The Leopard's Prey Part 10

"Oh?"

He stepped closer and leaned over to pa.s.s his confidences to her alone. Jade suspected from his greeting that he had other reasons for getting nearer. Good thing Sam's not here.

"Mind you, I'm not certain of any facts," Holly said, "but I heard that he was positively monstrous to his wife. Never letting her go out without him, never letting her join any of the ladies' clubs."

"I heard she disappeared," said Jade. "Do you think she'll return now that he's gone?"

"Yes, presuming that she will have a way of knowing he's dead-a friend perhaps, or the paper. More to the point, presuming she's still alive."

"Still alive? You think he killed her?"

He shrugged. "I heard gossip that there was a child."

"A child?" asked Jade. "How old? Where is it now?"

Holly raised one eyebrow. "Where indeed? I got the story from a friend who heard it from a doctor's a.s.sistant. Delivered at home three, maybe four months ago. Boy, I believe. I have no idea where it is. Just so long as I don't have it."

Clearly, Holly wanted to impress her with his inside knowledge. Since Jade already knew all this, she decided to fish for more. "Well, he must have felt terrible remorse to commit suicide in that manner."

"You think he killed himself?" He chuckled and nudged her with his elbow. "My dear young lady, you have it all wrong. I have it on good authority that he was murdered."

Jade put her hand to her open mouth and opened her eyes as wide as she could. "Murdered? So he didn't slit his own wrist with one of those horrid glove knives?"

Holly took her by the elbow and escorted her to a shady spot closer to the back side of the booth. "I heard from a very reliable source, a 'h.e.l.lo girl' to be precise, that Martin Stokes was already dead when his wrist was cut. Apparently there would be a lot more blood, and it wouldn't have come from a bird at any rate because that was what was in the dryer drum."

Jade didn't reply, hoping Holly would "up the ante" and add the next layer of information. He did.

"What was most intriguing was the report that he had a.r.s.enic in his lungs."

Jade gasped. "He was poisoned?"

"No. He drowned in it. Cattle or sheep dip, or something like that."

Jade thought about all the a.r.s.enic-based dip in use in the colony, employed to kill a variety of skin parasites. Stokes could have been killed at any number of locations.

"Drowned in cattle dip! Are you sure?"

Holly put his right hand over his heart. "I swear on my dear old grandmother's grave. And I certainly hope the police nab the culprit," he added with a solemn bow. "The team's out a perfectly good midfielder."

Jade felt a wave of disgust at the man's shallow acknowledgment of Stokes' worth. Since Holly didn't appear to have any more information, she decided she'd had as much of his company as she could stomach for another year. She tugged on Biscuit's lead. The cheetah chirped and wound around her legs.

"It looks as if Biscuit wants to keep moving," Jade said. "It was very interesting talking with you, but I must be going."

"You are attending the ball at the New Stanley tonight, aren't you?" Holly asked. "I don't believe we ever got to finish our last dance at the m.u.t.h.aiga last year." He took off his hat and scratched his head. "I can't recall why, either."

"I think you weren't feeling well that evening," Jade said. "Some of your friends took you outside for fresh air." In reality, they'd laughingly tossed him into one of the cars to sleep it off after Jade punched him. But, she thought, what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Sam might, though, if this man tried anything again this time. "I am attending, but I already have an escort."

Holly didn't appear to take the hint. "But you'll save some dances for me, won't you?"

It would have been a waste of breath to reply. Instead Jade gave Biscuit his head and walked off with a "Goodbye, Mr. Holly" tossed over her shoulder. As she left, she wondered what she'd really learned that might be of any use. Drowning in a tank of mange dip narrowed the scene of death from just plain drowning, but it was still too broad an area. There were so many containers of dip that the health department had recently raised concern about a.r.s.enic spilling into the soil and into streams and causing human liver damage.

And just because Stokes was found in the coffee dryer didn't mean he was killed near it. That was when Jade realized that she didn't actually know where the dryer had been placed. She'd a.s.sumed that since Neville had bought it from Stokes and Berryhill, it had been somewhere near the store. But it was a big piece of equipment, and not something anyone wanted to haul around. Perhaps it had been in a rail yard. She'd have to ask Neville.

Did Finch ask him that? Jade remembered that she still hadn't read Maddy's or Neville's accounts of their interrogations. She also needed to find out what Perkins and Daley had planned for Monday's work. She decided to find them next.

CHAPTER 8.

Celebrations among the Maasai are marked with feasting, singing,

and dancing, much like in any other culture. But more impressive are

the male compet.i.tion dances where warriors leap into the air,

each going higher than the other, shoulders trembling at the peak.

-The Traveler SAM CRANKED THE camera, actually rolling film. Not that he could use any of it as proof, but it did make for good action. His ears were tuned to the conversation, which had started out stilted but soon took on a more genuine note.

"So Stokes was killed with one of these knives?" asked one man.

"That's what I heard. Cut his own wrist."

"We'll miss him on the cricket field."

"And the football field."

"I won't miss him," shouted Harley Berryhill. "Good riddance to him." All heads turned to stare at the youth. "I know at least one person better off now that the leech is dead. A man's affairs are his own."

"See here, young man," said Colridge. "What do you mean by that?" He turned to Sam and held up his hand. "I believe you should desist cranking that machine you have there."

Sam stopped and listened. Harley's face reddened as the men turned to him.

"Well, out with it, boy!" commanded Colridge.

Harley hesitated for a moment, his youthful bravado diminished. "Mr. Stokes was taking money in return for silence," he said.

"Blackmail!" said Sam. Here at last was a motive he could get his hands on. "Who?"

"I can't say anything specific," the boy blurted. "That would defeat the purpose."

"On my honor!" exclaimed Colridge. "You're defaming a dead man, son. With accusations of extortion, no less. This is unheard-of!"

One of the other men cleared his throat. "Don't be too hasty, Colridge."

The old lord snapped around. "What's that you say, Griswell? Don't tell me you agree?"

"There's some truth to what young Harley said. I . . . I've heard . . . uh . . . of another account of extortion by Stokes."

Sam tried to read Griswell's face. A few beads of sweat, the man's general hesitation, and the way he fidgeted with his coat b.u.t.tons hinted that he was the one who had been blackmailed. "You should report this to the police," said Sam. "It may have some bearing on the case."

"I don't see how it would help," protested Griswell. "Stokes killed himself, and reporting this incident would only put my . . . er . . . friend in trouble of public exposure, the very thing he wished to avoid." Behind him, Harley nodded his head vigorously.

"Hmm," murmured Colridge with another puff and mustache flutter. "Quite right. Best to let sleeping dogs lie."

The men dispersed, leaving Sam alone with the boy. Before he could question Harley further, a customer approached, and Sam left to find his friends. His pulse quickened with the keen excitement of discovery. Ha! Wait till Jade hears that Stokes was a blackmailer.

A man's affairs are his own. Was Stokes blackmailing married men to keep their infidelities a secret? Was he blackmailing the kid's own father, Winston Berryhill? Maybe he was blackmailing the boy? Nah. What could he be doing that was worth blackmailing? Strike that. Probably plenty he wouldn't want his parents to know. But somehow, thought Sam, blackmailing a sixteen-year-old hardly seemed lucrative. It was a shame that Griswell wouldn't reveal anything. How many more victims were there?

Whoever the victim, extortion certainly gave someone a motive for killing. Sam wondered how much credence Inspector Finch would place in any of this information coming from one of the prime suspects, namely himself. Especially since no one else was willing to come forward. But it might at least put Finch on a different track.

Suddenly, Sam didn't want to wait until they met up at the Dunburys' house. He wanted to find Jade now, look in her incredible eyes of moss and light, and tell her his bit of news. But where to find her? Had Perkins and Daley set up a booth to talk to farmers about selling the unusual pets the settlers seemed to keep? She might be there, checking in with her employers.

Sam picked up the pace, at least as fast as his tired body, artificial leg, and heavy equipment let him, and scouted each of the booths he pa.s.sed. That was another thing that worried him: this d.a.m.ned job she had as rope wrangler for some half-baked outfit out of Chicago. Sitting inside a cage as bait for a leopard? The thought still gave him chills. When we get married, there's not going to be any more of that bull!

He had to laugh at his own arrogance. When we get married? h.e.l.l's bells, man. You haven't even proposed yet. And he couldn't until he cleared his name. He didn't know about life in New Mexico, but in northern Indiana, decent girls didn't marry murder suspects, innocent or not. Then he needed to convince Jade that she needed him, which was going to be hard since Jade was a woman who didn't really need anyone. After rescuing her and her mother in Marrakech, he'd thought he had a shot. He'd planned out his entire courtship, too, wooing her in the air.

And now she calls me her friend! A sensible man ought to chuck it and go, he thought. But Sam had a Midwestern stubborn streak. It had served to keep him flying as a green pilot when his courage first faltered under fire, and it frequently helped him to see a job through when patience had long since got up and left. Now he'd be dogged if he was turning tail and going home to lick his wounds. He'd win Jade or get shot down trying.

And you know all about that. He reeled as a wave of dizziness. .h.i.t. If she accepts you, man, will you be able to control her wild streak? Will you even want to? That gave him pause. No, not Jade. Gotta let varmints be varmints. The question was, could he live with that?

"Excuse me, young man!"

Sam stopped abruptly and blinked. In his mental wanderings, he'd run right into a large male. "I'm terribly sorry," said Sam. Then he recognized the man from Jade's descriptions. "Beg pardon. Aren't you Charles Harding?" Harding nodded. "I'm Jade del Cameron's friend, Sam Featherstone. Have you seen her today?"

"No, I'm afraid I cannot help you there, Mr. Featherstone."

"I'm glad I b.u.mped into you," said Sam, then realizing how that sounded, quickly added, "I don't mean literally, of course."

"Of course," echoed Harding. He put a hand where Sam had accidentally jabbed him in the stomach and winced.

"It's just that I saw the most amazing sight the other day while I was flying and I thought you'd like to know about it."

"Oh? And what might that be?"

"I flew over your farm yesterday afternoon and I saw what looked like a zebra mating with one of your horses. It was-"

"You flew over my farm and paddock?" Harding's face reddened and his lips tensed into a tight line.

Sam stepped back a pace. "Well, yes, but I didn't swoop down or buzz the place, if that's what you're worried about."

"I don't care two straws for what you call whatever you did. You stay away from my place. I don't need a ewe throwing a lamb because she got scared of your blasted flying machine."

Alwyn Chalmers was walking by and stopped to see what the commotion was about. "Your ewes are throwing lambs, Charles?"

Harding glared at the newcomer, then composed himself by tugging down on his tweed jacket and stretching his neck. "No, but they're likely to if this here flyboy keeps flying over my property."

"I only wanted to tell you what I saw-"

"I don't care what you saw," snapped Harding. "Wildlife wanders onto the farm often enough, and as long as it's not a predator, I don't pay them much mind."

"While we're on that topic, young fellow," said Chalmers, "my farm is just south of his and I'd appreciate it if you didn't fly over it, either. I've lost my best polo pony already. I wouldn't care to have any more animals scared off by one of those machines."

Sam clenched his jaw to keep from saying something he might regret later. Instead he touched his hat brim in a polite salute, turned on his heels, and left. From the corner of his eye, he saw Inspector Finch watching him. He also spied Perkins standing next to his two hired men, Anderson and Cutter.

Might as well check if they've seen Jade. He stopped and asked.

"Not today," said Mr. Perkins. "But I've been wanting to speak with you. I want to hire you to fly over some of the western region, near the Maasai land. See if you can scout up a young rhino. We'll pay for your fuel and fifty American dollars on top of that. If you spot anything that we can get to and capture, we'll throw in a hundred-dollar bonus.

"Make it seventy-five for the search plus fuel and bonus, and you've got yourself a deal."

"Done," said Perkins. He and Sam shook on it. "We're loading up some zebra and a pet lion tomorrow afternoon, and Monday we're picking up that young buffalo the governor's kept as a pet. Apparently he b.u.t.ted a lady the other month, so they're looking to find him a new home. Point is, we wouldn't be ready to go after anything before Tuesday."

Sam felt his head throb again. Surely this headache would be gone by then. "I can go up at first light Monday."

JADE PULLED OUT her pocket watch and decided it was getting late. Time to take Biscuit home. The cat had already had a good run today alongside Sam's motorcycle, but the three miles to the Dunburys' wouldn't tax him. She'd probably discovered as much as she could here anyway and had b.u.mped into Mr. Daley and discussed work as he wandered through the fair. He wanted her to help Sunday afternoon loading up Percy and the Thompsons' zebras. Jade chirped once to Biscuit and headed for the parking grounds and her motorcycle. Halfway there she saw Anderson signal to her. She stopped, thinking that there might have been a change in plans.

"I suppose you're going to the dance tonight with that Featherstone fellow," he said.

Jade sighed. This was the last thing she wanted to deal with. "Yes, I'm going with Sam and the Thompsons." Wayne seemed like a nice man, but she was never one for playing the field, and right now, Sam had her attention.

Anderson grunted. "I wanted to warn you about your flyboy," he said. "If I were you, I wouldn't want to take any chances. I have it on good authority that he struck and killed a man."

He turned and walked away, leaving Jade no opportunity, short of calling after him, to ask for more details. Did he know the supposed eyewitness that Finch had mentioned? Or was he just trying to drive a wedge between her and Sam?

THE BALL AT the New Stanley Hotel was a lavish affair. Bandmaster Harvey and His Merry Men, an orchestra well versed in all the latest songs, filled a dais at one end of the ballroom, and a sumptuous a.s.sortment of cakes, tarts, cheeses, fruit, and tiny watercress sandwiches was laid out on the other side. The punch bowl was kept full of a bubbly champagne punch, and a cash bar provided for anyone in want of something stronger.