orders. Speare investigations never miss no pun intended. Just spill your brains. Or if you want to lecture. Ill be getting along.

The blonde smiled, and she didnt look so icy.

Donnellys face darkened, but he bit back his hot retort and said, My daughter came to town yesterday. He looked at Drumm expectantly, but the sandy-haired detectives face was blank.

With a sigh, Alex Donnelly continued, Imagine yourself in my position, Drumm. Every week, with the full sanction of their parents, hundreds of thousands of kids flock to theaters to see my pictures. Im the sort of man in those pictures parents would like their kids to be.

A model man, Viola Munday supplied, strong, good, kind. Donnelly looked at her darkly, and she added seriously: Alex really is that sort of man, too, Mr. Drumm. His face might look a little soggy, but except for a very human bender now and then. Alex believes in the same code he lives in his roles.

Drumm wasnt so sure about that: but hed learned long ago not to judge by appearances alone. I didnt know you bad a daughter, he said.

Thats just it, Donnelly said morosely, neither did I. He laughed shortly, harshly. You see, Drumm, years ago, when I was just starting, I married a woman in Mexico. I got a break, made a little dough, and played the rat. The marriage didnt last. My wife went back to Mexico. Ive never heard of her since until day before yesterday, when a beautiful young creature came here with her lawyer and informed me that she was my daughter, Georgia. Her lawyer, a butter-tub, bald-headed character named Ober Illman, told me a pathetic tale of starvation and grief. Donnelly sat down shakily. Cant you imagine what it would do to me if I was smeared all over the country as the sort of man who would let his wife starve to death in a foreign land while I through the years greedily clutch bigger and bigger contracts?

The studio would drop you like a hot potato. I guess, Drumm said.

Not to mention, Viola Munday said, what the mamas and papas of all those kids would do if they could get their hands on you.

Donnelly nodded, and Drumm thought he looked sick. Drumm said, You want me to scare the girl off?

Donnelly shook his head vigorously. If shes not my daughter, yes. But if she is my daughter. Im going to pay. I can understand how she might hate me. She wants a small fortune thatll clean me for sometime to come. But if she actually is my daughter and Ive abandoned her these years to the sort of life she told me about, I want to pay.

For the first lime, Drumms thin lips cracked in a smile. It was apparent he didnt do it often. Since you put it that way, Donnelly, Ill do what I can for you. Maybe Miss Munday is right about you. You want me to determine definitely whether she is your daughter?

Thats it, Donnelly nodded. Ober Illman her lawyer has pretty convincing proof. But I called you here to be positive. Im not going to be rooked by a slick scheme if I can help it.

Drumm stood up. Youll give me the address of Georgia, your daughter, Ober Illman, her lawyer, and anything else you can think of that might be pertinent, and Ill get started right away. He smiled again, thinly. You made arrangements with my lord and master, Mr. Speare, about the finances?

Donnelly nodded.

Well, Drumm said, there might be incidentals come up. A palm to lie greased, you know or something like that. I might need, say, a couple hundred.

Donnelly looked at him shrewdly, and Drumms smile became bland. Finally, taking a pigskin wallet from his pocket, Donnelly said, All right. Ill play hall with you. But you get results, Drumm, or Ill show you those action scenes in my pictures are not all done by stuntmen.

Hector Drumm warmed his pocket with the two hundred, took out his black notebook, and under the heading Bonuses, carefully wrote; $200.00. The grand total of the column of figures brought a mellow sigh.