Way of a Wanton by Richard S. Prather

toward another chair and pulled her own chair back under her. She sat down gingerly, then bounced a couple of times and beamed at me. “All well,” she said. I thought my teeth were going to start chattering.  
    When I got settled she asked me, “What are you doing here at the studio, Shell?”  
    â€œI told you last night that I'm a detective. Well, now I'm working. On what happened at Raul's after you left.”  
    She pressed her lips together. “Zoe?”  
    â€œUh-huh. Sherry, didn't you report her missing?”  
    She hesitated for a moment, then said, “Yes. She's— We lived together. I liked her a lot.”  
    â€œI'm sorry, Sherry. If you don't want to talk about it—”  
    â€œI do, though. Is that what you're doing, Shell? Looking for...”  
    â€œFor whoever killed her,” I said. I thought about everything that had happened in the last few hours and added, “I've got some very good reasons of my own for wanting to find the one that did it.”  
    â€œI know who did it,” she said flatly.  
    I stared at her. That one had jarred me. “What? What do you mean?”  
    She sighed. “I've already told the police,” she said. “They told me I don't have any proof.” She sighed and fell silent.  
    I didn't want her to stop now. “Maybe I could help,” I said. “Anything at all might help, Sherry. Can you tell me?”  
    She was quiet for a while longer, then she looked at me. “I think I'd like to,” she said. “Shell, Zoe left our house Thursday night—you know there was another bunch at Raul's that night?” I nodded and she went on, “Zoe hated Oscar Swallow, and I don't blame her a bit.” Her face looked angry now. “She told me weeks ago that she'd ruin him any way she could, and that's why she went to Raul's. She was going to do something to get even with him in front of all the people who were there, all the people who knew him and worked with him. She left about eight o'clock and never came back. Finally I told the police she hadn't come home. Then just this morning they talked to me again and I told them why she went to Raul's. I don't think the police have even said anything to him—and I thought they'd arrest him.” She stopped, staring at the corner of her desk.  
    Now I was getting something I could sink my teeth into. “What was she going to do?”  
    Sherry shook her head. “I don't know. She just said she was going to ‘get’ him. She'd found out something about him she said would run him out of town. I don't know what it was.” She looked at me and said defiantly, “But it's perfectly obvious what happened. Before she even got inside Raul's, Oscar Swallow murdered her. I just—”  
    She broke it off in midsentence, because right then Oscar Swallow walked into his office.  
    â€œWell, hello there,” he said brightly to me, each word enunciated with how-now-brown-cow clarity, and he gave me a smile. It was a tight smile, though, and a poor one, and it seemed evident that he'd heard Sherry's last remark. He could hardly have missed it. Perhaps he'd even been standing out in the hall listening; there was no way to tell.  
    â€œMorning, Swallow,” I said. Then I pushed it a little. “We were just talking about you.”  
    â€œOh? Well, by Jove. Nothing foul, I hope.”  
    I grinned at him. “I'm not sure. You been on the set?”  
    â€œYes, I have. I have been there all morning watching the temple scenes. It's still quite a thrill seeing one's ideas come to life, so to speak.” He took out a cigarette and lit it, inhaling deeply and squirting the smoke out his long, straight nose. “What brings you here, Mr. Scott?”  
    I was wondering if he'd mentioned being on the set all morning so I'd feel he hadn't been playing target