In the last episode of Special Delivery, Rocky had come home to his apartment to find his bed occupied by Jesse Weller, the beautiful wife of wealthy financier Frank Weller. The following takes place the night of April 26th, 1949:
“Well, if it isn't the big, bad wolf,” said Jesse Weller with a smirk.
I played it cool. Even in the detective business, it's not every day that a pretty dame shows up in your bed and you don't know how she got there. My feet stayed anchored to the floor “I'd say you look more like Goldilocks than one of the three little pigs,” I replied.
“You know just what to say,” she cooed, and squirmed around a bit, sending gorgeous ripples through the bed-clothes. “There's plenty of room in here. Why don't you join me?”
“What do you want?”
The thought amused her. “I should think that would be fairly obvious.”
“Then I'll explain the question. The last time I saw you my name was Bob Hansen and you were looking for a missing statue you knew wasn't missing. This afternoon, the statue goes missing for real and a man is found dead on the scene. And just like magic here you are, except this time you're in my bed. So I'll ask you again: what do you want?”
Jesse Weller pouted. It was adorable. She must have practiced it in the mirror for hours on end. “I think you're very unfair.”
“Why? Because I don't believe your flimsy story?”
She laughed a little and quickly her seductive manner snapped back into place. She shook her hair out so I could see all of it, how clean and shiny and unruly it looked. “Would you believe I'm unhappy with my husband?”
“Yes, I would,” I said. “But I don't believe you would throw yourself at a stranger for no reason, no matter how charming he may be.”
“Maybe I prefer strangers,” she said with eyes that stripped me bare. With a look like that, I could have believed she was there for one reason and one reason only. I had to shake my eyes loose before I fell any further than that. She sensed her foot was in the door and purred softly, irresistibly. But I had to resist. I wasn't going to owe her anything. She added: “You'd like to know what I look like under here, don't you?”
I didn't so much as glance. “That interests me as much as the spider interests the web.”
Jesse giggled. “I heard you get in trouble with your words. When you get flustered.”
“My not flustered,” I replied, and tugged at my collar to let the steam out. “Look, neither one of us is going to break, so we might as well get down to brass tacks. You sold the statue to the Hoffmans and somebody else collected. Now you want me to get it back for you. Does that sound about right?”
She pouted again, but this time for real. “About. Yes.” I picked up her dress and tossed it to her. It landed on the top of the bed, right where her left hand was hidden. The shade of deviousness came into those baby blues of hers and she raised the covers from the bed to take it back up again, giving me a glimpse of herself. I pushed my eyes away in case they got any ideas. She sighed. “I thought you would be more fun about this. I even brought you a present.”
That made me laugh. “In case your first offer wasn't good enough?”
I kept looking away until I heard the sounds of her putting on her clothes. She talked to me all friendly the whole time she did, like we were standing in a bus station calmly discussing the weather. Something strange and admirable about her. When I could hear the noise stop I turned to see her walking towards me with that same fire in her eyes and a trace of admiration for the ability to resist her charms. She was going to walk into me, stare up at me like she expected a kiss, just like she did that day at her house. I wasn't about to take that again. I turned and walked away. She said, “You're something, Mr. Stone. You know that?”
“So they say.”
“If it makes you feel more comfortable, I'll be having breakfast at The Palms tomorrow morning. Eight o'clock sharp. Will you meet me?”
I looked over at her. She looked good in blue, real good. It was agony to just stand there and look at her, not pull her in, not give her the kiss she was dying for. She's married, I reminded myself. She's married no matter what she thinks of her husband and she's bad news besides.
“I'll meet you there, all right,” I said. “Now get going or I'll change my mind.”
Jesse Weller nodded at that and pushed away from me. She found her shoes and fitted them on. As she reached the door she glanced back and told me that if I was curious, all it took was a hundred bucks and a smile to the super to get her into my apartment. Then she was gone.
She brought me a present. Considering the present she gave the Hoffmans, I wasn't too pleased with the idea, so I scanned the room for something that didn't belong. It wasn't in my bed or anywhere near it, nor in the washroom. It wasn't until I got to the kitchen that I discovered what it was. Standing in front of the sink as if it was contemplating the dishes inside of it that needed washing was that marble Venus I saw in her house two days before. I got a good chuckle out of that, but I didn't go anywhere near it.
If Jesse Weller didn't take the statue, who has it? Find out in the next episode of The Adventures of Rocky Stone!
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