And 47 Miles of Rope (Trace 2) by Warren Murphy

tickling Trace’s hand. She had found something else to do. She put an arm around Willie’s head and squeezed him too.
    There he was, with his tiny little head squeezed in between two wonderful chests. Mouseman’s paradise, Trace thought.
    “Willie,” bellowed Ferrara’s voice from the other side of the pool.
    “Yes, sir?”
    “If you can extricate yourself from all those tits would you fix me a drink?”
    “Yes, sir,” Willie said. He nodded to Trace, slipped free of the two women, and walked quickly away.
    “Eeeeyou, he’s sweet,” National Anthem said.
    “Does he have something to do with your movie?” Trace asked.
    “Huh?”
    “Is he an actor? Or a producer? Something like that?”
    “I don’t know,” National Anthem said. She looked at Felicia in confusion. “Is he?”
    “No. He’s just a little, put-upon, horny wimp of a man who’d say anything to get into Nash’s pants. If she had pants.”
    “Eeeeyou. I didn’t know that.”
    “You wouldn’t,” Felicia said.
    “Too bad,” Nash said. “I’m into donkeys.” She smiled at Trace again.
    “Come on,” Felicia said to Trace. “I guess you want to look over the scene of the crime and like that.” She pulled him away from National Anthem. “If you find evidence that makes me the killer, you’ll give me time enough to run away first?”
    “For you, Felicia, for enriching my life by introducing me to National Anthem, anything. Tell me. Is this what they mean by decadence?”
    “Hell, no. This is just a quiet afternoon at home with friends. You want decadence, come after the sun goes down.”
    They walked past her two parrots again. One of them squawked, “Polly want a hit. Polly want a hit.”
    They were near the goldfish pool.
    “Early’s body was found here,” Felicia said.
    “I saw the police photos.”
    “I don’t know. The cops think he maybe was dazed or trying to follow the guy that hit him. Then he hit his head on this goddamn statue and ripped it open and then bled to death.”
    “Could the thief escape from out here?” Trace said, looking around the yard.
    “Well, he could go through that gate back there. That puts him out into the grounds. But he’d still have to get through the front gate, or over the wall.”
    Trace nodded and said, “Felicia, would you mind covering your chest? It’s hard for me to concentrate when my mouth keeps watering.”
    He hadn’t realized how hot it was until he walked after Felicia into the air-conditioned coolness of her living room.
    There was a white shirt tossed over the back of the sofa and she put it on. When she turned back to Trace, the shirt was open, unbuttoned, and even though her breasts were covered, she now seemed even sexier.
    “The safe’s in the fireplace,” Trace said.
    “Right. It’s buried under the stone.” She walked to the fireplace and reached under its front edge. “There’s a clip in here,” she said. As she spoke, an irregularly edged rectangle of stone pieces popped away from the rest of the fireplace facing. “It’s spring-loaded,” she said. The section swung back on hidden hinges, exposing the safe. It was a regular wall safe, a foot in diameter, with a combination dial in the center.
    Trace looked at the face of the safe. On either side of the dial was a deep hole and he touched them with his fingers.
    “That must’ve been where the burglar tried to force the safe,” Felicia said.
    Trace nodded. “The safe was unlocked when what’s his name, Spiro, found it?”
    “Actually, the cops found it open. And everything gone.”
    “Who has the combination?”
    “Now, me. Early had it too.”
    “Not Spiro?” Trace asked.
    “A mopper and flopper? No, thank you. He didn’t have it.”
    “And it was a million in jewels?”
    “More than that, actually. It was insured for a million, but it might have been worth a million two or three. Diamonds have been going up again.”
    “From what I hear, they haven’t shown up yet,” Trace