Read Nightshades (Nameless Detective) for Free Online Page A

for me to take a chair uninvited, and said, “Now then. You’re with the Redding police?”
    “No, ma’am.”
    “The county sheriffs department?”
    “No. Actually, I’m a private investigator.”
    That got me a flat, contemplative look. “You told Miss Adley that you were a policeman,” she said.
    “No, ma’am. I told her I was a detective and that’s what I am.”
    “I see.” She smiled faintly and wryly, without humor. “I suppose you’re here about Munroe Randall.”
    “Yes. I’m working for his insurance company.” I had my wallet out, for the purpose of showing her my ID, but she made a dismissive gesture. I put the wallet away again.
    “You’re wasting your time and mine,” she said. “I can’t tell you anything about his death. As I’ve already explained to the police, I hadn’t seen him for over a month before he died.”
    “Oh? Why is that, Miss Belson?”
    “If you’d known Munroe, you wouldn’t have to ask that question. He liked women—lots of different women. He got bored very easily.”
    “Does that mean he’d broken off your relationship?”
    “That’s what it means.”
    “Suddenly?”
    “Very. But I wasn’t surprised.”
    “Were you upset?”
    “Not particularly.”
    “Meaning you no longer cared for him either?”
    “Meaning I also get bored easily.”
    Uh-huh, I thought. I said, “Do you know who he began seeing after he ended things with you?”
    “Who he began seeing before he ended things with me, you mean.”
    “Do you know the woman’s name?”
    “I didn’t at the time,” she said.
    “But you do now?”
    She hesitated. Then she said, “A beauty parlor is a great place for gossip. You’d be amazed at the things a person can find out here.”
    “I can imagine.”
    “No you can’t. Not really. The damnedest secrets come out, no matter how well hidden they’re intended to be.”
    “Was Randall’s new affair a secret?”
    “Yes. A big one.”
    “Why?”
    Again she hesitated, as if weighing things in her mind. One shoulder lifted and fell in a delicate shrug and she said, “He made a mistake. He decided to start playing in his own backyard.”
    “I’m not sure I understand that, Miss Belson.”
    “You’re a detective. You ought to be able to figure it out.”
    “A married woman? The wife of someone he knew?”
    She didn’t say anything. But there was a malicious little glint in her eyes.
    “The wife of one of his business partners?” I asked.
    “Only one of his business partners is married,” she said.
    “Frank O’Daniel’s wife?”
    “Little Helen,” La Belson said. The malice was in her voice now.
    “You know her, then?”
    “Helen? Oh yes, she used to be one of my customers.”
    “Used to be?”
    “She decided to try another salon in town. About six weeks ago, as a matter of fact.”
    “Because she’d started an affair with Randall?”
    The delicate shrug again. “Why don’t you ask her?”
    Cute stuff—playing games, telling me what I wanted to know without actually saying it. Maybe. It could be a lie, too; for all I knew she had something against Helen O‘Daniel and wanted to do her dirt. That might explain the coyness: if she didn’t come right out and accuse Mrs. O’Daniel of anything illicit, she couldn’t get herself sued for slander.
    On the other hand, it might be the truth. Not that an affair between Randall and Mrs. O’Daniel had to mean anything sinister. I just didn’t know enough yet about the principals involved to form much of an opinion either way.
    I tried prying more information out of La Belson, but she wasn’t about to give me more than she already had. I asked her a few other questions, also without finding out anything new, and got up to leave.
    She said, “All these questions—you don’t honestly believe Munroe’s death was anything but an accident, do you?”
    “I’ve got an open mind. What’s your opinion, Miss Belson?”
    “Munroe was a careless man. With women, with everything else