A grave nod from Troncosa indicated that this was so.
“Then Lillian wore a piece that matched it—almost. A piece that was clearly a forgery, one she’d received as a gift. At that point, the answer was obvious.”
“Not to me,” Diana said.
“Ruby’s necklace is real because you gave it to her, Señor Troncosa. You handed it to her yourself, before Mr. Beckett discovered her ruse and took possession of your other gifts to her. While these two necklaces were delivered by someone else.”
Esteban met Edith’s eyes. “By me. Are you making an accusation?”
“Again, Señor Riordan, I am only stating facts. The stones in these two necklaces are counterfeit. The counterfeits were delivered by you. You cannot deny either statement.”
“No, but from them it can be inferred that I am somehow responsible. That I am a thief. And that, I deny.” He turned to Troncosa. “It is as you said. They are placing blame on the foreigner. Why would I take advantage of you, Armand? How long have we known each other?”
“Some time.” The note of suspicion in Troncosa’s voice sounded like a door closing.
Esteban next threw himself on my mercy. “Lillian. Surely you can’t believe I had any part in deceiving you?”
I had no answer for him. Fortunately, Gene intervened. He had returned the necklace to the metal box. Now he spoke with unmistakable authority while Edith stepped away from the table, the transfer of power choreographed. “How many of these … trinkets would you authorize Esteban to give away, Mr. Troncosa?”
“I couldn’t begin to guess.”
“Which means it’s a few. Each worth several hundred dollars, as Miss Head has pointed out. Be a nice way to feather your nest, Mr. Riordan, selling the real stones, switching in phonies, no one the wiser. Not the girls, not your employer.”
“Everyone happy,” I said, not a little wistfully.
“Then Mr. Troncosa falls for a princess. You must have been relieved when Natalie turned down his proposal. Then he asked again, and you understood this was different. This was love. Natalie wanted time to consider. You didn’t know she was in trouble and desperately searching for a way out. You thought she was taking the proposal seriously. If she said yes, there’d be no more trinkets to give to lovely women. There went all that money. Maybe your job, too. You started to think your gravy train was making its final stop.”
Esteban shook his head. Looked to Troncosa beseechingly.
“You did what you felt you had to do,” Edith said softly. “You killed a false princess to protect real jewels.”
“Only Beckett saw you do it, because he was following Natalie. Beckett saw what you did and held it over you.” Gene’s voice was as flat as the Great Plains and every bit as barren of sanctuary. “He told you where to leave the body so she’d be identified as Ruby, not Natalie. He told you how to play it when first Lillian and then I showed up at Troncosa’s house. He made it look like Natalie was still alive. All the while blackmailing everyone he could. Minot. Miss Galway. You.”
“I tell you, I do not know any Beckett!”
“When Troncosa came back to Los Angeles and there was no sign of Natalie, you were to encourage him to return to Argentina. Unfortunately for you, Miss Frost was there to make the connection between Ruby and Natalie. At that point, you improvised. You arranged for someone to shoot at Troncosa. Not to hit him, but to miss. A tricky piece of business, except you and several colleagues are in training for the Olympic pentathlon. One of the events in that sport is target shooting. We’re already talking to your friends at the Vista Del Mar Athletic Club. Beckett figured out you were behind the shooting at Tremayne’s. He ambushed you at Rice’s party. And you took your chance to get out from under his thumb.”
“This is lunacy. You can’t prove any of this!”
Edith spoke up. “Unless the other necklaces you distributed on Señor Troncosa’s behalf are also counterfeit.”
The prospect brought Esteban up short. Again he lobbied Troncosa. “Armand. You must believe me.”
Troncosa folded his arms across his chest. “I find I don’t know what to believe.”
Esteban snorted, a lifetime of contempt in the sound. “Of course. What should I expect from a man who does not know true quality? Who cannot recognize the stones from his own family’s mines? Who mistakes for a princess that confidence woman? That cheap, tawdry … whore?”
At that perfectly timed last word, Troncosa sprang at him. Esteban propelled himself away from the table. Hansen grabbed Troncosa’s arms and forced him back into his seat. Diana instinctively darted to Laurence, who held her close. I had my own problem to deal with. Namely the barrel of Esteban’s .22, jabbed into my side. He’d played Troncosa flawlessly, goading him to cover pulling the gun from his jacket.
Esteban gripped my arm, his fingers digging to the bone. “Miss Frost has graciously agreed to accompany me. If you would excuse us?”
He began walking backward, jerking me roughly toward the door. Gene and Hansen fanned out on either side of us, their hands empty but their jackets wide.
“You won’t get off the lot,” Gene said. “There are officers at every door.”
“Like the ones who brought in the necklace? I am willing to take my chances.” He took another step.
“Careful of that cable,” Edith said.
Esteban glanced down. I lifted the heel of my clearance rack pumps and delivered all of my weight to his instep. He roared and pushed me away. Unfortunately I slammed into Gene. Hansen shifted toward us for an instant, allowing Esteban to regain his footing and stagger toward the door.
A thunderous clatter arose behind me. The sound of one of the tables overturning. Tommy Carpa, his face a mask of grief, had flipped it over when he leaped out of his seat. Bellowing, he charged at Esteban, hands still shackled, a human missile.
Esteban fired a single panicked shot. Tommy never wavered, still rushing forward.
He plowed into Esteban, the two of them going down in a roiling tangle of legs. Tommy snarled as he butted his head against Esteban’s chest and arms. Gene and Hansen sprinted over to separate them, Esteban looking almost relieved as Gene hauled him to his feet. Hansen, meanwhile, dragged Tommy onto his backside. Too Much Tommy’s unruly hair framed eyes that had gone completely blank.
“You killed her,” he said. “You killed the only woman I ever loved and didn’t even know it was her.”
Every soundstage door banged open, blue uniforms bulling their way in, overflowing the Hangout. Gene held Esteban toward them like laundry he wanted carted away.
“They’re real,” he said. “Want to check their hats?”
I lost sight of them as Edith fussed over me for a moment, making sure I hadn’t been hurt.
“I didn’t even damage my shoe,” I said. “They make sturdy heels at the May Company.”
The tide of blue washed out of the soundstage, bearing Esteban, Tommy, and Hansen away. Gene, after checking on me, asked a shaken Troncosa to come with him. He agreed, pausing to give an unsteady wave at the stage door. Diana was weeping next to it, Laurence holding her close and cooing in her ear.
Barney Groff had walked over to the bandstand. He crouched by the bass drum and probed a hole in its head. Edith and I guardedly joined him.
“Yon gunman’s shot went wide. Bullet pierced this drum. Studio property damaged on your watch, Miss Head.”
“I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Groff.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it. That’s why we have skilled craftsmen on the payroll, to attend to this sort of thing.” He stood up and dusted off his hands. He gave Edith a nod and then, to my disbelief, turned to me. “Miss Frost,” he said. That was all I was going to get. He strolled toward Diana and Laurence.
Addison bounced over to us, ecstatic. “What a show! Better than the last few Philo Vance pictures combined! I insist we go out to celebrate. My treat.”
“A gracious offer, Mr. Rice, but I’m afraid I must decline. Too much to accomplish to
day. Perhaps you’ll invite me to your next party. And Lillian, aren’t you off to Bullock’s to see about a job?” Edith peered over her spectacles at me then, with another of her standard compressed smiles, marched away. I watched her small black-clad frame hurry through the outer door.
“What a professional. Who could work after such excitement?” Addison grinned at me like a naughty schoolboy. “What do you say, Lillian? Would you like a ride to Bullock’s or can I persuade you to play hooky?”
I thought it over for all of two seconds, then slipped my arm in his. “No persuasion necessary. I’ve got an idea. Let’s go to the movies.”
35
HOLLYWOOD’S BRIGHTEST STARS surrounded us when Edith and I lunched a week later. They weren’t in the Paramount commissary, alas; they gazed out from the movie posters gracing the walls.
We’d said our hellos when Preston Sturges stopped by our table. The rakish writer was wearing a cocoa-brown suit with a pale green tie and matching pocket square so abundant Edith could have wrapped it around Dorothy Lamour.
“Did you ladies peruse Lorna Whitcomb’s column this morning?” he asked. Before either of us could answer he’d pulled up a chair, smoothed his mustache and signaled a waitress in one seamless movement.
“I won’t read one word that woman writes.” Next to the natty Sturges, Edith looked like a convent runaway in one of her deceptively plain dresses. This one was midnight blue with intricate black embroidery at the collar and cuffs, a reward for close attention.
“I’ve been getting my news from the radio,” I said. “It’s cheaper.”
“Lorna relayed the latest glad tidings for Laurence Minot and Diana Galway. New Lodestar contracts for both, a lovers’ getaway in the cards.”
“That’s crazy. They were making nice last time I saw them, but I was convinced Diana was going to drop Laurence from a height. I wanted to watch.”
Sturges paused to appreciate the waitress standing before us, from the freckles on her button nose to the name etched on the tag at her pert bosom. “Dearest Eve. We must have coffee, gallons of it, post haste.”
Edith and I ordered lunch, then Sturges held forth. “Hollywood marriages, Lillian, aren’t about love. They’re more like mutual-aid societies. Diana’s smart enough to see she needs Minot. For now, anyway. While Laurence has to prove he can be well behaved. Lorna says they’re embarking on a cruise. Pity the hands setting sail on that vessel.” He hoisted his java in their honor, as did we all.
Sturges then fixed his gaze on me. “Now. I demand to know everything about this nefarious business. I won’t tell a soul other than anyone in my general vicinity when I’m clutching a highball glass.”
His word was good enough for me. Esteban’s arrest for Ruby’s murder—not Natalie’s—had been duly reported in the newspapers, any details that might embarrass Hollywood’s hierarchy artfully suppressed by Barney Groff and his ilk. But whispers could never be silenced. The curious case of Princess Natalya had entered the ranks of show business open secrets.
“It turns out Esteban had been padding Armand Troncosa’s books for years. Not just the jewels, but every household expense he could think of. He was robbing Armand blind.”
“The perfect payment for blind trust,” Edith said. “Mr. Troncosa has the curse of thinking everyone likes him.”
“No wonder he felt at home here,” Sturges said. “And you figured all this out by getting an eyeful of some emeralds?”
Edith fussed with her just-arrived plate. “This story is entirely too sad. A man murders a woman who didn’t exist, but poor Ruby dies.”
“What it needs is a happy ending. The story, I mean.” As he spoke, Sturges’s eyes focused on a point behind my head. I doubted it was the poster for The Squaw Man entrancing him. “Romance triumphs, our girl falls into a fortune, the whole kit and caboodle. There’s a comedy in there somewhere. Beautiful con woman, a rich man who sees through the eyes of love, which makes him blind to … hmm.” He stood up and remembered his manners. “Enjoy your lunch, ladies. Must dash.” Sturges walked away, patting his mustache and muttering to himself.
“We won’t be seeing him for a while,” Edith said.
“Unless we go to his restaurant. If it’s still open.”
As we ate, Edith described her Thanksgiving—naturally, she’d worked through the holiday—and Travis Banton’s fortunes. Before she could object I ordered two slices of apple pie for dessert. “It’s on me. I’m celebrating.”
I received one of the designer’s skeptical looks. She had fifty-seven varieties of them, this one friendlier than most. “What’s the occasion?”
“I’m starting a new job tomorrow.”
“Wonderful! Child wrangler at Bullock’s?”
“No. Addison Rice’s social secretary.”
“That’s marvelous!” She broke off a tiny morsel of pie with her fork. “How did it happen?”
“After the excitement here I couldn’t bear to go to Bullock’s. Instead Addison and I saw a double feature at the Rialto then went out for a prime rib dinner. I told him about getting fired and he got this gleam in his eye. Mrs. Somers had been pushing him to hire her replacement so she could train the new girl before her baby came. He offered me the job, pending Mrs. Somers’s seal of approval.”
“I assume the position will entail more than watching movies.”
“And how. I met with Mrs. Somers yesterday and she walked me through the duties. Correspondence, organizing the parties, keeping Addison out of trouble. She asked me approximately one million questions. Addison said I passed the interview with flying colors.”
“I’m not surprised. I recognized your resourcefulness the day we met.”
“I’d better be resourceful for what he’s paying me. It’s more than I’d have gotten with two promotions at Tremayne’s.”
“You asked for a clothing allowance, of course.”
I lowered my coffee cup. “Should I have?”
“Naturally. There will be numerous occasions you’ll have to dress for. That navy suit of yours will only go so far.”
I brushed a chunk of pie crust off Old Reliable. Then another. “I love this suit.”
“As you should. It’s quite flattering. And may I say you’ve accessorized it beautifully.”
My fingers strayed to the brooch on my lapel. Two intertwined gold circles set with garnets. It was high time my mother’s legacy got some California sunshine.
“You need a host of such suits in neutral colors. Light gray, tan.” Edith looked me over, and for an instant I felt more like a project than a person. “We’ll work within your new salary. If you can secure a clothing allowance in the meantime, so much the better.”
On the walk back to the Wardrobe building we passed the College Swing soundstage. The joyful noise of the band rehearsing the title tune barreled through the open doors. Not that I could enjoy it with Edith listing the bounty of clothes I’d need to serve as Addison’s secretary.
“Gowns for parties, dresses for afternoon teas, lighter clothes for trips to his desert home. People never know how to dress for the heat. You’re lucky that I do. Perhaps a riding habit. A man of his status must keep horses.”
My head was spinning, so I was relieved to see Bill Ihnen bounding toward us from the soundstage, jacket open and tie askew. “Heard the music and stopped for a listen. The lyrics are Greek to me.” He gave Edith a peck on the cheek, then me. “Good thing I ran into you, Edo. If my date’s going to be in pale blue satin, do I wear—”
“No offense, buster, but wait your turn.”
Edith reared back in mock surprise. “You expect Bill to hold off until we’ve dealt with your work wardrobe? He doesn’t have that kind of time.”
“I need your advice on what to wear on a date, too. And I’m more in the dark than he is.”
Bill bowed in my direction, yielding Edith’s attention to me. “Would it be with Detective Morrow?” she asked.
“Yes. Gene’s taking me to the fights this weeken
d.”
“How many bouts are on the card? Will you be going to dinner as well? Before or after the fights? And where?”
“He didn’t offer me a contract, Edith. He just asked if I wanted to go.”
“You should have found that out first. Still, there are a few items I can show you that will double for the new job and your weekend plans. You can pick up something similar at Tremayne’s when you share your good news. As for you, Bill … I’m sorry. You’re on your own.”
Magnanimous in victory, I blew Bill a Bronx cheer. Edith had already resumed her fast-paced stride back to Wardrobe. I scrambled after her, rummaging in my handbag for a notepad as I ran. I couldn’t afford to miss a word.
Acknowledgments
The movies are widely known as a collaborative art while writing a novel tends to be viewed as a solitary pursuit. The two halves of Renee Patrick have already shot holes in that theory. An abundance of people contributed to this book, all without the benefit of a craft services table.
We’d still be cooling our heels at Schwab’s waiting for our big break if it weren’t for our tireless agent, Lisa Gallagher, the epitome of elegance, even in a bicycle helmet. Editor extraordinaire Kristin Sevick took a look at a rough cut and didn’t flinch, helping us find the story we wanted to tell. Our gratitude to Tom Doherty, Bess Cozby, Justine Gardner, and everyone at Tor/Forge. Artist Gerad Taylor created a cover we wanted to plaster on marquees across town.
We received a welcome dose of validation when an early version of the manuscript won a 2013 William F. Deeck-Malice Domestic Grant for Unpublished Writers. We are indebted to Harriette Sackler and the grants committee, and to the entire Malice Domestic community—particularly previous grant recipients—who welcomed us with open arms.
Eddie Muller is the godfather of this book. His work with the Film Noir Foundation, the Noir City film festivals, and Turner Classic Movies has not only saved individual films from disappearing but has also preserved moviegoing as a social experience. Knowing him sent us tumbling down this rabbit hole, and Eddie has been an invaluable resource every step of the way.
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