by Helen Jacey
‘I thought I’d give it to Dolly. They were good pals.’
‘Little Dolly Perkins.’ She shook her head. ‘Strange kid.’
‘Strange? How?’
‘I know she can’t help it, but I don’t think she would look me in the eye even if she could see straight. Still, nobody’s perfect.’ She didn’t sound a fan.
After a pause, I asked, ‘So, you’ve driven for girl bands before, on tour? Like the Honey Duchesses?’
‘Oh, no. My first time driving a band. And last. Too much high jinks for my liking. If it ain’t cops causing trouble, it’s mobsters.’
I laughed. ‘So, what, you’re a taxi driver, back in the city?’
Earnestine’s face split into a wide grin of what? Incredulity? I bristled, it wasn’t such a funny question. Lots of women took driving jobs on during the war. ‘Yeah, sure, I’m a taxi driver. What about yourself, back in the city?’ She asked. I bet she knew already.
‘Private investigator.’
‘You don’t sound so sure.’
I leaned against a post supporting the fence. ‘I kind of stumbled into it. It’s hard. You think you’re getting somewhere, things add up, then they don’t.’
‘What you figuring out right now?’
There was no harm in telling her. She’d hear all about Zetty’s confession anyway. ‘Why would Zetty say that? Why nothing about her kid?’
‘Guilt? Saving her soul.’ She took a last drag. ‘Or, maybe it’s like a code. Zetty wanted to get a message out to Dolly. A secret message. Something only they understand. What message? That’s what you gotta work out, detective lady. I’m just the driver.’
Earnestine squished her cigarette into the dirt with her boot. ‘Let’s get going.’
47
‘Mornin’, ladies. Home sweet home.’
I looked up, rubbing my eyes. Wanda stood in the middle of the aisle. How did she manage to be so perky?
A chorus of tired groans from The Charms.
‘Happy New Year to y’all. I know we’re all hurtin’ over Zetty. She’s our girl, and we’re gonna pray for her.’
Murmurs of assent followed. The bus was parked along the side of a big house.
Alberta got up and came to the back. She sat in the seat in front. I said, ‘Where are we?’
‘Sugar Hill. Wanda’s place. Belonged to her mother, Mimi Carter.’
I must have looked blank.
Alberta said, ‘She was a blues singer.’
I nodded, embarrassed to be out of the loop yet again when it came to music.
I’d heard about Sugar Hill in the past six months of living in LA, a thriving black community where movie stars and musicians lived. I could only see the side, but Wanda’s house was a grand turn-of-the-century dwelling.
We trooped off the bus. Jewel, Carmen and Nora made for a side entrance, as if it was home.
Earnestine waved at me, ‘Good luck, Sherlock!’
I waved back. I had to laugh.
Wanda hovered, looking at me. ‘Can I call you a cab?’
I said I wanted to stretch my legs. I could walk to the main street and pick one up.
‘Momma!’ Two of the cutest kids, little girls with messy hair and crumpled nightdresses, ran out of the side entrance and grabbed Wanda’s legs. She leaned down and hugged them. ‘Hey, trouble times two! What are you doing up at this hour?’
An older woman appeared at the side door, in a luxurious quilted satin housecoat. It looked primrose yellow under the lamp. ‘They heard the bus and woke the whole house up!’
Wanda laughed. ‘Happy New Year, Auntie.’ She turned back to her kids. ‘You miss me? I missed you so much I had to come back early! Look, Alberta’s come to see you, too!’
They flung themselves at Alberta, who showered them with kisses. Then the kids spotted me and stared.
‘Hello,’ I said.
‘Come on, let’s go in now,’ said Wanda. She nodded to me. ‘See you around.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Who’s that white lady, momma?’ asked one of the girls.
‘Just somebody passing through. Hey, want to see what I got you?’ said Wanda.
Alberta said she was going to stay at Wanda’s for the day. She’d see me at the hotel.
I didn’t catch a cab, in the end. I wandered through Sugar Hill, marveling at the beautiful houses populating the stunning neighborhood.
It jolted childhood memories. Fragments of my lost past. The homes in which Violet worked, when she traveled all the way to America, searching for a man who didn’t want to be found.
My father, who was he? He had fought in the First World War. He had survived and sought comfort from a woman in London. He gave her false hope, empty promises and a fake name, but that was enough for her to leave England.
Poor Violet. She had stuck it out with a young child, earning a living by cleaning big houses for rich folks and, in her spare time, trying to track her man down.
Just another military man lacking in the honor department. Maybe, for all his courage on the battlefield, he didn’t have the guts to say the truth, that he only craved warmth and love for a night or two. Maybe he was shell-shocked and forgot his name.
Maybe Violet just heard what she wanted to hear.
At the end of the day, it was easier to think he was a cad and she was a sap and out of a pack of lies, they made me.
I walked for miles along deserted city streets. The amber light of the streetlamps competed with dawn’s rosy arrival. It felt right to be alone for New Year; a waking city was enough company for me.
Nobody was around, the parties were over. Just the odd drunk in a doorway. I’d been that person a few nights ago, but I wouldn’t be again. I wouldn’t give up on myself.
1946 would be different. No dumb list of New Year’s resolutions. I had only two resolutions. To figure it all out—this crazy crime—and to keep my new life on an even keel.
Unlike my mother, I wasn’t looking for anybody.
Instead, I needed to say goodbye.
48
Rouge d’Or was a low-key cocktail bar in Culver City. It opened early, closed late and didn’t have any special appeal other than always being half empty, and that Lauder and I could meet here safe in the knowledge no one would see us.
Inside, some over-eager interior designer had conceived the bright idea of remodeling the room into the shape of a kidney, with organically curved walls. The bar was a circular affair at one end of the room, and low tables with green lamps dominated the rest. Several payphones edged a shorter curved wall.
The décor was shades of dark red, which usually created a certain sensual mood, even if we met in broad daylight.
I sat on a padded bench which lined the longest wall. Today, it suddenly reminded me of the edge of the membrane of real kidneys. It hit me I would never come here again.
Lauder returned from the bar with two scotches on the rocks. He sat down and passed one to me. ‘Happy New Year. Again.’
We chinked. ‘How was your holiday?’ I asked, knowing he hadn’t been anywhere. Would he tell the truth?
‘Oh, something came up in the end. Had to cancel.’
‘Shame. Nothing bad?’
‘Not really.’ He glanced around the room. ‘Dolly Perkins is released tomorrow.’
I acted surprised. ‘Really? Why?’
He looked at me, harsh. ‘Thought you’d be more pleased, considering our fight over it.’
‘Well, I got over it. Look, I’m tired. Had a long night.’
‘Oh, yeah, do anything nice for New Year?’
I had called the LAPD when I got back to the Miracle Mile. I had a code name to use, if I needed Lauder to ring me. He hadn’t taken long to get back to me, and we arranged to meet in the afternoon. I looked and felt shattered.
‘Look, I’ve got some bad news.’
‘How bad?’
I sipped my drink. ‘Someone from my past has resurfaced. From London.’
Lauder put his dri
nk down.
‘She’s putting the squeeze on me. The Salvatore family had a big price on my head, before word got out I was dead. Her deal is I cough up and she’ll tell them Jessica Day is definitely dead. Her husband works for the Colombos. Worked. He was murdered last night, at a party. She’s got a house here, so she’ll be back. Soon.’
‘You were at Floriana Luciano’s bash?’ Lauder’s voice was hoarse. Of course he knew about the shooting already.
I nodded. ‘Luciano invited me. I had nothing better to do after you banned me from the case. Didn’t think you’d mind.’
I couldn’t exactly explain how I’d wound up there, smashed. It was partly his fault, for being in my life in a way he wasn’t supposed to be.
‘Oh, is that right? A private party in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of organized criminals? So who’s the ghost from London?’
‘Maureen O’Reilly. About forty. Looks older. And it wasn’t just the mob there, if you must know. The crème de la crème of Hollywood was out in style.’
Lauder asked me what I had seen. I described the events of the party, excluding my encounter with the wounded Simonetta and Zetty’s confession. He had his notepad out, scrawling everything down.
‘Rumor has it the Colombos killed Antonio Luciano. He apparently declined to add heroin to his olive oil imports and paid the price. Wouldn’t surprise me if they were putting the squeeze on the widow. Protection money. Colombo died a few hours ago.’
I stared at him. So Simonetta had avenged her father and liberated her mother—for the time being.
‘A woman was shot, injured. She works for Luciano. Do you know how she is?’
He surveyed me. ‘In a coma. Not looking good.’
Poor Zetty. But she was strong. I tried not to let my emotions show.
‘If you kept a low profile, as I repeatedly ask you, you wouldn’t have bumped into this Maureen O’Reilly, would you?’
‘Quit the lecture. You’re right, okay? But this year’s gonna be different. I’ll play it safe. Besides, it’s better we know she’s out there already, before I bump into her out of the blue. We can…handle it better.’
He grunted, giving me a strange look with his liquid turquoise eyes. It was stupid meeting here. The ambience was too sensual. I associated this bar with one thing—leaving to have sex.
‘Okay.’
‘You don’t seem very…perturbed?’
‘I know exactly where O’Reilly is.’
‘What? Where?’ I sat back, thrown. All-knowing, all-seeing Lauder.
‘Well, she could be kinda useful…’
I butted in, bitter and derisive. ‘Don’t even think about making Maureen O’Reilly your CI. She’s the reason I ended up in reform school. Born double-crosser. For God’s sake, don’t let her know you know me. She’ll destroy you, too!’
‘…if she wasn’t dead.’
My stomach lurched. ‘Dead? What?’
‘My colleagues in the Santa Barbara Sheriff’s Office pulled her out of the water this morning. Estimated time of death around midnight or just after. Midnight swim?’
I shivered. It couldn’t be. No. Had Maureen taken her own life?
‘You mean…in Floriana’s lake?’
‘Found floating face down, near the jetty. No gunshot wounds. A few odd marks on the body. Like bites? Maybe her and her fella liked it rough in bed.’
Then he looked into my eyes. ‘Unless you’re forgetting to tell me something.’
‘What? You think I killed her and this is a bluff?’
He raised a cynical brow.
‘No! She just…lost her guy! She must have jumped.’ My voice tailed off.
‘Suicide? Well then. Panic over.’
That was the depth of Maureen’s love. She couldn’t live without her knight. She didn’t want my money for herself. I bet she’d just wanted to feather her nest with Roberto.
I sipped my drink. Rest in peace.
Yet another mother figure had bitten the dust. I felt my eyes pricking with tears. Irrational. I hoped he didn’t see. My voice was stiff.
‘Where’s her body? Will they bring it back here?’
‘Guess so. Mobsters look after their own.’
I asked him to tell me if he could find out the undertaker her body would go to.
They never let me see Violet, or Gwendoline’s bodies. I would see Maureen. I would say goodbye.
‘Why?’
‘It’s complicated.’
Then Lauder smiled, softly. ‘You wearing that necklace?’
I pulled my blouse down a little and hooked out the pearl with my finger. I had put it on again. Why? To see him smile? Now I regretted taking it out of the drawer.
‘Suits you. Let’s get outta here.’ His hand slipped into mine. He squeezed it, hard.
He meant one thing. All I wanted to do was feel him on top of me, inside me…
Stop it! You’re the pawn in their game, remember!
The Fiancée. His stupid relationship. I was just a salve to make his life better.
I gulped. My turn to cross the line. ‘We can’t do this anymore. You’re engaged. It’s not right. Nothing good can come from this. Let’s get back to how we were.’
I didn’t recognize my own voice. I couldn’t look at him. Speaking straight, for once. A shiver flew down my back. I had jumped off a cliff and was in free fall.
Lauder hadn’t expected this. Neither had I. His jaw went rigid. His hand slipped out of mine, like cold water.
He looked at his watch, and then at the door. Escape preparations?
I tensed up. Had I been wrong to think he had affection for me?
He swigged his drink down in one and stood up. ‘All right. If that’s what you want.’
‘Well…’ I started to say.
And then he walked out.
49
Sonia and Joseph flanked a bewildered Dolly just outside the Hall of Justice. ‘My client has done all she can to assist the Police Department with their enquiries. She has no comment.’
It was the 2nd of January and Dolly was free.
I sat in Mabel across the road, window down, watching.
Dressed in a shabby, oversized dress, Dolly stood between the sharp-suited attorneys. She looked pale and thin, her lank blonde mop of hair covered by a green beret. The outfit screamed “innocent victim”. Sonia must have brought the attire in, to milk the vindicatory moment. The Santa-style dress Dolly had been arrested in wouldn’t have quite the same wronged woman effect.
Joseph led the way through the throng of pressmen and women towards a big gleaming car. Sonia’s car. Voices yelled at her.
‘What was Ronald Hunter to you, Dolly?’
‘Give us an exclusive, Dolly!’ This pushy reporter managed to shove her card into Dolly’s hand. But Joseph ripped it from her, as Sonia bundled Dolly in the back of a glossy navy car.
The lawyers were controlling her every move and word. Maybe they didn’t want her to say something dumb, to push her luck. Maybe they had another scheme cooking. Some lucrative deal with the Hunter clan for ongoing silence?
The car sped off, Joseph at the wheel, Sonia and Dolly in the back.
Time to go.
I pulled away, to tail Sonia’s car. No way would she take Dolly back to Mrs. Olsen’s boarding house. So where?
Traffic was light and Joseph drove fast, to escape the buzzards. We sailed through to Hollywood in no time. Sonia’s car slowed, signaling, as it neared the Hollywood Hotel. A good decision. Not a dive, but not too swanky either. Sonia would be keeping Dolly here under a false name.
I kept my distance but took my foot off the gas briefly. I couldn’t turn into the entrance without risking being seen. As the blue car turned, I noticed Dolly’s hair was suddenly dark, and the beret gone.
A wig, of course. Was she changing clothes too? She needed to pass unnoticed. I could imagine Sonia’s voice, right now, barking do’s and don’ts of her new life to Dolly.
I parked on the street
and jumped out. I killed a few minutes in the hotel’s flower shop which bordered the street. The buckets of dahlias, roses and hydrangeas made a pleasant sight.
I selected a nice bouquet as a gift for Dolly from the cheerful florist. Some pale pink roses, a few white freesias, and some yellow lilies. I paid the florist and told her to keep the change.
A gift for what exactly? Hope? Congratulations? Or sympathy, because Zetty was bad. Did Dolly even know yet? Was I going to be the harbinger of bad news on the day of her release?
As I left the shop, Sonia’s car flew out of the complex. That was quick. I bet they’d given Dolly orders to stay put.
But I knew what incarceration did to a person. Dolly would take a shower, change her clothes and go some place, anywhere she could go of her own volition. Just walk, see life. No way, after being cooped up in a cell, would she sit in a hotel room.
I’d give her a bit of time to adjust. It would be rude to barge in.
I bought a paper at the kiosk and sat down, leaving my sunglasses on. I couldn’t really focus, as I had to watch the elevators. Floriana’s, of course, had made the papers. New Year’s Eve Mobster Showdown in Santa Barbara!
Another article caught my eye. A Lord Haw-Haw was about to be hung tomorrow in Wandsworth Prison, London, for treason. My stomach lurched.
