Mrs. Rosenberg came running from behind and darted in front of Anna, causing her to stop. “Gladys Syldag, what do you think you’re doing?” Her lips were puckered to a point.
“Biscuits! Joe, we’re found out. We can’t let her get back to the Jonquil.”
Joe flashed his brass star. “Mrs. Rosenberg, you’re under arrest.”
The Henry twins had come from Minnesota on a train, virtuous yet friendless, traveling alone to the land of sunshine, fleeing a drunken father who loved the belt and had broken Sue’s arm. He had pulled them out of school five years ago to replace their dead mother’s labor. Anna could only tell them apart because Clementine’s hair was short on one side. Sue had chopped it while her twin was sleeping. Sue was older than Clementine by ten all-important minutes. They were unloved and sixteen.
When Anna gave them a stern look, Sue clammed up, but Clementine sang like a canary. Mrs. Rosenberg had found them at the train station and offered them a place to stay. They quickly found themselves in the arms of bushy mustache man and scrawny mustache man. It had been frightening and painful, but the girls were flattered and were each briefly fifty dollars richer—more money than they had ever seen. Mrs. Rosenberg had then taken all their money, in addition to her cut, to pay room and board for the next two months. Subsequent earnings would be split down the middle. In two months, they’d owe rent again.
Anna thought this deal was rather ingenious on the part of Mrs. Rosenberg. Any girl with scruples would have to choose between the dangerous streets and excellent food. She could lie to herself and tell herself she would stay the two months and not see men, meanwhile looking for a job, but expenses would crop up, and it would be so easy to entertain just one more time—especially if it were the same man every time. It would almost be like taking a lover. Especially if all the other girls were doing it. By the end of two months, the girl would be used to the idea.
Sue and Clementine had only been at the Jonquil Apartments for a week. Anna promised them they could stay in the cow ring and that she would try to get them a refund.
The next morning, Anna and Joe interviewed Mrs. Rosenberg together in the presence of her lawyer, a Mr. W.H. Stevens. His demeanor was serious, as if he were more serious than anyone who had ever lived. Anna felt he did not take her seriously at all, but that was no surprise. His hair was perfectly controlled. He sat there frowning.
Mrs. Rosenberg folded her arms tight across her chest. “Officer, you’re being absurd. I don’t know any Black Pearl. My tenants are not prostitutes. They’re career girls. They work in shops or in theater. Some are nurses. They certainly don’t entertain men in my apartments. They have single beds, for heaven’s sake.”
Joe was all cop. “That’s not what the twins say, and they don’t agree on much. They say you lured them into sin and profited from it. They’re virtuous minors Mrs. Rosenberg—or they were virtuous. Now they’re broken blossoms. You’re using children for immoral purposes. That’s a kidnapping charge right there. Those girls are going to testify against you. Why go down alone? If you help us, the judge will go easier on you. Just give us the Black Pearl.”
The woman remained resolutely silent.
Anna despised pouty Mrs. Rosenberg on the balance, but begrudgingly admired her faithfulness to the Black Pearl. Her puckered lips were sealed.
When they left the room, Joe said, “I think it’s time for a raid—before she posts her bail. I can get a warrant. We go in, look for young girls, look for drugs.”
Anna clapped her hands. “Yes! I’d love to raid.”
“Captain Wells is not going to let you raid. It’s too dangerous.”
“A woman has to go to protect the girls.”
“I’ve already spoken to him. He said no.”
He said “no” was the story of Anna’s life.
CHAPTER 17
While Joe and the other cops were out having fun raiding the Jonquil, Anna raided their lunch pails for food for the refugees. She found sandwiches of all varieties: oranges, cookies, carrots, candy, and cheese. She smuggled her loot to the cow ring in a mail bag and distributed it to the women and children who lodged there, escaping violence or the cold. “Do not tell anyone about this food,” she said. “If someone comes by, hide it. Because otherwise, they might want you to share. Do you understand?”
The women and children nodded.
When Anna returned to her desk, an envelope of shimmering white lay on her desk beneath the bouquet that Georges had given her, which was now starting to wilt. She plucked up the note and held it to her nose, inhaling the scent of lavender. Inside, in fancy black script, Georges had invited Anna and Joe to his home for dinner at 8:00 o’clock that evening. It looked like an invitation from a proper gentleman, not a bastard.
It was almost as exciting as a raid. No, it was more exciting, because raids were fleeting. Brothers were forever.
Anna scribbled an acceptance, then cursed the fact she no longer had servants to deliver her note. She would have to resort to the telephone. She called the hello girl and asked for Georges’s hotel.
Georges was out. She spoke to his man. “Please tell Mr. Devereaux that Detective Singer and Miss Blanc thank him for his kind invitation and are pleased to accept.” Joe didn’t know he would dine with Georges, but surely he’d be happy. He looked so wonderful dressed up—like the Arrow Collar Man.
To Anna’s jealous dismay, Joe had not finished raiding by 5:30 p.m., the time Anna needed to leave to get ready. She scribbled a note to him and left it on his desk.
My Darling. Georges has invited you to his house for dinner tonight at 8:00. I accepted on your behalf. I look forward to seeing you dressed for dinner.
She hesitated before signing. After all, their liaison was a secret. There was a chance that Officer Snow would read the note. He’d done it before. She signed,
Your very best friend,
Helmut Melvin.
Surely the clerk wouldn’t mind.
The Streeter apartments on First Street catered to professional ladies of good reputation and Anna. She paid extra for the privilege. Her small quarters were stuffed with treasure from a previous life—racks of fine clothes filled the bedroom and spilled out into the living room. Hatboxes balanced in towers that reached the ceiling. Her giant oak canopy bed, which could not fit in her bedroom, sat smack in the middle of her living room, along with a baby grand piano, and the rest of her mother’s fine antiques. This made it impossible to walk from one end of the room to the other. Anna had to crawl across the bed to get to the stove, which she still didn’t know how to light.
She bathed in a giant tub in the communal bathroom. Somewhere above, a pipe leaked, staining the ceiling and leaving a little puddle on the plank floor. The situation on the home front was dire. Rats nested in her undermuslins, and she had to throw out two chewed pairs of drawers. Dust was a problem. Anna would need to hire men to move the furniture, so she could beat the Persian rug. She wondered if she might sneak back into her father’s mansion to permanently borrow the vacuum cleaner. The precarious towers of hats were a problem. Twice a week, like clockwork, one toppled. Hat feathers were bent and brims dented. Even now, having to wade through the sea of gowns that overflowed her bedroom made it difficult to find the right nice thing. Looking in the full-length, gilded mirror, which balanced on a writing desk, required Anna to stand on a chair.
She had no maid to help her dress, style her hair, or launder her gowns—a definite inconvenience. After several months of trial and costly error, Anna had become marginally proficient, but it wasn’t easy, and her corset was never quite tight enough.
Anna donned a sumptuous silk gown of purple chiffon and velvet, and only one scant petticoat, so that the fabric skimmed her hips and pooled at her feet. She planned to look good for Joe Singer, who, as of late, saw her in nothing but an ugly matron’s uniform. She coiled and pinned her hair, then topped it with a poufy yak hairpiece for extra height and an ostrich plume clip for even more loft. She climbed ont
o the chair, looked in the mirror, closed her eyes, then opened them quickly, half hoping her father’s mansion on Bunker Hill would materialize behind her. It didn’t.
Still, she was a vision and she knew it.
She had ordered this particular gown last summer from Vionnet of the House of Doucet in Paris. It was still one year ahead of the fashions worn in Los Angeles. Her beaded slippers, too, had crossed the Atlantic, specially made by Francois Pinet. That happened back when her fiancé had paid the bills.
Anna’s long white neck looked naked. Proper aristocrats wore jewels and lots of them. Jewels she lacked—the heirlooms her father had reclaimed from her when he threw her out of the house. Her fingers, too, looked long, white, and bare. She still had one fine ring—Edgar Wright’s engagement ring—but it would be wrong to wear it. She had returned it to him once, and he’d sent it right back in a little brown box in the mail.
Joe did not meet Anna at her apartment to escort her to Georges’s for dinner. Likely, he had never seen the note. Or, he would be late and meet her at Georges’s house. Maybe he couldn’t reach Anna. Maybe he called Georges.
Anna glided into the Hotel Alexandria like the queen of the ball—like she used to be. In the lobby, she passed Mr. Tilly the newspaper reporter. She smiled, a devil-may-care smile. “Jupiter. It’s Mr. Tilly. Don’t you wish you could write something scandalous about me tonight? But there’s nothing shady about this.” She twirled. “I’m merely visiting my brother.” Anna lifted her chin and laughed a song, gliding past him to the elevator.
A group of five young men in lavish attire exited the elevator laughing heartily. They wore scarves and gold cufflinks, and offered her their good evenings, standing aside to let Anna in. The elevator boy levitated her eight stories to the penthouse floor. She gave him a horehound candy with a magnanimous smile.
A strapping manservant answered the door. Georges hovered behind him, waiting to greet Anna. He took her hands, stepped backward, and said, “Anna, you do credit to your brother.” Georges kissed her on each cheek in the French way. She wanted to throw her arms around him and never let go. She wanted to gush and tell him how much it meant to her to have a brother who claimed her, and that she loved him second best in all the world, behind Joe Singer. Maybe the men were equally important, because Georges and Anna shared blood. His countenance reminded her of their father. The thought filled Anna with longing for her father, though the man was a veritable ass.
The manservant bustled about the suite, clearing away used glasses and emptying ashtrays. Anna deduced the young men had come from Georges’s hotel suite. It made her smile. Her brother was popular.
“Come here, Anna. I have something of yours.” Georges strode excitedly into the living room with Anna in tow. He opened his writing desk and handed her a box—a hinged, velvet one with satin lining. She opened it and saw the glint of jewels. Her eyes sparkled.
She knew the piece. It had belonged to her paternal grandmother. Anna had never seen another necklace with so many diamonds.
“I have others, too, in the vault at the bank.”
“Father didn’t want me to have them,” she said.
“Father is not going to wear them. He can’t sell them. They’re heirlooms. I have no wife.”
“You might marry.”
“No, I will never marry.”
“Yes, I see the allure of that. But marriage is a much better deal for men. You have all the power and you don’t have to have the babies.”
He steered Anna by the shoulders up to a gilt mirror cast with the shapes of ribbons and flowers. “Your neck looks bare.” He took the box from her and extracted the necklace, fastening it around her neck. “Ah, that’s better.”
It was better. It lay against her creamy skin like a garland made of starlight.
“I’m not giving it to you. It’s already yours, your birthright.”
“It really should be mine . . . But I can’t keep it in my apartment. It isn’t safe. The rats will eat it.”
“Oh Mon Dieu. Rats?”
“Or my landlord might steal it. I’ve heard him try my door handle when he thought I wasn’t home. Joe installed a bolt.”
“Move in here. There’s a spare bedroom in the suite.”
“But, we’re practically strangers.”
“Not strangers. Blood relatives. It would be a chance for you to get to know your brother. Soon, you’ll get married and move in with that cop. You’d be much more comfortable here than in your rat trap. You’d have servants, your own bath, and could eat at the hotel.” He frowned. “But perhaps you like your apartment?”
Anna may not like her apartment, but she did cherish her independence. If she lived here, under her brother’s watchful eye, she couldn’t make love to Joe. The servants especially tempted Anna, but the answer would have to be no.
Georges went on. “I wouldn’t interfere. You could do as you please . . . Work at the police station, or not. I have a feeling you’ll want to. And I support that. But know this, you never have to work again.”
“Thank you, Georges. I’ll think about it.”
“So, did the rats eat your other jewelry?” He chuckled.
“Father kept my jewelry. I was only able to keep two pieces, and Detective Wolf put them on consignment for me. They haven’t sold yet.”
“Then, I’ll get them back.”
“All right.”
“I wondered how you lived off that salary. What do they pay you? Ten dollars a week?”
“No Georges, I make seventy-five dollars a month. The same as a patrolman.”
Georges’s face lit with pride. “You don’t say?”
“But my rent is high, and I owe my dressmaker and a gun shop. Also, there are two children I support in the country.” She didn’t mention that she was responsible for their mother Eve’s death.
“You support children? They aren’t your children, are they?”
“Of course not. It’s just, I knew their dead mother. I don’t like to talk about it.”
“How very noble of you, Anna.”
“Yes, I know. Don’t tell Joe, because he would insist on supporting them himself and he can’t afford it either. He thinks they are with relatives in Denver. The point is, my expenses are very high for a matron. Thus, I have a plan to supplement my income playing bridge. It’s not actually gambling because I always win. My friend Clara is trying to get me invited to parties again. There are some loaded people who don’t know me or my prowess with cards, though they mostly live in Pasadena.”
“That’s an interesting idea.” Georges’s face fell. “I regret I can’t help you socially, because I’m a bastard.”
“You’re a highly respected bastard.”
“They won’t let me join the California Club.”
“They’re fools.”
“I can’t complain. I have many wonderful friends and business associates. Why don’t you teach me how to play bridge? I’ve always wanted to learn. We can host our own party.”
“It would be my pleasure.”
Georges felt like home, like a brother, even if he was first crop and she was second crop, even if he was a bastard. She felt his affection without condition, and she didn’t have to pledge obedience and surrender all her earthly goods, etcetera, like women had to do when they married. It was a wondrous thing. It made her realize how much she missed being part of a family.
He led her into the dining room where a table had been set with three place settings.
“Did Joe call? I couldn’t find him, but I left a note.”
“He did call. He won’t be joining us.”
“Oh.” Anna said, her shoulders sinking. “I so wanted us all to be together. You will love him once you get to know him. I know he was rude, but he’s wonderful, really. Did I tell you he sings and plays ragtime piano? He’s hep to all the new music.”
“I look forward to hearing him.”
“There must be a piano at this hotel. He could play for us.”
“Wonderful.”
“We are solving a murder together—someone killed in Griffith Park. I’ve put up pictures of the victim in the post office, but I’ve only got one lead, and I’m waiting to hear from the police in Oklahoma City.”
“Sister, you astound me.”
Anna beamed. “Yes, I know.”
The manservant appeared at the door to the parlor and announced, “Your father is here, sir.”
Anna’s face drained of color. She forgot about Joe and the murder and, for a moment, she couldn’t move her tongue. “Father is here? Father . . .” Her fists tightened, and she socked the sides of her gown. “Georges, how could you?”
“Don’t you think it’s time he came to his senses?”
“Yes, but he’s been senseless for so long. What if he can’t? What if he won’t forgive me?”
“Forgive you? For what? It’s he that needs forgiveness.”
“That’s true, but I doubt he sees it that way.”
“I’m sorry Anna, I thought you’d come around to the idea. I can send him away if you wish. After all, he’s in the wrong.”
“No . . . I don’t know.” Anna bit her thumbnail through her long glove, then remembering herself, dropped her hand.
“I think a grouchy, middle-aged man is no match for my brave sister.”
Anna nodded.
Georges motioned to the manservant. “Show him in please, Thomas. Just be ready to show him out again if his company irks Miss Anna.” Georges looked her somberly in the face. “We won’t let him bully you.”
Anna nodded again more vigorously and braced herself for her father’s scathing eye. At least she had dressed like a queen, though inside she felt like the little match girl. Georges smiled his encouragement.
Christopher Blanc strolled into the dining room with criticism on his lips. “Georges, what do you mean by making me wait to be announced . . .”
When he saw Anna, graceful in all her beauty, he stopped talking. She stood tall, and tried to look disinterested, but the trembling of her lower lip gave her away. Christopher’s jaw tightened.
The Body in Griffith Park Page 12
