Ladies of Chance by Halliday Brett;

Author:Halliday, Brett;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Media Romance

Chapter 14

My phone rang a couple of hours later. It rang four times before I got to it and lifted the receiver. A feminine voice came over the wire. I didn’t recognize Janet Ettinge’s voice, but Kitty had told me Janet had changed a lot.

I asked if it was Mrs. Carhart, and she said it was. Adding that my number had been left with a message for her to call.

“That’s right. This is Ed Barlow, Janet.”

There was thirty seconds of silence. Then, doubtfully: “Should I know you?”

“Unless you’ve got a lousy memory. From Newark. The Morning Beacon.”

“Oh … that Ed Barlow.”

“Check. Does it add up?”

“I’m sure I don’t know.” She was frosting up on me.

“I do. Better hop over here, Janet, for a little confab.”

“I can’t imagine why I should. If you desire an interview.…”

“My business is with Mrs. Carhart,” I told her. “If you want to keep it on that basis … you’d better grab a taxi.”

There was another prolonged silence. Then she said, “Very well. If you insist,” and hung up.

Kitty was getting dressed. I told her to make it snappy if she wanted to get out before Janet saw her. She did, and she hurried. I kissed her and sent her out to the elevator two minutes before Janet breezed up to my open door and looked in doubtfully.

I was in my shirtsleeves, shaking a cocktail. I kept on shaking it and grinned at her. “Come in.”

She came in. She still had the face and figure that had made history in Newark’s night crowd a couple of years before. She knew how to buy clothes and how to wear them. A white fox fur was tossed over her shoulder, and her mouth was a scarlet gash.

“I haven’t the slightest notion,…” she began icily, and I cut in with:

“Kick the door shut and let me give this two more shakes. It’s a Clover Club.”

She stood there looking at me, tapping the toe of her slipper on the floor. Then closed the door and tossed her fur on a chair.

“That’s being sensible,” I applauded. I poured a couple of cocktails and gave her one. I lifted mine:

“I did you a favor in Newark once.”

She nodded slowly. “I was afraid that was it.”

“Never let a newspaper guy do you a favor,” I counseled her. “They always expect something for it one way or another.”

She put her cocktail down the hatch. “You’re off your home grounds, aren’t you?”

“I get around.” I was studying her carefully, working out all the angles in my mind. She was a whole lot different from the debutante I had saved from a nasty jam a couple of years before. There was a hard, abrasive look about her. As though she had gone the limit and kept on going. I got down to brass tacks without wasting time on a subtle approach:

“I know how you’re hooked up here. I don’t know how the hell you ever managed to get in with such a crowd, but you always were one to go beyond your depth.

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