Death Checks In

by David S. Pederson

  She smiled back, utterly charming. “I’m not the church-going type. Sundays and Mondays are our days off, but I had an idea to change a couple of my numbers, and Manny here was nice enough to come in and help me out before I run the changes by Mr. Storm. This is Maynard Henning, the band pianist.”

  I nodded at the little man in brown trousers and rolled-up shirt sleeves. He held the stub of a cigar between his thick, ruddy lips.

  “How do you do, Mr. Henning,” Alan said. “I’m sorry, I saw your name on the banner last night and I thought it said Mr. Heming. I guess from where I sat the two ‘N’s looked like an ‘M.’”

  Mr. Henning laughed. “It’s okay, mister, I’ve been called worse.” The cigar stub never left his mouth.

  “Guess I should get my eyesight checked,” Alan said.

  Mr. Henning glanced up at the banner across the top of the stage.” “It’s bad script, I can see where it would look like Heming.”

  Alan grinned. “Thanks, I appreciate that. You play very well, by the way.”

  “Practice, practice, practice. But the singer gets all the glory,” he said, the cigar stub bobbing up and down.

  Miss Eye laughed.

  “You’re a customer of Mr. Blount’s, I understand,” I said to Mr. Henning.

  “I was. He got a bit too expensive for me, so I quit going to him a couple weeks ago.”

  “I see. Mr. Blount appeared to be rather expensive for a lot of his clients.”

  “Uh, yeah, so I understand. I heard he got popped last night in the back room of his shop.”

  “Yes, he was shot in cold blood.”

  “Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.” He was chewing the cigar stub now, and bits of tobacco flew out as he spoke.

  “That seems to be the general consensus.”

  “Give us a few, okay, Manny?” Miss Eye said.

  “Sure thing, Gloria. I could use a break anyway.” Manny got up from the piano bench, glanced in our direction, and then strode backstage, dropping the cigar stub in a bin as he left.

  “So, what can I do for you two gentlemen? An autograph?”

  I smiled. “I’d like that, actually. Or rather, my mother would.”

  “Oh? Is she a fan?”

  “I doubt she’s heard of you, but you might make it big. And if I tell her I met you personally, Gloria Eye, the Eye of the Storm, she’ll be impressed. I may even buy one of your records for her.”

  Gloria smiled. “I’d be delighted. What’s your mother’s name?”

  “Ramona. Ramona Barrington.”

  I watched her as she picked up a program left over from last night and signed the back of it.

  “To Ramona Barrington, with love from Gloria Eye. That okay?”

  “That’s swell, Miss Eye, thank you.”

  “You’ll have to come get it, Mr. Barrington.”

  “Uh, sure, sure.” I climbed up the side stairs onto the stage, looking back down at Alan, who stood there with his hat in his hand.

  “Here you go.” She handed me the program, and I put it in my inside jacket pocket.

  “Where is Mr. Gillingham?” I asked, removing my hat as well.

  “Backstage. As I said, I wanted to run through some ideas for a new number with Manny, and Walter decided to tag along. He doesn’t like sitting home alone.”

  “I can understand that. I live alone,” I said.

  “Pity.”

  “I make do. Alan and I enjoyed your performance last night very much.”

  “How kind of you to say.”

  “Your voice is melodious, soothing, rhythmic. I really think you could go places.”

  “That’s my intention, Mr. Barrington. I hope others agree with you.”

  “I know I do,” Alan said.

  She looked down at him. “Would you like an autograph, too, Mr. Keyes?”

  Alan beamed. “Gee, that would be swell.”

  “All right, handsome, come get it. I think I have another program here. For your mother?”

  “No, ma’am, my mother’s dead,” he said as he climbed onto the stage with us.

  “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right. You didn’t know. If you could just make it to Alan Keyes, that would be great.”

  She signed another program and handed it to him. “I’m glad you liked the show last night. We’re not on again until Tuesday.”

  “Gee, we’ll be gone back to Milwaukee by then.”

  “Well, you never know. We might play Milwaukee some time. I’m from Shiocton, Wisconsin, originally. Anyway, I’m glad you came last night. I’m sorry we got a late start.”

  “Yes, I noticed you and Mr. Gillingham were rather late getting onstage last night,” I said.

  She smiled and then laughed. “Entertainers are notoriously late, Mr. Barrington. You don’t get out much, do you?”

  “I get out enough. The bandleader seemed rather annoyed.”

  “Mr. Storm? He gets annoyed easily. Walter and I had an argument, that’s all. He felt my dress was too low cut.”

  “The one you had Mr. Blount steam and press for you yesterday afternoon.”

  “That’s right. Walter felt it was too revealing. He can be overprotective sometimes. You know how men are, no offense. Anyway, I got angry and went out.”

  “Out?”

  “That’s right. I took the service elevator downstairs and went out the back door to the alley by the loading dock.”

  “Curious.”

  “Not really. I wanted to be alone. I didn’t want to be disturbed. Unlike Walter, I don’t mind being alone. I’ve been alone most of my life, at least until I met him. Anyway, I had a cigarette or two, then I came back upstairs.”

  “And what time was that?”

  “I’m not sure. It was about eight fifteen when I got back upstairs, so I suppose I got down there around eight. Why?”

  “Just wondering. And you didn’t see anyone else in the alley?”

  She laughed. “At that time of night? No, I didn’t. I stayed up on the landing, though, near the door. You never know who you might meet in a dark alley, and it’s almost always going to be someone you don’t want to.”

  “Makes sense. What about Mr. Gillingham?”

  “What about him?”

  “What did he do? He was late getting to the bandstand, too.”

  “He did the stairs.”

  “I beg your pardon?” I said.

  “He does the stairs when he’s upset or angry, to help him blow off steam. He goes down several flights of stairs, then runs back up, then goes down again until he’s cooled down.”

  “Interesting.” I glanced about the stage, taking it all in from this perspective.

  “Never been onstage before?” Miss Eye asked.

  “Not since fourth grade when we did a play about the pilgrims. I was a turkey.”

  She laughed, and I thought I heard Alan chuckle. “It’s not so different on this side as it is down there.”

  “I beg to differ, Miss Eye. Up here you’re all alone in the spotlight, aren’t you? And everyone’s judging you. Down there, we’re the anonymous ones in the dark doing the judging.”

  “Well, that’s certainly an interesting way of putting it, Mr. Barrington.”

  “Heath’s an interesting fellow, Miss Eye. We’ve never talked to a singer before, at least I haven’t,” Alan said.

  “You talked to me yesterday, in the coffee shop, Mr. Keyes,” she said softly, a smile on her lips.

  “Yes, I know. But now you’re here onstage, and I know you as a performer. It’s different somehow.”

  “A bit starstruck, Mr. Keyes? You don’t seem the type.”

  Alan smiled back at her. “Maybe I am, a little. You really are quite lovely, and after hearing you sing last night, well, perhaps I’m seeing you differently.”

  “Perhaps you’re seeing me differently, but I’m not different, not really.”

  “Gee, you’re not like anyone I know, Miss Eye. I know plenty of wives, mothers,
teachers, secretaries, clerks, nurses, all kinds of women, but no one who looks or sings like you do,” Alan said, his cheeks rosy.

  She smiled. “Those wives, mothers, teachers, secretaries, nurses, and clerks you know? Actresses and singers are just like them. We’re all women, no different, no better, no worse. Some people put actresses and singers on pedestals, others put us in the gutter.”

  “I suppose that’s true, Miss Eye,” I said.

  “It is true, Mr. Barrington. Aren’t we all alike in our most basic form? Don’t we all have the same wants, needs, and desires?”

  “Of course.”

  “Men, women, rich, poor, laborer, or housewife, all of us.”

  “Very true, Miss Eye. You’re pretty smart,” Alan said.

  She laughed again. “You sound surprised. Because I’m pretty and can sing I’m not supposed to be smart?”

  “That sounds pretty stupid, I suppose.”

  “It certainly does. No offense.”

  “None taken, ma’am.”

  “How did you hear about Mr. Blount?” I said. “About his death, I mean.”

  She turned her attention to me. “One of the maids told me. Manny heard it from the janitor. Yes, it’s pretty dreadful. He was a nasty little man, but still…”

  “It was pretty obvious you and Mr. Gillingham didn’t care for him.”

  “I made no attempt to hide it. Why should I?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  She fiddled with her ponytail, taking out the yellow ribbon and shaking her hair, letting it fall upon her shoulders before speaking again. “Rumor says it was a robbery. Someone from the alley. Like I said before, you never know who you’re going to meet in a dark alley, and it’s almost always someone you don’t want to.”

  “Indeed, Miss Eye, indeed. Speaking of rumors, I heard Mr. Gillingham was in Blount’s shop yesterday afternoon, having a rather heated argument with him.”

  She bristled, wrapping the yellow ribbon between her fingers. “Rumors. Yes, Walter was there. I told him not to go, that we would talk to him together, but he is rather headstrong at times. He told me he and Mr. Blount exchanged words.”

  “What about?”

  “Nothing that concerns you, Mr. Barrington. Walter and I weren’t happy with Blount’s terms of sale any longer, that’s all. Like Manny, we were tired of his high prices.”

  “I see. Well, we shan’t keep you from your rehearsal any longer,” I said.

  “A pleasure, gentlemen. What time is it, anyway?”

  I took out my pocket watch. “A couple minutes after four.”

  “Right. No rest for the wicked, they say.”

  “Are you wicked, Miss Eye?”

  She gave me a sly grin. “Aren’t we all?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “Perhaps so. By the way, I asked Mr. Bennett and Mrs. Verte to join us here shortly, along with Mrs. Gittings. I hope you don’t mind.”

  She cocked her head. “Do I know them? More fans?”

  “Mr. Bennett is the junior assistant manager here at the hotel, Mrs. Verte is a guest in from New York, and Mrs. Gittings lives nearby.”

  “How interesting. Are we having a party? I’m sorry, but I do have to rehearse more.”

  “I don’t think it will take long. I wonder if we could sit at a table, though. Would you mind asking Mr. Gillingham to join us?”

  “I’m afraid I would, Mr. Barrington. As I said, I have work to do. As much as I enjoy socializing, I have to earn a living. To do that, I need to rehearse.”

  “Of course, but this is about Mr. Blount’s murder. As a police detective, I really must insist. Oh and by the way, a Chicago police detective by the name of Wilchinski will be joining us as well.”

  “All right, I’ll give you fifteen minutes. I’ll go get Walter and tell Manny to relax.” She walked backstage as Alan and I went back down the steps and started turning chairs back down around an eight top after setting our hats on top of a nearby table.

  “Gee, Heath, she admitted being down in the alley right about the time of the murder,” Alan said quietly.

  “Yes, she did.”

  “So, you think she did it?”

  “Possibly. Or maybe she was covering for Walter. If he did do it, she gave him an alibi by saying she was on the landing in the alley and saw no one.”

  “True.”

  “And that bit about doing the stairs makes for a perfect alibi since no one would have seen him, and it explains why he was rather disheveled and out of breath when he finally reached the ballroom.”

  “I was thinking that same thing. So now what?”

  “I honestly don’t know. My head is swimming, but if things don’t start coming together fast, I am going to have to deal with one angry detective.”

  “So, who do you think did it?”

  “I have an idea, but I’m still not sure. I can’t place the pieces in the right spots. I’m hoping once I have everyone together, things will start to click. What’s your opinion?”

  Alan turned the last chair down and leaned against the back of it. “Like you said, all four of them had motive and opportunity. It’s possible, I suppose, that they all did it together.”

  “That’s becoming your standby theory.”

  “I know, but I don’t really believe it this time. I mean, Mr. Bennett and Mrs. Verte didn’t even know Miss Eye and Mr. Gillingham, and none of them knew Mrs. Gittings.”

  “So we were led to believe.”

  Alan looked surprised. “You mean you think they did know each other before?”

  I grinned. “No, sorry. Just pulling your leg. But also a caution to not ever assume anything.”

  “Right. Good point.”

  “So, if you don’t believe they all did it, what is your theory?”

  “I just can’t believe it was Mrs. Gittings,” he said. “I’m sorry, but I just can’t.”

  “Okay, so then who?”

  “My money’s still on Miss Eye and Mr. Gillingham, much as I hate to think that. I mean, she’s so pretty and talented and nice and all.”

  “None of that means she couldn’t be a murderer.”

  “I know, I know. That’s why I’m saying I think if any of the four did it, it was them. They had a motive and opportunity, especially working together, with her unlocking the door and him slipping inside from the alley. And they were both late getting onstage.”

  I nodded. “Very well thought out, Alan. I’m impressed.”

  He scratched his chin and looked at me with his big puppy-dog eyes. “Say, maybe it was that piano player, Maynard Henning and Mr. Gillingham. Maybe Gloria is innocent.”

  I smiled. “You really are kind of starstruck by her, aren’t you?”

  “Maybe a little,” he said, blushing. “She’s the closest I’ve ever gotten to a big star. I hope she didn’t think I was being foolish. I just stood there staring at her.”

  “With a blank, stunned look on your face, just like Blount had the other night when we were talking with Mrs. Verte and Mr. Bennett. I couldn’t tell what you were thinking.”

  “I don’t think my face looked as bad as his. He looked shocked, almost.”

  “He did. You just looked starstruck. But don’t worry about it. I’m sure she didn’t give it another thought.”

  “I hope not.”

  “And if she did, well, c’est la vie.”

  “You and your French. What does that mean?”

  “Such is life, more or less.”

  “That’s a pretty good saying, I guess.”

  “Yes, it comes in handy for a lot of things. If you like, I could certainly teach you the French I know, though I am pretty rusty. We could maybe take a class together sometime, if you want.”

  “Sure, or oui,” Alan said. “How’s that?”

  I laughed. “Good start. Oui, non, une, deux, trois, rouge, blanc…hmm.”

  “What? Your head still swimming?”

  “Drowning, but I think you just tossed me a life preserver,” I said.


  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, Mr. Henning, the pianist, blank, stunned looks, Wilchinski, and French. The pieces, I think, just fit, and just in time.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  It was 4:17 p.m.

  Finally, with the late arrival of Wilchinski, we were all present in the ballroom, with the exception of Mrs. Gittings.

  “Thank you for joining us, Mr. Bennett and Mrs. Verte. You know Miss Eye and Mr. Gillingham?”

  “Only professionally. We’ve never met,” Mr. Bennett said.

  “My apologies, then. Mr. Bennett, Mrs. Verte, I’d like you to meet Miss Gloria Eye and Mr. Walter Gillingham.”

  “How do you do?” Mr. Bennett and Mrs. Verte said, almost at once.

  “Very well, thank you,” Miss Eye responded. Walter only nodded.

  “And this is Detective Wilchinski of the Chicago police.” He stood next to me, his big arms folded across his chest, a scowl on his face. Wilchinski tipped his hat but didn’t remove it.

  “So what’s this all about, Mr. Barrington?” Miss Eye asked.

  “Exactly what I’d like to know,” Wilchinski growled.

  “I wanted to speak with the four of you and Mrs. Gittings about Mr. Blount’s murder. Detective Wilchinski is the investigator on the case.”

  “Then why isn’t he doing the talking? How are you involved?” Mrs. Verte asked.

  “I found the body, and in talking with each of you earlier, I think I may have uncovered some interesting information. Clues, if you will.”

  Miss Eye was still fiddling with her hair ribbon, twisting it about her fingers. “His death was shocking, certainly. But why talk to us? It’s my understanding it was a robbery, as I mentioned before.”

  “It was a robbery,” Wilchinski said flatly. “But Barrington here likes to play cop and waste people’s time.”

  I shot him a look. “Robbery is one theory, Detective. I have others. I was hoping to get everyone’s cooperation in helping me clear a few things up. Why don’t we all be seated?” I motioned to the chairs and table.

  “Fine by me,” Walter Gillingham said, adjusting his eye patch and taking a chair.

  Miss Eye sat next to him, and eventually everyone was seated. To my left sat Wilchinski, and next to him was Mrs. Verte, followed by Mr. Bennett, then Walter Gillingham, Miss Eye, and Alan, leaving one chair empty to my right for Mrs. Gittings.