by Helen Jacey
That steely cold anger. No scene, just the silent freeze. Later, we’d have it out.
Well, this time, the tables would be turned. He’d find out She knew more about the case than he did.
And she sounded like a condescending bitch. Was he blind?
Footsteps. A servant was heading my way, very surprised at my odd positioning against the wall. I quickly spun around, peering at another portrait. This was of little Harvey, about three years old, sitting on Linda’s lap.
‘Ma’am, this is a private area.’
I walked towards him, so the women couldn’t hear me. ‘Oh, I had no idea. Just looking at the portraits,’ I said, quietly. ‘Beautiful paintings. So sad.’
I pretended to sniff under the veil and lifted a hankie under to dab my eyes.
‘My condolences, ma’am.’
I passed him, nodding in gratitude. ‘You’re very kind.’
I reached the main hall. The front door was wide open. Should I dash out now? Would Martell be ready to go? I could risk a few seconds more trying to find her.
I hovered just outside the door of the ballroom, trying to spot her. My mind was still racing.
Rufus, the good-looking younger brother, now my prime suspect! There were also some enemies knocking around—the “Them” Linda had referred to.
And to top it all, fate had served up a nice kick in the guts for me, stumbling into Lauder’s other life.
Lauder knew about “Them”, but he was happy to go with Dolly as prime suspect, according to The Fiancée. Even odder was that he was singing a very different tune to The Fiancée about Detective Flannery.
Was “Them” the reason why Lauder was at the Hunter residence the night of the killing? It surely had to be. I smelt the stagnant odor of blackmail.
Somebody was putting the squeeze on Linda or Hunter, or Linda and Rufus, and Lauder had gotten involved. Roped in, or willing aide? I had no idea. He might not even know about Linda and Rufus, as The Fiancée claimed. Maybe his help was off the books. Maybe the Fiancée had instructed him to help her friend Linda who was in a bit of a pickle.
Hell of a lot of maybes, as usual.
But if any of these scenarios were accurate, of course Lauder would have rushed over to see Linda, to allay her fears, or help her somehow.
My world and Lauder’s had collided, irrevocably. Everything about The Fiancée made me sick. Her syrupy uptown voice, her confident snobbery.
She was a snake, only out for herself. I could sense it.
Did he really love this woman? Was he dumb, or ambitious, or both?
And if he did love her, what on earth was he doing with me? Or did he know deep down she didn’t really respect his social status and I was some kind of secret revenge?
But had I been any better, once upon a time? I’d accepted a proposal from my gangster boyfriend, Billy. At sixteen, I was looking for a sugar daddy, a man to give me a roof over my head, nice frocks and an easy life.
I didn’t know what love was, back then, and I still didn’t. Romance, in the classic sense, now just felt like a quick fix. A glass of champagne in the course of a long, boring night. The high is nice but doesn’t last, and when it wears off, somehow reality is even grayer than it was before the bubbles.
Focus on the damn case!
The Fiancée knew Linda was having an affair with Rufus. She promised Linda that Randall didn’t know. A lie? Surely if Randall did know, he would quickly suspect Rufus? But what about The Fiancée? Did she really not suspect Rufus?
Was everyone happy for Dolly to go down, the innocent in this?
All to protect money, status and illicit love?
She was their pawn.
Lauder. I really wished I could talk to him now, that things hadn’t spiraled out of control like this.
In another world, we could crack this mystery together by just being open. Ironic. Until we had muddied the water by having sex, we had been more open with each other. There had been a brief window of truth, a certain sincerity in our affairs.
Before, he had definitely been less protective of me and seen me more as an equal partner. And yet, it was the comradely feelings that had led us into bed.
Big mistake.
Is this what men do? They screw you, then they think they own you?
He had been the one to change, not me. He had ruined it.
Telling me about his vacation, banning me from the case, giving me stupid trinkets. And now, the developments in this case were twisting the knife in the wound. Hearing The Fiancée’s voice. Learning that she considered herself better than Lauder, that maybe her family still did.
I didn’t want to feel sorry for Lauder. He was a big boy. He knew what he was doing. Surely he would know he was a second-class citizen to The Fiancée’s clan?
Maybe he really was just out to better himself.
The ends justify the means.
I fought an intense desire to turn back, to stumble into the room and take them by surprise. To confront the bitches. ‘You know very well you could be sending an innocent woman to her death and you don’t give a damn either way.’
And my parting shot to The Fiancée?
‘Hi, you’re looking at one of Randy’s principles!’
I could do that, couldn’t I?
I’d enjoy that bomb dropping, even if I were standing right under it.
No. You can’t! Do your job and leave!
34
Martell was deep in conversation with one of the important-looking men. She saw me looking at her and she looked right through me with a Not now expression. Schmoozing her way into another Hollywood deal, no doubt.
I turned right around and walked out. She would soon figure out I’d left.
I went back through the main hall, out of the front door and down towards the wide stone steps.
With a bunch of reporters waiting at the other side of the main gates, cameras at the ready, and Lauder’s car about to arrive, I was in something of a jam.
The devil and the deep blue sea kind of jam.
I saw a woman standing at the foot of the stone steps. She was around forty-five, in a black astrakhan swing coat and a black dress. Her eyes were hidden by dark sunglasses. She wore a turban style hat, with a neat astrakhan strip around the edge. Gold earrings in the shape of roses were visible underneath the hat. She looked stylish and self-possessed, even if fetal lambs sliced out of their mother’s wombs had helped with the sophisticated look.
She glanced at me. ‘Valet’s on his way. Shouldn’t be long.’ Her voice was tired, and rather sad. Was she one of the few genuine mourners?
I realized she thought I was joining the line to collect my car. I coughed, acting a little embarrassed. ‘I don’t suppose you could give me a ride? My cousin’s not ready to leave and I’ve got to be someplace else.’
She looked me over, thought about it, and nodded. ‘I’m going to Westwood Village. Any good?’
It was totally the wrong direction, but escape was the only thing that counted right now. ‘Perfect.’
A dark red car with a beige soft top rolled up. The valet jumped out and opened the doors for us. ‘Ready?’ the woman asked. I nodded.
We got in and set off, the wheels crunching down the drive. ‘I’m Vivienne, by the way.’
‘Mary. Mary Saunders.’ I said. ‘I only just met Linda. She’s a friend of my cousin Martell. I didn’t know Mr. Hunter personally, but I’m so glad to have had the opportunity to pay my respects.’
‘I’m sure the family appreciated it.’ I noticed she didn’t say “Linda” but “the family”.
‘You’re a friend of the Hunters?’
‘I used to work with Ronald. I was his secretary, when he ran the firm.’
‘It must have been a terrible shock for you.’ I tried to keep calm. Had she been victim to a few fondles herself, or had his lewd behavior only manifested itself in his later years?
‘I just can’t believe it..’ She dabbed her eyes.
I grunted in
sympathy. ‘Did you work with Ronald for a long time?’
She nodded. ‘When he handed over the business to Rufus, so he could focus on the foundation and other things, I figured it was time for a change for me, too.’
Was it her decision to quit working for him or was Hunter just ready for fresh meat? Did “other things” mean politics? Running for mayor?
‘You probably knew him better than most people in there. I’m so sorry for your loss.’
Vivienne turned and smiled. ‘You’re the only person who’s said that to me. Thank you. He was a big part of my life for years. A secretary is behind the scenes, almost a second wife.’
I smiled. ‘I bet. Did you stay in touch?’
‘Oh, not really. He was so busy. He cared so much about our injured boys. I hope it all goes ahead now he’s….’ Her voice broke a little. ‘I hate to say the word. Gone.’
‘He sounds like a hero,’ I said, comfortingly.
‘Oh, he really was. Ronald was a true American hero.’
‘I heard he wanted to buy a department store? Why, if he retired to do other plans?’
She smiled, wistfully. ‘I read somewhere that was Linda’s idea. Guess he just wanted to indulge her. I wonder if she’ll buy it now.’
We drove a long in silence for a while. I admired the lovely houses, in manicured gardens. They would always be a dream for people like me, just like the Bel Air mansions were, but these were more homely. I said, ‘Did you know Hester well?’
‘Sure. And the girls. They were adorable when they were little. It’s just awful, losing a father in that way, at any age. And, of course, for Linda, too, losing a husband. But I don’t really know her.’
‘She’s much younger than him, isn’t she?’
‘Yes. But I can understand the attraction. Placid. Hester wasn’t exactly a walk in the park.’ She raised her brows meaningfully. ‘Hunter needed a woman to support him. Hester just wasn’t the type of woman to live in a man’s shadow.’
‘She looked kind of…theatrical?’
‘That’s Hester! She loved throwing parties. Huge affairs. They tired Ronald out. He was such a busy man and he just wanted weekends to be calm. Still, I hear she’s done okay with her English Lord.’
‘Ironic, considering Linda’s the actress.’
‘To be honest, when I heard he was marrying her, I thought he was making the same mistake. But they seemed happy. This must be terrible for her.’
I didn’t say Linda was being well comforted by Rufus.
We drove on. Vivienne displayed more anguish than anyone else about the death of Hunter. The invisible secretary who probably knew him best.
She certainly seemed more cut up than Linda, or the first wife in her firebird outfit, or anyone else, for that matter.
Yet again, I found myself musing on men and women, secrets and lies and their sordid affairs. Men who fought for their countries, were lauded as heroes, yet got up to no good behind their wives’ backs.
The old double standard. A woman’s honor and reputation could be destroyed in a heartbeat. Married or not, she only had look at another man to be finished.
Surely, to be truly great, a man should be honorable in all departments? Defending the nation shouldn’t confer a license to harass women.
I still had no real take on who Hunter was. To Martell, he was a bore who liked women in their place. To Vivienne, a true hero and a good boss. To his other secretaries, a serial molester, maybe rapist. The guy clearly had wanted the world to revere him. His foundation for veterans, a solid platform for his political ambitions.
But these were goals that put him in the public eye. Surely he could be brought down if he didn’t watch it? Maybe he loved risk. Thought the rules didn’t apply to him.
Did Hunter just see women as objects, something his money could buy? Or was he a man who just loved the company of women? Or was he addicted to sex? A man with such severe compulsions to screw anything that moved, he couldn’t help himself? Had he been born on the wrong side of the tracks, he’d be a rapist doing a long stretch in the slammer. Being rich, he could get away with spreading his seed.
Except somebody had gotten fed up. His wife.
Maybe I was cutting him too much slack, theorizing it was a sick drive. I was no shrink. But one thing experience had taught me: a born liar will never admit it.
Vivienne pulled up at a red light. I looked out of the window at an art gallery. The painting in the window was a watercolor of Paris and I felt a rare pang of nostalgia.
I asked, ‘So you changed your job, after leaving Mr. Hunter?’
‘Yes. I run a beauty parlor. Vivienne’s of Westwood. There are some cards in the glove box. I have some wonderful new treatments, why don’t you come in? You’ve got beautiful skin. I hope you’re looking after it.’
I smiled, opening the glove box. Sure enough, there were some pretty pale blue cards with gold lettering and a thick stripe around the edges. As I reached for one, I spotted something else inside.
A pot of cold Oliverelle cream.
‘Oh, you use Oliverelle products at the salon?’
‘No. That was a gift.’ The lights changed and she accelerated. ‘More like a sweetener. The owner of Oliverelle wants to buy me out. Floriana Luciano. You know she’s got a string of beauty parlors? But none in Westwood, so she’s after my spot.’
Floriana Luciano again. Something stirred in me. Was this what Beatty would call gut instinct? I said, ‘You weren’t interested?’
‘I never found Mr. Right, so a girl’s gotta support herself, right? All the same, Mrs. Luciano made me a pretty good offer. I’m tempted, but what would I do with my time?’ She smiled, a little wistfully. ‘Do you have a job?’
‘Oh, no! My husband’s just back from overseas and we plan on starting a family.’
This just came out. Martell’s fault for not giving me the whole story about her cousin.
Vivienne grimaced and I knew I’d been tactless rubbing in my married status. Maybe I should have stuck to the romance novelist persona, but I just couldn’t be bothered to talk about corny plots.
She drove on in silence.
But our conversation had fired something up. A spark on an overloaded electrical wire, that could fizzle out or set the whole cable ablaze. Zetty, Dolly’s best pal in the band, drove for Floriana Luciano. Dolly was sleeping with Ronald Hunter. Vivienne used to work for Hunter. Floriana Luciano had targeted Vivienne’s shop.
Just two degrees of separation between Dolly and Vivienne.
A very tenuous connection. Probably a whole lot of nothing. Floriana was just ambitious and seeking prime real estate for another store in her chain of beauty parlors.
I had a lot to brief Sonia on. She would, of course, decide everything that came next.
Pauline and Agnes. They could be used as evidence that Hunter was not such a devoted husband.
Linda and The Fiancée. Linda had been talking about “Them”; that could be something Sonia wanted me to look into. Linda had even suggested whoever was “Them” could have committed murder.
Rufus and Linda’s love affair. Surely this would trump everything now for Sonia? I had no idea how the Hunter fortune was carved out, but if Rufus already ran the business, surely whatever Ronald left Linda would pad out Rufus’s gains?
The one thing Sonia Parker wouldn’t learn from me, of course, was that the friend Linda Hunter was confiding in happened to be engaged to the vice cop she wanted me to look into. I wouldn’t exactly be lying, no worse than I already had. I could just say I overheard Linda talking to somebody. And either Linda was putting on a big act, or she was totally complicit in the murder.
Vivienne interrupted my thoughts. ‘Well, this is my place. Can I fix you a coffee? Call you a cab?’
I looked up at the pretty beauty parlor, occupying a prime corner plot. It had big curved windows, a white and blue striped canopy, some white orchids in the window. ‘What an elegant shop.’
‘Thanks.’ Vivienne’s
pride was genuine.
I sensed her loneliness. I was tempted to join her for a coffee. But a chat on a return visit, when she was lathering a mask on my cheeks, might pay more dividends on Hunter. If I asked too many questions today, she’d smell a rat.
I assured Vivienne I’d be back soon for a beauty treatment.
35
Sonia exhaled. ‘All very interesting.’ She finished her cigarette and stubbed it out.
Joseph jotted a few lines down on his notepad and then looked at Sonia. They exchanged a look that spoke volumes to each other and said absolutely nothing to me.
‘What?’ I said.
Two blank expressions met my eyes. I was getting to recognize this mode. A kind of We don’t like the question so we’re looking at you to be polite but we’re also looking through you, so you know we’re not going to answer expression.
All very odd, and not how the rest of the human race went about things.
It was early evening. I’d called Sonia from a payphone in Westwood Village and told her we should meet. Urgently.
She had told me to get down to the office pronto.
I’d jumped in a cab. The driver was none other than Sal, a female cabbie who had just dropped off somebody in Westwood. She was full of concern when I said I’d come from a funeral party. I took off Martell’s hat; seeing life through a black net veil was getting tedious. It was a relief to shake off Mary Saunders.
Joseph had made a pot of coffee and we all sat down. I had set out all the developments over the past two days: Willa’s take on Dolly and that she didn’t know about the affair; Agnes’s baby, who might be Hunter’s; and the big discovery at the funeral party—Linda and Rufus’s secret love affair. I mentioned Linda’s revealing conversation with her friend and my blackmail theory concerning Linda, Rufus and the mystery “Them”.
