Dames Fight Harder

by M. Ruth Myers

  “She wouldn’t waste time writing to someone unless she thought they could help her,” one of them sniffed.

  It fit the gist of their remarks on the previous occasion.

  Spending a few hours in my own chair reading through mail recharged my batteries. Jenkins ambled in to ask if I wanted to go hear a jazz trio with him and Ione the following night. The photographer gave a curious look at Heebs, so I introduced them without volunteering anything more. Not long after Jenkins left, the phone rang. Heebs told somebody that yes, I was there.

  “Is this that woman detective who came around two or three days ago asking if there’d been any word from Gloria Overbrook?” a woman asked when I said hello. “This is the super’s wife. At the place where she lives.”

  “Yes, I’m the one.” I put down my nail file. “Is Gloria there?”

  “No, but she called.”

  “When?”

  “Just now. My husband wasn’t here, so she had to settle for me. Had Clyde twisted around her little finger, she did. He falls all over himself for any woman that gives him a wide-eyed look.”

  For any woman but her, down on her knees scrubbing the floor and wearing a housedress, I thought. I tried not to be impatient over where this was leading.

  “Believe me, he’s changed his tune on that one, though. She ought to be glad it was me she talked to, or she’d have gotten an earful.”

  “What was she calling about? Did she say?” I nudged.

  “Oh, you bet. No asking, giving orders, same as always. Worse, maybe. She was calling to say we better not have touched anything in her apartment, that she’d had to go out of town on a family emergency and was coming back for it. Said she still had a whole ‘nother month with her rent paid up and she’d expect a refund for what was left when she got here.”

  “Did she say when that would be?”

  “Nope.”

  “Give any hint?”

  “Nope. It sounded to me like she didn’t intend to let much grass grow, though.”

  Several thoughts jostled each other to be first in my mind. An address book Gloria left behind hadn’t listed anybody named Overbrook. Maybe she’d been married before, or what family she had was on her mother’s side of things. At the place where she’d worked, though, under Next of Kin, she’d listed ‘none.’

  “Have you told the police?”

  “Nope. Don’t much like that one in charge, the one that smokes. None of them gave me the time of day.”

  “You need to call them.”

  “Why? They were all worked up because they thought she might have been killed. Well, she wasn’t.”

  “There’s more to it. Gloria may have information that helps with a murder investigation.”

  She sucked in her breath.

  “Well, if she shows up, I guess maybe we better let them know then. Clyde won’t like it, though.”

  “If she does come to get her things, or even just calls again, give me a call right away, will you? There’s two bucks in it for your trouble. Clyde doesn’t have to know.”

  “I’m sure glad I let you know this time, then, and I will.”

  I gave her my number at Mrs. Z’s, and was starting to give her the one at Finn’s when she cut in hastily.

  “Got to go.”

  The abrupt way she hung up made me anxious. Had Gloria turned up at the door? When five minutes had passed, I called her back. The super himself answered. Without letting on that I already knew, I asked if they’d heard from Gloria.

  “She called and told my wife she wants what’s left on her rent. Can you feature that? You saw that spilt milk, and that - that mess on the wall. I tell you, my knees just about gave out when I saw that,” he said morosely.

  What if Foster’s girlfriend had made her phone call from the railway station? The superintendent’s wife had talked like she expected Gloria might turn up in a day or two, but I couldn’t shake the thought it could be in the next hour or so.

  I knew it was probably desperation on my part, but better safe than sorry. I drove to her apartment and parked where I could watch people come and go. Based on the photos I’d seen of her, Gloria wasn’t among them.

  Finally I gave up and headed for Finn’s. By the time I got there, I’d missed Connelly.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Monday morning things fell apart. I’d spent the last two hours making phone calls as part of the background checks on a handful of people applying for jobs at Rike’s. Heebs was at the window looking out.

  “Hey, sis, some guy with a briefcase just hopped out of a taxi and headed in here like his pants were on fire. Maybe you’re going to have a new client.”

  “I don’t have time for a new client, Heebs. He’s probably late for an appointment with the podiatrist.”

  The podiatrist was the only office on the ground floor of my building. He always seemed to have patients coming and going. There was money in sore feet.

  I was lifting the phone to make another call when a fusillade of knocking rattled my door. Joel Minsky followed by entering. One glance at his grim expression told me something was wrong.

  “Rachel was—” He caught sight of Heebs and came to a halt.

  “Heebs, why don’t you walk over to the Arcade and bring me an elephant ear? Get something for yourself too.”

  I gave him some change. He looked from me to Joel and back at me again. The kid was no dummy. He knew I wanted privacy.

  “Sure thing, sis.”

  Joel turned to watch as Heebs closed the door behind him.

  “I didn’t want to miss any calls while I’m out trying to track down things right now. He’s my temporary answering service. In spite of what the black eye and such might lead you to think, he’s okay. What’s happened?”

  The lawyer threw himself into the chair in front of my desk and tipped his head back.

  “I’ve just come from Rachel’s arraignment,” he said without opening his eyes. “I’d hoped to postpone it again, but I couldn’t.”

  “I’ve got gin in my drawer.”

  “I’d better not.” He sat erect. “I’ve got papers to draw up that require a clear head.”

  “Does this mean her name in the paper?”

  “Possibly. That’s the least of my worries.”

  “Did the judge revoke bail?”

  “No.”

  I was trying to figure out what had upset the seemingly unflappable man across from me.

  “He set the date for the preliminary hearing,” Joel said. “I tried to argue for a postponement, told him new evidence had just come to light on Friday. He said he couldn’t wait forever for us to locate a witness, and that in view of the seriousness of the crime he’d already been lenient, which is true.”

  Pivoting to his feet he began to pace, one hand gripping the opposite wrist behind him. Whether the posture signaled returning composure or was merely habit, I couldn’t guess.

  “That means that unless I can mount a persuasive argument by the end of the week that they’ve got the wrong suspect, this will most likely go to trial. I don’t suppose you’ve come up with anything new?”

  “No.”

  “Neither has the man we use, our usual investigator. He’s shown Gloria Overbrook’s photograph at every train depot and bus station here and within a hundred mile radius. Airfields too. He’s come up with nothing.”

  “There is one possible development.” I told him about the phone call Gloria had made to the superintendent’s wife Friday.

  “Get word to my office the minute you hear she’s turned up.”

  I nodded.

  “I’m working on one or two other things that might help too.”

  I didn’t think a tale about kids who folded a candy wrapper like a bow tie would do much to calm him. I wasn’t pinning much hope on that one myself.

  “And I’m going to try and get to Cincinnati to talk to a man who’s forgotten more about the law than I’ll ever know. He might have an idea how to get the hearing delayed at least.” Joel
snatched up his briefcase. “Damn Rachel anyway. I don’t know whether to shake her or defend her to the death.”

  “How about you do both, but in reverse order?”

  That won me a chuckle, if nothing else.

  ***

  When Heebs returned, I broke off a flake or two of the flat, crisp pastry he’d brought me and nibbled without much appetite. Gradually I became aware that Heebs appeared to have even less.

  “Something wrong, Heebs?”

  His shoulder twitched indifference.

  “Just that I ran into Marcie. Well, saw her anyway. I started across to meet her, and she grabbed the arm of a guy she was walking with and laughed like he’d said the funniest thing she’d ever heard, and leaned up against him. Never even held hands with me.”

  What could you say to a kid whose heart had been broken? Probably for the first time, too.

  “Some girls are just like that, Heebs. One of these days I’ll bet she’s sorry she didn’t treat you better.”

  “Yeah, well I’m not going to take her back if she is. Guess I found out what she was like.”

  Cramming a chunk of elephant ear into his mouth, he chewed with gusto. His wounded pride, if not his heart, was mending. If only I could solve my own problem as easily.

  Patience was a virtue in my game, but I’d never had a great supply and I couldn’t afford it now, in light of what Joel had told me. It was time to twist tails and take a gamble or two. The only tail I could think of to twist was Lamont’s. I picked up the phone.

  “Mr. Lamont must have, uh, gone out without letting me know,” his secretary told me a minute after she’d asked my name and invited me to wait just a moment. She wasn’t a very good liar.

  “When could I catch him? I just need a few minutes.”

  “Oh, um, his schedule ... his schedule looks pretty full for the rest of the week.”

  He was ducking me. Putting his secretary on the spot wouldn’t get me anywhere, so I thanked her and hung up. I nibbled another bite of pastry.

  The monthly lunchtime confab of construction company owners was today. Phil Clark had promised to make discreet inquiries there. But I couldn’t discount the possibility Clark himself was the one behind Foster’s murder. No connection had come to light between him and Foster. Clark had dated Rachel, though, including overnight stays, which would have given him opportunity to pilfer the earring that had turned up at the murder scene.

  Except Rachel claimed it had gone missing more recently. And, as she’d pointed out, while Clark’s anger at losing to her on the bid for a project had ended their relationship, it didn’t seem like enough to frame someone for murder.

  Maybe sugar from the elephant’s ear stimulated my brain, because all at once I had an idea. First I drilled Heebs on his part. He was tickled to finally be promoted to what he saw as real detective work. He dialed Lamont’s office with exceptional care.

  “Good morning, miss. The Citizen Protective Committee is checking records of private vehicles registered for use in case of forced evacuation. If you could please give me the license plate number for Mr. Winfred Lamont’s automobile? Good, that matches.”

  I read over his shoulder as he wrote down the number.

  “And that’s a Buick, correct? A Dodge. See, that’s why we’re checking. So many got registered so fast right after Pearl Harbor that here and there the wrong thing got entered. Thank you, miss. We do appreciate it.”

  He sat back, glowing. Taking the receiver from him, I dialed Cecilia, fourteen-carat secretary and conjuror of information.

  “It’s Maggie,” I said. “Do you know the time and location for that construction owners luncheon today?”

  ***

  The little group of locals who owned construction companies was meeting at the same restaurant it had been at six months earlier when Rachel hurled her unwise words at Foster. The Stockyard Inn was on the edge of town and had an ample parking lot. Equipped with make and license number, it was no trick to identify Lamont’s vehicle. Around the time I expected the get-together to start breaking up, I hoisted my fanny onto the hood, crossed my legs and waited.

  A few men drifted out, then some miscellaneous diners, then a few more men, chatting in pairs or groups of three. Here and there I got a curious look. I spotted Clark in conversation with two other men. He noticed me and cocked his head, but didn’t come over. Finally Lamont and another man came out, talking.

  Halfway to his car, Lamont looked up and saw me perched there. In case he didn’t recognize me, I gave a cheery wave. He halted. His companion, noticing, said something. Lamont shook his head and glancing left and right, made a beeline toward me.

  “Get off my car. How dare you!” His face was scarlet.

  “Gee, your secretary told me how busy you were for the rest of the week. I thought coming here would make it easier for you to answer one more pesky question I have.”

  “I’ve got nothing more to say to you. I’ve had more than enough of you and your insinuations. Get down!”

  He took a tentative step toward me, trying to figure out how to remove me from his car. A few heads had turned to watch us now. I smiled.

  “Dear me. We’re attracting an audience. The smartest thing for you to do is answer my one teeny question and get me out of your hair, don’t you think? Otherwise, I might have to repeat it a few times, louder and louder. I think some of those gentlemen you just had lunch with might be as fascinated as I am about the reason for that fifty dollar check you wrote to Gabriel Foster.”

  He spun and saw the curious faces.

  “The ... why ... why shouldn’t I write him a check? It was for a - a fishing trip if you must know.”

  “A fishing trip.”

  “Up in Michigan. For transportation, and food and - and a guide. He put it together.”

  “Just the two of you?”

  “No. No, there were a few others.”

  “Anybody from this group?”

  “No. A - a dentist, I think. I don’t remember. Can I go?”

  It was just far-fetched enough to be true. I remembered the fishing rod and mounted fish on plaques in Lamont’s office. I also recognized two very large holes.

  “Funny he didn’t cash the check, don’t you think? For a trip that pricey?”

  “He didn’t...?” The color drained from his face as if I’d pulled a plug. “He told me he’d lost it, asked me to write him another. I didn’t have my checkbook. I paid him in cash. He must have found it. It - it must have slipped his mind. Surely he never meant to be dishonest.”

  An irritating shred of plausibility clung to his stammered words. After the hours I’d spent calculating the extra money in Foster’s bank account each month since that check, I wasn’t willing to accept it so easily.

  “Foster put together a lot of fishing trips, did he?”

  “I wouldn’t know. Why?”

  I slid off the hood and stood nose-to-nose with him.

  “Because, Mr. Lamont, after that check of yours, the same amount extra showed up in his bank account month-in-month-out. Even in the dead of winter.”

  THIRTY-THREE

  Clark had lingered, talking with another man. The stranger thoughtfully took his leave about the time Lamont tore out of the parking lot. Clark ambled toward me. I met him halfway.

  “You make a very decorative hood ornament. Lamont didn’t seem to enjoy your conversation.”

  I smiled. Lamont had jumped into his car with his eyes bugged out like those of the dead fish on his wall. He hadn’t even given me a chance to ask what Foster had on him.

  “Mr. Lamont is a terribly nervous man,” I said mildly. “How was your trip to Middletown? Did you buy a puppy?”

  “An absolute charmer. She wailed so I could hardly stand it when I closed her in the kitchen so I could come to work.”

  He nodded toward the restaurant. “I’m afraid I didn’t learn anything in there. I didn’t want to be too obvious. The hints I dropped about hearing Foster had some kind of deal on th
e side raised an eyebrow or two, but nobody volunteered anything or seemed especially interested.”

  “Well, thanks anyway.”

  “Stop by and see the puppy sometime,” Clark called after me as I left.

  ***

  After supper I took a second stab at finding Pat Collins, hoping enough days had passed for

  the bus driver to shake whatever unpleasant malady had sidelined him. When I got on the bus, a different man was behind the wheel. Someone also occupied the seat I wanted behind him. Three blocks later, the passenger got off and I slid into place.

  “Are you Pat Collins?”

  He nodded, watching to make sure tokens went in the box as people climbed in.

  “You must be the girl the substitute told me about. Said we had a friend in common?”

  “Acquaintance, anyway. Lulu Sollers.”

  “The policewoman. Sure, I’ve talked to her a few times. Nice lady.”

  The door whooshed shut. He rolled on almost a block.

  “Ah. Them kids,” he said suddenly. “The candy wrappers. This have anything to do with that?”

  “This has everything to do with that. I’m the one that told Lulu about it. I’m a detective. Some kids were out roaming at night when they shouldn’t have been, in a place they shouldn’t have been, and they left some candy wrappers that were kind of distinctive. I’ve known Lulu a long time, so I asked her to ask around.”

  “Huh. Well, isn’t that something, a woman detective. But then Miss Sollers is plenty smart.”

  Like the substitute I’d talked to before, Pat conversed while keeping his eyes on the road, save for occasional glances at me in his rearview mirror.

  “What did you want to know?”

  “First tell me about the candy wrappers. Describe them. Then tell me about the kids.”

  He nodded and slowed as he maneuvered curbside for the next bus stop. Still eagle-eyed over the fare box, he tucked his hands under his arms and turned to talk.

  “They throw the wrappers on the floor. That’s what irritated me, got me noticing them, their dropping trash like it didn’t matter. It’s Whiz bar wrappers, mostly, always two of them. Once or twice there’s been a Clove gum paper, too. Those Whiz wrappers, though, whichever kid drops them folds them up like bow ties first. Now if he can go to the trouble of doing that, why can’t he hold onto them long enough to put in a trash can?”