I grunted. “Yes,” I said.
“Look, what’s going on? Why are you asking about the Jean Harlow look-alike? Do you mind my asking?”
I filled her in about the woman I’d been seeing on the street—and then again briefly, I was sure of it, at Justine’s wake.
There was a silence on the end of the phone. “Listen, doll, I’m late for my next appointment. Let me think all of this over and get back to you. I might have something for you to chew on.”
We said our goodbyes.
What would make someone want to be another person? Where did the impulse to slip inside someone else’s skin come from? Did this woman have something to hide? Surely not. You wouldn’t become Jean Harlow if you wanted to slip into the shadows. You became Jean Harlow if you wanted attention—and plenty of it. I didn’t need a PhD in psychology to figure that out.
Or had this person just been born resembling her?
I was getting off track. This person had nothing to do with the biography. I needed words on the page about Jean Harlow, not about some impersonator running around the city.
I tapped out some notes from my conversation with Maude, then checked over my email again.
“I insist on seeing you about the ring,” Chad Walters emailed me again.
I was fueled with coffee and gleaned he wasn’t going to give up until we met. Besides, if he knew anything about the ring that I didn’t know, I’d pry it out of him. I wrote him back, giving him the address for the café across the street. I also needed to get it through to him: Justine did not have Jean Harlow’s ring.
Ten
The trouble was, he didn’t believe me. His eyes spoke of disbelief as he sipped his Earl Grey.
“I’m certain Justine knew nothing about the ring as well,” I said. “Only that it’s been missing since Harlow’s death. That’s all any of us know.”
A chubby man with ruddy cheeks, Chad Walters’ bushy eyebrows rose as he leaned forward. “I’ll pay you double what it’s worth.”
I could not figure out if he was daft or dangerous. “Look, Mr. Walters, I’m unaware of the ring showing up recently or at all. And if Justine knew something, why wouldn’t she tell me? I was her assistant and knew everything about the woman. She wouldn’t have kept it a secret.”
“You recognize that lost things turn up every so often,” Chad said. “Take the Tino Costa painting, for example.” He was talking about the life-sized painting of Jean Harlow that was lost for over fifty years, then suddenly found belonging to a collector in the middle of the country somewhere. It now resided in the Hollywood Museum with a number of other Jean Harlow items.
I shrugged and sipped my tea. This is a mistake. I never should have agreed to this meeting.
“Playing dumb is not going to help your cause,” he said with a sneer.
“Excuse me?” Was this guy for real?
“I traced the ring to Justine and have spoken to her about it. Are you certain it’s not in a lockbox or safe deposit box somewhere?”
My intuition pricked at me, sending tingles up my spine. If Justine owned either of those, what concern was it of his? What made him think I’d divulge that information? I sipped from my peppermint tea, inhaling the fragrance to calm myself.
Chad Walters pursed his lips. “I’m getting nowhere with you.”
“Excuse me?” I said for the second time, setting my teacup in the saucer with a clank.
“If you don’t let me buy the ring, there will be consequences. For both of us.”
“Are you mad? Because as I’ve told you, it’s nowhere to be found,” I said. “Even if I wanted to give it to you, I couldn’t.” I balled my hands into fists, now on my lap. Was this guy going to attack me? I’d be ready for the fat bastard.
His fleshy ears reddened and the color spread through his face.
“I’m leaving, Mr. Walters,” I said and stood. “Please don’t bother me again.”
He seethed in front of his porcelain teacup and I turned to walk out, not acknowledging the chill racing up and down my spine. Fuck him. Who did he think he was?
As I walked along the street, heading toward Central Park, it occurred to me that I should alert Den to this guy. If he were threatening me over a non-existent ring, it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to imagine him as a killer, or someone who’d hire one. He definitely was not the man in the video, who’d been thin and tall. Nevertheless, he was definitely one of the “kooks” Justine had alluded to during our last conversation. This particular collector hadn’t been on my list of suspects at all.
I passed two police officers dressed in uniform, and I have to admit I lost my focus for just a moment as they were both gorgeous Hispanic guys, built.
Even though I would be getting paid to write the Harlow book, I still needed every cent I could get to pay off my hospital and doctor bills. Not only that, but someday I’d like to have my own place. So I ignored my baser instincts to flirt with the uniformed hotties and made my way to a bench and dialed Den, who was completely untouchable, or at least in my mind he was. I had a bet to win.
The day was an almost perfect spring day, and I breathed in the brisk air as I sat on the first empty bench I found, facing the reservoir. Water called to me. Perhaps it was because I’d grown up on the island. Gazing at the water always soothed me, helped me to think, and got my creative juices flowing.
“Sergeant Den Brophy speaking.”
“Hi, this is Charlotte Donovan.”
“Yes, what can I do for you?” he breathed into the phone. He wasn’t flirting, was he? It was probably dreaming on my part. But something about the tone in his voice made my insides pop.
“I just had the oddest experience,” I said.
“Tell ya what, it’s about time for me to take off outta here. Maybe we could chat in person. What do you say?”
“Ah,” I said, not my most articulate response.
“It’s just that I’d rather see you in person, and I’d like to catch you up on what we’ve found. I kinda hate the phone.”
“Oh,” I said. Still articulate.
“Let’s meet at Charley’s on West 72nd. Do you know it?”
“Yes,” I said. Of course I did. It was one of the many cop bars in the city. I hoped I didn’t run into any of my other “interests.” Of course, I’d not seen any of those cops in a while. I’d most recently been dating a few from the Lower East Side.
I wasn’t good with changes in plans or spur-of-the-moment meetings. But I had enough time to consider it and feel good about it. Even though Den was off-limits to me at this point, I wanted to tell him about Chad Walters the collector and to find out where the investigation stood. So despite myself, pangs of anticipation moved through me.
I headed toward the subway. The L’Ombragé Apartments came into view, along with a familiar figure—Walters, milling about just outside the building.
I was certain he didn’t see me, but it unnerved me. What business did he have there? Did he know I was staying there? My heart raced. I needed to tell Den about this—but it would mean confessing that I’d been staying at Justine’s place.
For the first time since I’d been living there, I was glad there was security at the door. I hoped Walters wasn’t aware of the back door.
I took one last glance at him before descending beneath the streets. A woman elbowed me as I became part of the monster of moving parts of people heading downward.
Eleven
I walked into Charley’s, which wasn’t as busy as I’d expected. I examined the small crowd to make certain none of my cop friends were around. The coast was clear.
Den sat straight on a bar stool, wearing jeans and an untucked dress shirt with a leather jacket. He hadn’t spotted me yet, so I took a moment to enjoy him. Short, cropped reddish-blonde hair, blue eyes, high cheekbones, and dimples. One in his chin.
He set his drink down, moving with lion-like power, grace, and assurance. He sat back on the stool and crossed his arms, which made the jacket tighten. I could only guess those arms were ripped.
“Hey, Den,” I said.
“Charlotte!” He stood and shook my hand, briefly placing his arm on my shoulder. Electricity. Fire. I so wanted to climb into bed with him, wrap myself around him, forget about my day in his arms. Not yet. Not only did I have a bet to win, but I also had the meeting with Justine’s lawyer in a couple of hours, for the will reading.
He led me to a table and a server followed. “What will you have, Charlotte? I’m off duty.” He lifted his beer.
“I’ll have a stout.” One stout. No more.
“Coming right up,” the server said.
His elbows on the table, Den leaned closer to me. “I gotta tell you, Charlotte, all of those names you gave me check out. They all have sound alibis. Of course, we’re checking into the alibis even further. People have been known to lie to the cops.”
“I’ve got a new name for you. Chad Walters.”
The server brought my thick, dark stout with a perfect foamy head on it. I lifted the brew and drank it in.
“What’s his story?” Den’s eyebrows gathered and his chin tilted to the side.
I relayed the story to him, leaving out the part where I was staying at Justine’s. But I noted that Walters was loitering outside her apartment building as I passed by.
A group of men, police officers I assumed since the place was so popular with them, laughed loudly, and Den turned his head momentarily, then back to me.
“Excuse me,” he said. “I’m going to text the name in.” He pulled out his phone, texted, and turned his focus in my direction. “We went into Justine’s place and downloaded all the files on her desktop computer onto a jump drive. Our cyber unit is going over everything in detail. God, they sometimes take forever.” He took a sip of his beer.
Well, that was good to learn. They would now have the crazy emails I’d read. Whew. I breathed a sigh of relief. For now.
“The weird thing is, my crew could swear someone is staying at her place.” He lifted an eyebrow.
My heart thumped. Okay. Was he going to bust me? I remembered Justine’s advice about acting stupid.
“That would be me,” I said. I took another sip of the creamy bitter drink.
“You?”
“Yeah. I’ve been staying there since Justine passed. I’m her assistant. I couldn’t be running back and forth between the city and Cloister Island. It wasn’t feasible right now.”
Den set his glass down and grinned. “This is highly unusual. I’m not sure you should be there.”
“It’s not a crime scene.”
“True, but I think it’s best we keep this between us for the time being. Though I’m glad you told me.”
“You see why I’m so worried about Walters hanging around.”
“Have you noticed anybody else? Press?”
“I don’t think so.” I sipped my stout. “But there is another person I’ve seen that makes me feel like I’m losing it.”
I explained about the look-alike woman I’d been seeing—first a blonde, then a redhead. I wasn’t sure they were the same person.
“She was standing outside the apartment building sobbing the day of the memorial,” I said. “And she was definitely at the service.”
“We had the place under surveillance. I’ll see if I can find her on the footage. In the meantime, I wanted to ask you about this guy.” He pulled out his phone and clicked around. He held the phone up. “Does he look familiar?”
A chill moved through me. “Yes. I noticed him. He was one of the few people I actually remember. I was upset and just wanted out of there.”
“What was it about him you remember?”
I drank from my glass and mulled over the question. “It was the way he looked at me. And there was something vaguely familiar about him, the shape of his eyes, I think. But the beard? I’d have remembered if I met a man with a beard like that.”
“It was a fake.”
My heart raced.
“Look closer,” Den said. “Look right there.” He pointed to a tiny mark on the man’s lower face.
I gasped. “Was he the same man from Layla’s?”
“We can’t be certain,” he said. “But that mark could lead to the scar. It’s in the exact right position on his face.”
My fist pounded on the table. “I can’t believe he was there and I missed him!” I remembered the feeling the man gave me when our eyes met. When would I ever learn to trust my instincts?
“Calm down,” Den said, and then laughed. “We all missed him, until the idiot left his beard in the trash can in the men’s room. Now we have his DNA.”
“What good is that going to do if he’s never been in your system?” My stomach churned. The man who’d killed Justine had been right there at the memorial service. I saw him. We’d made eye contact.
“First, we don’t know that he hasn’t. Second, when and if we find him, it will just be more evidence against him. Police work is not like you see on TV where everything happens in a nice orderly puzzle to be solved at the end. Sometimes it’s more like … gathering a hodgepodge of ideas, facts, incidents, and hunches. Sometimes you never know how one relates to the other. If it ever does.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. My, my. Not only was Den a looker, but he was astute as well. Someone I could carry on a conversation with, which hadn’t been my experience. Much.
My phone dinged, alerting me to a text message from Kate, who planned to join me for the will reading. The law office happened to be two blocks away from me. I texted her back and told her where I was.
“WHAT?”
“Calm down. We’re going over Justine’s case.”
“I’m coming RIGHT NOW.”
I laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Den asked.
“My friend Kate is going to meet me here. I hope you don’t mind. She’s joining me for the reading of Justine’s will.”
“I think I’ve gone over everything I wanted to talk with you about. For the case, that is.” Den’s eyebrows lifted. Then he exhaled. “I don’t date women involved with cases I’m working. But I like you. What do you think? Maybe after we get this guy, you and I go out for dinner or something?”
Or something.
I hesitated. I didn’t want him to perceive that I’d been entertaining thoughts of my own. Thoughts not necessarily including dinner. But it could be a nice change. To actually date.
“Sure,” I said. “I’d like that.”
Just then, Kate came sauntering over. She must have been close when she texted. She leaned over and kissed me.
Den tilted his head slightly as he looked at Kate. He was a trained observer.
“Please sit down, Kate. Let me get you a drink.” He stood. “What’ll you have?”
“Just a diet coke for me, thanks,” she said. As he walked off, she turned to me, wide-eyed. “Damn, he’s hot.”
“Indeed,” I said, laughing.
“Kate to the rescue then,” she said and winked. She wore a bright red blazer with a huge rhinestone pin on it, focusing the attention right smack on her gorgeous pert breasts. She glittered and popped, as usual. “Or you may have been out five hundred dollars.” She wriggled her eyebrows.
Almost as soon as Den came back, his phone buzzed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I have to take this.” He rose from the table and walked into the lobby area.
“Listen, Charlotte, I’m so sorry,” he said when he came back. “I’ve got to run. A case I’m working is breaking. I need to be there.”
“You said you were off duty.”
“I was, but this case is important. I’m hoping it’s going to mean a promotion for me. Why don’t you two stay
here and have another drink? I’ll tell them to put it on my tab.”
Kate’s eyebrows lifted and she smiled. “I like this guy. Do you think he’d spring for a facial? How about a boob job? ”
Den shot her a grin. “How many more do you need?”
Kate exploded into laughter as he walked off.
Twelve
After finishing our drinks, Kate and I took off to find the law office. Typical official building, kind of nondescript until we reached the fifteenth floor, which had marble floors, deep wood-paneled walls, and leather chairs and sofas placed strategically around the large spaces. People gathered in some of those areas.
I walked up to the receptionist and told her who I was, and she nodded. “Someone will be here to show you to the meeting room momentarily. Please have a seat.”
Kate, who had already found a spot perched on a high-backed leather chair, fooled with her chiffon scarf. She was accustomed to these offices. Since I worked for Justine from home, I rarely had reason to be somewhere like this. The places I frequented were libraries and … cop bars. I sat down on a couch and sank in, my feet barely reaching the floor, and I couldn’t imagine getting up gracefully from this position. Never mind. This was just a formality. I’d never see these people again.
We waited longer than I’d expected, which gave me plenty of time to dwell on the fact that yesterday, I had looked into the eyes of a murderer. It had been such an emotional day—draining—but that was no excuse. Why hadn’t I recognized him, despite his disguise?
Then Chad Walters’ eyes flashed into my mind. I could have been gazing into a madman’s eyes today. No, he wasn’t the killer of Justine, but I’d not be surprised if he had a hand in it.
What had my life turned into? I’d gone from living the quiet life on Cloister Island, researching movie stars and assisting Justine wherever she needed me, to a person whose mind was filled with death and murder. I didn’t like it. But still I owed it to Justine to help bring justice in her untimely death.
The Jean Harlow Bombshell Page 6
