by Helen Jacey
Dolly gave the briefest of nods.
I was facing my worst fears being here, but I couldn’t expect gratitude.
I got up and headed to the door where the nurse was still chatting.
‘I’m done here.’
The nurse stepped aside and let me through. I turned back to Dolly. ‘Merry Christmas’ seemed wildly inappropriate. ‘Goodbye, Miss Perkins.’
Silence for an answer.
The nurse shot me a Some people! look, rolling her eyes in Dolly’s direction. Outside in the cold corridor, the nurse said, ‘It’s a blessing a girl like that lost the baby.’ She locked the door.
The judgmental bitch was wrong. If I knew one thing, it was that Dolly would have loved her child.
But “Alice Lucas” grimaced in answer. The nurse took it as agreement.
I walked out into the winter sunshine, feeling the sun on my skin and the breeze through my hair. I was free, while Dolly was incarcerated and wanting to die.
I wanted to detach.
I’d done my bit and now all I had to do was tell Sonia I was off the case.
Job done.
I burst out laughing in the street.
It was uncontrollable relief. A nervous reaction. I must have looked and sounded like a crazy woman.
15
Back in the Miracle Mile, I had one desire. To get into bed and sleep till Sonia’s call woke me.
On my way back, I’d bought all the papers, but they sat unopened on Barney’s desk. A headline screamed: Ronald Hunter, Munitions Magnate, Murdered in Cold Blood. I couldn’t face reading them yet.
I pulled off the hairnet, slipped out of my clothes, leaving them strewn over the floor. Then I showered, ridding myself of jail dust and misery. After, I sprayed myself with perfume and grabbed the bottle from the drawer and, towel around me, poured myself a generous measure.
I found a pink nightgown and put it on. It was a pale peach affair made of silk satin, with lilac bouquets all over. It was perfection. I’d bought it for romantic rendezvous with Lauder, but there was never time to put it on.
So now I would just enjoy wearing it, and that was enough.
Only for you.
I fumbled at the pearl around my neck. The ball and chain. Randall was fond of me, but where fondness ended and controlling began, who knew? Lust was a common symptom of both conditions.
I got into bed and pulled up the sheet and eiderdown.
Giving me the present, mentioning his trip, Lauder was crossing a new threshold. It was as if he was trying to rationalize his two lives. I was the mistress who got a few hours in the Astral; The Fiancée got nice trips—and now I had to hear about it. I wondered if she, too, was getting a necklace at Christmas. Furtively giving me a family hand-me-down, while getting her diamonds that he had to take out a loan for on his modest cop’s salary.
A little mention here, another there, soon I’d have to accept his other reality. But not her. Miss Hoity-Toity would be spared hearing about my sordid existence.
Why had he told me about his darned vacation? He’d broken the rules for a reason. I didn’t know why and I didn’t like it. Most of the time, I kept him off my mind. My body, he could do what he liked with, and vice versa. I just didn’t want him ramming his fancy life into my head.
Shut up!
All of a sudden, I wanted the necklace off. I undid it and slipped it in the side drawer of the nightstand, along with sleeping tablets, and a slushy romance novel June had pointlessly lent me.
If Lauder wanted our affair to continue, he could shut up about his private life and quit with the gifts.
Girls like me and Dolly didn’t get skiing trips with the rich and famous to revel in the powdery snow. We rotted in jail. Lauder’s indifference to the likelihood Dolly had been framed was disgusting. He should know that she could be innocent, and that she might never see the light of day again. Dolly hadn’t killed Hunter, but she was easy prey for the DA and Flannery. She would be gold-digging trash in the eyes of the law—no more, no less.
For Dolly, Christmas Day would simply become the anniversary of the worst day of her life.
However long she had left.
And then there was Ronald Hunter. What picture were the press now painting of him, the great patriot, and his affair with a good-time girl from the wrong side of the tracks? Surely they couldn’t hide the fact he was sleeping with Dolly? Or would a rich family like his just be able to cover it up?
I bet they would feed the public a lot of lies about Dolly. Just like those Hollywood movies, where some good wife type triumphs over the wayward girl who is out to steal her guy. Usually, the girl would be a model, a dancer, or a gangster’s girl and winds up in jail unless she eats humble pie and embraces loneliness and repentance.
Who she really was or what she really wanted out of life, the movies never said. She was just a ‘wrong ‘un’, and that meant she had to pay.
No, I had to read the rubbish. I got out of bed, and stomped to pick up one of the papers in the office. I flicked through a few pages.
Beyond the headlines, there were photos of the apartment block. Killed in cold blood;Found alone in his private office. No mugshot of Dolly, but maybe the cops hadn’t released it yet. I scanned down the page. ‘A suspect has been arrested and is being held, pending further investigation.’
That was all.
Lower down, I was confronted with a picture of Lauder’s rival. The smug face of Detective Dale Flannery. He had a strong jaw, and thin, mean-looking lips. I could see him in a Western, as a sidekick to the hero. His hair was probably fair underneath the hat. He was quoted as saying the police were making fast progress on the case.
I read on.
A lot on Ronald Hunter; his achievements, his factories, and his plans for a foundation for veterans. There was a picture of younger brother Rufus, who had taken over the business in the last couple of years.
Then some pictures of Linda Hunter, on their wedding day and a studio portrait. She could be his daughter. Her face was pretty enough, but there was something dull about her eyes. Perhaps the look that comes from having money, good looks and a lack of imagination.
So Flannery was biding his time. It would play to his advantage to let the press build a big, damning story on Dolly.
I went back to bed and stared at the ceiling.
I so badly wanted to help her.
Wait!
I was free; I had to remind myself of that fact. And Lauder, however pissed I was at him now, was fundamental to my better life. I could never forget that. But neither could I forget who I was trying to become, and what I needed to do.
Control by any man, even if it was for my own protection, was just not on the agenda. Particularly now.
I was a big girl. I could be careful. I’d done it before, with nobody telling me what to do. Even Lauder’s recent promotion was partly due to the fact I’d ignored his commands.
Lauder needed to think he controlled me as it made him feel safer. I would do what I wanted, and he would stay blissfully ignorant. I would do nothing to shatter his charmed life.
I was a private detective, I liked my work, my new life, my secretary. And I was going to help Dolly Perkins.
16
I was back on the case without Sonia Parker knowing I had even left it, and without Randall Lauder knowing I hadn’t quit it.
Sonia called that evening as she had promised. She would meet me first thing in the morning for a full debrief. We could meet at Hal’s Diner on Olympic. I didn’t know the place, but I said I’d meet her there.
Before she hung up, I asked her if I could visit ‘our baby girl’s friend, you know, the one who was with her’.
Sonia twigged immediately I meant Alberta. ‘What do you want to do that for?’
‘They are good pals. Could prove useful?’
Sonia gave a grunt of affirmation but asked me not to reveal anything about the ‘problem’, even to pals. She was referring, of course, to the case.
‘But she can know
about our friend’s…health, right?’
Sonia reluctantly agreed. ‘That’s all she needs to know.’
Dede Dedeaux’s place sprawled over the entire fourth floor, an oasis of African art, potted palms, modern art and furnishings. She was very well-heeled, thanks to a hefty inheritance from her plantation-owning predecessors.
Now she splashed the money around on legal fees for underdogs like Dolly. She’d also stumped up the money for June to have discreet medical attention after the sexual assault.
Alberta opened the door, wearing a navy wool coat with a fur neckline, and a purple pillbox hat. Underneath the coat, a shimmery floor length purple gown. She was clearly on her way out, a small purse in one hand, and her saxophone case in the other. An expression of concern and irritation flashed over her face. ‘How’s Dolly?’ She immediately read my expression, holding the door open only a few inches. ‘What’s wrong? Something bad?’
‘Got a couple of minutes?’
‘Yeah, sure.’
Worried, Alberta let me into the spacious lobby, pointing the way into the airy living room that overlooked the city.
The art had changed since I was last up here. Now, a series of monochrome photographs of women, some black and some white, from the turn of the century and earlier, ran along one side of the room. Their voluminous Edwardian dresses looked rather quaint, yet powerful at the same time. Were they Dede and Alberta’s relatives? I wouldn’t ask because I wouldn’t get a straight answer.
In the corner, a beautiful blue spruce tree glittered with silver baubles, tinsel and crystal lights. It outclassed ours in the office below. There was a tiny cross on the top. It faced a tall wooden African sculpture in the opposite corner of the room, made of huge curved shapes, some kind of fertility goddess, I guessed. The tree and the sculpture seemed symbolic of the little I already knew about Dede and Alberta’s life.
I relaxed into the plush leather couch, imagining what it must be like to inhabit such a palatial pad. Pretty darned good, and I could get used to it. Alberta stayed standing.
I broke the news about Dolly’s miscarriage and that she was recovering in the County hospital. Alberta froze, genuinely shocked.
‘Oh, my Lord. Is she okay?’ She sat down, heavily, on the edge of the sofa.
‘Physically, I think so. Mentally? Not so good.’ Were Alberta’s eyes moist? I couldn’t really tell, but she was definitely cut up.
‘Thinks she’ll be closer to her baby if she dies.’
‘Poor Dolly. I need a drink. Want one? Scotch okay?’
‘I’ll pass. I’m on my way out to find something to eat.’
‘I got some leftovers if you want. Custard cream pie?’
I said thanks but no thanks. I didn’t fancy anything sweet. If she’d said eggs and beans, we’d be in business.
Alberta went over to the glass and ebony bar and pulled out an expensive bottle of Scotch. This was nothing like the lowly maid act she put on in Sonia’s presence. ‘Sure hope this Parker lady can fix this. Supposed to be the best in town.’
‘I hope so, too. You didn’t want to go skiing with Dede?’ It was a personal question, but I was curious. If Alberta didn’t mind me seeing her so free and easy at home, maybe she would open up to me now.
‘No. Dede’s people bring their help, so I don’t need to be there. And I really don’t like it up there. Too cold, too white and too expensive for me.’
She wasn’t opening up, but she wasn’t closing me down entirely. Playing the maid around Dede’s privileged family must get tiresome.
‘Can I ask a few questions? About Dolly. Just trying to figure her out.’
‘I’ll tell you what I know, but I been racking my brains for anything that could help. Trouble is, I got nothing.’
‘Sometimes you don’t know what you know.’
‘How’s that?’ Alberta stopped pouring, staring at me.
‘Well, you’re her pal, and she trusts you. She may have told you things that could help us, even though they seem like nothing special to you. Details.’
Alberta thought about it, shrugged and finished pouring her drink. ‘You mean something that could lead to the person who framed her?’
‘Maybe. But we don’t know anything for sure.’
She glared at me. ‘But we do know she’s been framed? Somebody’s mad at Hunter and used Dolly.’
‘It certainly looks that way, but early days yet.’
Beatty Falaise, my only educator in the detecting business, had taught me that at the start of a case, assume nothing. Going on assumptions was like driving on empty. And Sonia had asked me not to divulge much.
Alberta snorted with derision. ‘Oh, so somebody just happened to walk in on him in bed, stab him in the heart, and a couple of minutes later, Dolly shows up? They must have known about him and her! They knew when she was gonna be there.’ She took a seat and knocked her drink back fast.
‘Does anybody have a beef with Dolly?’
‘Nobody.’ Alberta shifted uncomfortably in her seat. ‘Dolly’s harmless. A big kid. You thought about the wife? Maybe she found out about her man and Dolly. Maybe she couldn’t take it anymore. So she flips. She bumps him off, or pays somebody to do it, and punishes Dolly the same time.’
This was exactly what I’d said to Lauder. Hearing it from Alberta confirmed Linda Hunter was definitely worth investigating as soon as Sonia Parker gave me her blessing to do so. ‘Maybe, but anything’s possible. But we just can’t assume anything right now.’
Alberta hid her irritation at this. ‘So what else do you wanna know?’
I asked about how she knew Dolly. She explained she’d known Dolly for two years. Dolly had been hanging out at various clubs on Central Avenue. Being white, she had stuck out and she also been seen with a few jazz players. ‘Dolly’s kind of a flirt, she loves to get attention from anybody. She got friendly with Sol, he’s a trumpeter. Jewel’s brother. Nice guy.’
‘Jewel plays in The Charmettes?’ I asked.
‘Sure does. Reeds.’
I blanked. ‘Reeds?’
‘Reeds. Clarinet.’
I nodded. My musical education had been virtually non-existent.
‘Sol says to Jewel, Dolly can sing, so why not let her jam with you? So she did. Turned out fine. She don’t sing with the band at Sugar Hill, but there’s plenty of other places.’
‘Were Dolly and Sol an item?’
Alberta raised her brows. ‘She was sweet on him. He kinda liked her… but nobody needs trouble. I mean, judgment.’
‘Yeah, world’s shitty place.’
‘And she don’t need one person’s love, she needs the whole world to love her. The way she comes up with all these big ideas.’
‘Like what?’
‘Oh, like she don’t just work in the Tilsons Department Store, one day she was gonna buy the whole place! Crazy stuff like that. All talk. Dreams but no idea how to make ‘em come true. The way I see it, to a rich fella like Mr Hunter, a girl like Dolly would be like a toy, just a cute little plaything. He probably did promise to take care of her, in her situation. Another reason she wouldn’t kill him!’ Alberta winked.
The picture she was painting of Dolly made me feel uneasy. I’d have to warn Sonia. Any character witness she used who knew Dolly would have to be pretty convincing on the stand that Dolly wasn’t a flirt or needy. That might take omitting some truths.
I asked where Dolly lived. Alberta said a boarding house near Compton.
‘So, all the Charmettes get along with her?’
‘Sure. The ones who know her. Some don’t.’
I looked confused. Alberta explained. ‘The Charmettes, we mix up the lineup from time to time. We can play as a ten-piece, or a sextet, or just a quintet. Other times, we’ll just meet up and jam. All in all, I guess there’s about fifteen or twenty of us. Depends who’s available. Like I said, Dolly only sings now and then. Like at Joyce’s.’
‘So who else is on vocals?’
‘Wanda, mos
tly. Carmen and Jewel can do harmonies. Wanda was in the Honey Duchesses, toured all over, they were a real good band. We just stick to the city. Joyce, she pays well and her crowd loves us. Other places, we can’t play with a mixed lineup. We ain’t exactly the International Darlings of Swing.’
I stared at her, blank. Her eyes were laughing. ‘You don’t know who I’m talking about, do you?’
‘I’m not very knowledgeable about music.’
‘You like swing music? You look like you oughta.’
I grimaced. ‘I haven’t been out much the past few years.’
One day you will tell her about your long incarceration, won’t you? You know you want to. You want her to know the whole truth.
Alberta studied me hard, sipping. ‘Maybe you should try. Life’s kinda short not to have any fun.’ I doubted she would approve of the only way I was having a little bit of fun. Screwing an LAPD cop on the side.
I said, ‘So you had no idea about Hunter?’
‘No. Dolly kept that real quiet.’ Alberta’s eyes widened. ‘There’s something else.’
‘What?
‘She makes promises and then she don’t follow through. One time, she said a pal in New York would help us make a recording. Didn’t happen. Another time, some lady or other was gonna make formals for us for free, in return for singing at a wedding. Sure enough, didn’t happen. I think Dolly makes up stuff so we like her and let her sing more.’
