CHAPTEREIGHT
Brenda Conrad stretched one long, bare, taut leg in the sunlight. “Some kind of organic cream,” she said thoughtfully. “That’s exactly what I need. Cream. It’s sodryout here.” She rubbed her upper thigh languidly.
In the background, Brenda’s daughter, Lisa, was playing tennis with a handsome young man of twenty. Brenda was wearing tennis shorts and would glance from time to time over her shoulder at the man, as if to make sure he was still there.
She looked back at Perkins and me, and sighed. “It’s so hard to be on location with a child. There’s nothing for Lisa to do, so you have to find things. But I don’t want to leave her at home for so many weeks. I miss her too much.” She sighed again. “I try to be a good mother.”
“Of course,” Perkins said.
Brenda turned to me. “Can we get something to drink?”
“Sure,” I said. “What would you like?”
“A gin and tonic,” she said without blinking. It was eight thirty in the morning.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I said, and went into the hotel. I told the reception desk that I wanted a gin and tonic, and they told me I was crazy. I told them that Miss Conrad wanted it, and they said it would be right out.
When I got back to Perkins and Brenda, she was saying, “... a sad, sad, sad man. My heart went out to him. He was such a pathetic man. Did you know him at all?”
“No,” Perkins said. “Not at all.”
“Well, there’s no sense in pretending,” Brenda said. “He wasn’t very nice. He was very difficult. And he drank and he had a nasty temper. But it was all somehow... so... sad.”
“You had arguments with him?”
“Everybody had arguments with him. He said some things to me that I won’t soon forget.”
“The night he died?”
Brenda stared at Perkins a little defiantly. “Yes, the night he died. He got into a fight with Clete in the bar downstairs, and I guess he was humiliated, because he came up to my room and kept abusing me at the top of his lungs. He was drunk.”
“What was your reaction?”
“I asked him to leave. I had sympathy for him, but a drunk is a drunk, after all, and I wanted to sleep.”
“What happened then?”
“Clete came by and threw him out. I was so glad he did. I must tell you that Clete Williams may not be your greatest actor in the world, but he is a truly nice man. He’s a sweet person.”
“The three of you have your rooms in a row. Yours, McDougall’s, and Clete’s. Did you hear anything later that night?”
Brenda shook her head. “They argued in the hallway a little bit. Then Charles came by and told them to knock it off and get some sleep. And that was the last I heard.”
“No other sounds later?”
“I was asleep. I sleep very soundly.”
I knew that she slept very soundly with several reds in her. I wondered if Perkins also knew, or if he guessed it. It was a reasonable guess. If you ever have to bet on an actress, bet she pops pills. You’ll usually be right.
Perkins smiled blandly at her and said, “Is it true you were having an affair with Mr. McDougall?”
“Where did you hear that?” Brenda said, too loudly. But I was wondering the same thing myself.
“I just asked if it were true.”
“It most certainly is not.” Brenda was using her British accent and getting mad. Or trying to get mad. Somehow she wasn’t convincing to me.
“I’m not a police officer,” Perkins said. “You can say anything to me you wish.”
