Wings in the Dark

by Michael Murphy

  “She’s hiding behind me.”

  Plastered to my back, Laura’s arm came to the side and she waved, without revealing anything more than one hand. “Nice to meet you, Freddy.”

  The young man’s eyes widened. “Oh, I get it. Sorry…Everything okay with the cabana? They’re pretty old.”

  Just leave already. “It’s small but meets our needs.”

  Laura’s hand wandered below my waist in the water, and she whispered, “It does meet our needs, darling, but it’s hardly small.”

  He tipped his cap. “Enjoy your…your swim.” Freddy dashed toward the cabana, tossed the screenplay on the deck table, and disappeared up the path to the hotel.

  Laura slipped her arms around my neck. “Well, darling, where were we?”

  Several yards from our hedge, a couple faced us. The woman pointed in our direction and argued with the man. “It certainly is Laura Wilson.”

  Apparently, the private, secluded cove the brochure mentioned wasn’t private or secluded.

  As they walked away, Laura chuckled. “I guess we weren’t meant for a night of romance.”

  “What do you say we get dressed up and go out for the evening?”

  “Out? What did you have in mind?”

  “I’m thinking of breaking out the tux. You could wear that silver gown you insisted on bringing. Dinner, dancing, and champagne at a place down the road called the Mambo Club. I even rented a car.”

  Laura threw her arms around my neck and kissed me. “You might be a scoundrel from time to time, but you’re the best husband a girl could ask for. Now, let’s go inside and skinny-dip in the shower.”

  —

  Two hours later, I tried to tie a bow tie in a mirror beside the front door. Laura emerged from the bedroom fastening a gold earring. A stylish beret and a snug-fitting, silver-sequined gown had transformed her into the movie star she’d become in the past eighteen months. Sometimes, like now, her beauty took my breath away.

  She straightened my tie and kissed me. Hand in hand, we made our way up the path to the hotel, a short hike, no longer than the right field foul line in the Polo Grounds.

  Like most hotel lobbies in early January, this one still contained an eye-catching Christmas tree. Only this one was some kind of fern, the lights all white, and the ornaments were made out of seashells. I’d never seen anything like it in Queens.

  Two men were working behind the counter, Freddy and the night manager. The night manager, a heavyset man in his fifties who looked like he hadn’t smiled in weeks, was talking on the phone.

  Freddy gave Laura the once-over and let out a low whistle. “I didn’t get a good look at you earlier.” He cleared his throat. “Not that I was looking. I mean, I was looking, but I didn’t see anything.”

  The young man gave me a help me out look, but I decided to let him squirm. He cleared his throat again. “Some of the staff mentioned you were a knockout, but they understated how beautiful you are. I’m Freddy, Freddy Olsen.”

  “Thank you, Freddy.”

  The manager hung up the phone and greeted us with an insincere smile. He tapped on Freddy’s chest. “What did I say about not buttoning your shirt?”

  Freddy buttoned up. “That you didn’t like it.”

  I stepped forward as the manager grabbed a stack of mail from the counter and sorted the letters into room slots. “I believe Mikayla Sato might’ve left a key.”

  “Sure, Mr. Donovan. Right here.” Freddy slid an envelope toward me. “The Olds is parked outside.”

  “Thanks.” I took Laura’s arm.

  Freddy glanced toward the manager and lowered his voice. “I don’t suppose you had a chance to read my screenplay. No, I guess you were busy…swimming.”

  Reading his screenplay was the last thing I wanted to do in the time we had left in Hawaii. “I’ll take a peek first thing I can.”

  “It’s a mystery about a husband and wife detective team.”

  The description seemed familiar. “Sounds like The Thin Man.”

  Freddy shrugged. “This is different. It’s filled with action, adventure, and suspense.”

  Still sounded like The Thin Man.

  “There’s a part you’d be perfect for, Miss Wilson.”

  Laura patted my hand. “I’ll make sure Jake gives your screenplay his undivided attention.”

  Freddy pumped his fist. “You two are the cat’s meow. You going dancing?”

  “That’s right.”

  He glanced at the manager and lowered his voice as if he was about to recommend a speakeasy in the old days. “I think you’d enjoy the Mambo Club. It’s less than a mile up the road.”

  “We’ll give it a try.”

  Freddy puffed up with pride. “Don’t take any wooden nickels.”

  I smiled and led Laura through the lobby.

  The Oldsmobile was right out front. Like the bicycles, the car was clean, polished, and appeared to be well maintained. I twisted the key, however, and the starter wouldn’t turn over. I pumped the gas pedal and tried again.

  The engine coughed like someone with tuberculosis before starting. A puff of white smoke billowed from the tailpipe and the car backfired. I tapped the pedal again to keep the engine from stalling. We inched forward and eased away from the hotel.

  Laura chuckled. “Her bikes are better than her cars.”

  I patted the dash. “Don’t listen to her, girl. You’re just fine.”

  Away from hotels and nightclubs, Honolulu was like a thousand other cities these days, filled with struggling businesses and dejected people grown weary of the Depression. Like Queens and Los Angeles, and anyplace else, good people lost their jobs and men used their last two bucks to drown their sorrows before going home and breaking the news to the wife who’d just about had enough. It was the way of the world nowadays, and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

  Laura scooted closer. “You okay?”

  I kissed the top of her head and turned into the parking lot of the Mambo Club. A valet greeted us with as much warmth as a middle-aged librarian with an apartment full of cats. I handed him the keys. “Be careful. She’s a classic.”

  Music with an up-tempo big band sound blasted through closed double doors flanked by large torches. Inside, the island theme was traditional and whimsical. Laura hooked her arm in mine as we approached the maître d’ in a white dinner jacket stationed behind a teak wood podium.

  “Reservations?” he barked.

  Reservations? Mikayla hadn’t said anything about reservations. “I didn’t realize…”

  His eyes locked on Laura. “Laura Wilson! I’ve seen all your pictures. You were fabulous in all of them, but my favorite was Midnight Wedding.”

  As always, Laura took the compliment in stride. “Thank you so much.”

  He gave her the once-over. “You look marvelous.”

  “Thanks.”

  He led us toward the main room, where the band was playing. “Right this way, Mr. and Mrs. Wilson.”

  One could have fried an egg on the back of my neck. “Donovan.”

  The man’s brows furrowed. “Excuse me?”

  “Never mind.”

  The maître d’ showed us to a table close to the band and promised a bottle of their best champagne, on the house. He pulled the chair out for Laura, who sat and failed to suppress a grin. He lit a candle in the center of the table and hurried to the bar.

  “I’m sorry, darling.” Laura squeezed my hand. “A night out dancing is such a wonderful surprise. I know dancing’s not your favorite thing to do.”

  “But you do know what my favorite thing is.”

  Laura blushed. “Everything’s been perfect ever since we stepped onto the boat in Los Angeles. Thanks for a delightful honeymoon.”

  “My pleasure.” I definitely meant that.

  With the exception of the morning’s interview, everything had turned out swell. Life was perfect with the woman I’d loved for most of my life. I smiled.

  The band began to play G
lenn Miller’s “Annie’s Cousin Fannie.” I took Laura’s hand and led her to the dance floor.

  Laura moved with her usual grace while her dark curls, red lips, and shapely figure caught the attention of most of the men and women. Their expensive dinner jackets and gowns reminded me how few people could afford the luxury of the Mambo Club. Was I writing Blackie Doyle novels to earn enough dough to live a lifestyle that would make me forget what it was like to struggle, really struggle? Maybe I was just beating myself up too much for being a success.

  As we danced, Laura’s eyes glistened.

  Except for in stage roles and movies, Laura didn’t often cry. “What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head and a tear slid down her cheek.

  I tilted her chin upward and wiped away the tear. “Laura…”

  She blinked away more tears that threatened to fall. “Everything’s turned out the way I always hoped, but sometimes I worry our good times won’t last.”

  At least we’d have plenty of company. “Sweetheart, now we’re married, things will only get better. You’ve become a star and I’m…” What was I becoming? “I’m doing what I enjoy, writing.”

  “Do you love writing as much as being a detective in New York?”

  The answer twirled slowly in my mind, but Laura needed reassuring. “Of course I do.”

  She laid her head against my shoulder. “I’ve loved you since high school, but for the longest time I thought we might never get married. Now that we are, I don’t want to lose you.”

  Lose me? What was she talking about? Where was my pal Gino when I needed him to explain women. “Why would…”

  “The past couple of years you’ve put your life on the line more than once.”

  I thought back to Mickey’s murder and the undercover work Laura had done for the government agent who worked for Joe Kennedy, Landon Stoddard. “So did you.”

  When the song ended, I led her back to the table. “Are you okay?”

  “Of course.”

  I pulled the chair out for her, and she sat gracefully. A waiter arrived, mumbled something French, and opened a bottle of champagne with flair, like someone working an audience. He popped the cork, poured half a glass, and handed it to me.

  Champagne was merely booze with bubbles, but I nodded, and he filled Laura’s glass.

  I held up the glass. “What shall we drink to?”

  “Your preposition is dangling.”

  “You should’ve mentioned that on the dance floor. I hate when my fly’s open in public.”

  She laughed, the tears put away. “Let’s drink to a quiet and peaceful rest of our honeymoon.”

  We clinked glasses and sipped the champagne.

  The maître d’ hurried over, as excited as a man could get—okay, not that excited. “How is everything, Miss Wilson?”

  “Delightful, isn’t it, darling.”

  The man’s infatuation with Laura was getting under my skin, though I understood his interest. After all, I was infatuated too. “Wonderful.”

  “Splendid.” He nodded as if noticing me for the first time. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

  Laura chuckled as he walked away. “I’m sorry, darling. First the girl on the beach and now the maître d’. It can’t be easy for you to deal with.”

  “It’s a reflection of your success.” I was still trying to get used to other men’s interest. It seemed more of a struggle now we were married.

  The maître d’ returned, carrying a phone with a long cord. He set the phone on the table and handed Laura the receiver. “Call for you, Miss Wilson.”

  She covered the receiver. “Who knows we’re here?”

  “Freddy. He’s probably wondering if we’ve read his screenplay yet.”

  Laura spoke into the phone. “Laura Wilson.”

  Her eyes furrowed as she listened. “Of course. We’ll be right there.”

  She hung up and rose from her chair. Who knew we were at the Mambo Club?

  “Who was it?”

  “Amelia Earhart.”

  The maître d’s eyes widened.

  Laura grabbed her purse. “Amelia needs our help.”

  Chapter 4

  The Big Squeeze

  Amelia Earhart needs our help. I never expected to hear those words, but the concern on Laura’s face told me I’d heard right.

  I handed the valet our ticket and tipped him. Wheeler Field was twenty miles north of the city in the center of the island. I drove away from the Mambo Club, remembering the first time I’d met the famous aviatrix. Laura introduced me to her at the Mines Field airport in Los Angeles. She looked more like Charles Lindbergh than Lindbergh, thin, short bobbed hair, sincere smile with a slight gap in her teeth, and gray piercing eyes.

  During the two years I spent sulking in Florida, Laura and Amelia met backstage at one of Laura’s Broadway plays. The two hit it off and kept in touch.

  Skilled, brave, and charismatic, Amelia Earhart didn’t become the most famous and popular woman in America until she met George Putnam, a guy I first encountered when I was a Pinkerton and a struggling writer; someone I managed to tolerate.

  Putnam was a former book publisher, author, adventurer, and explorer of some note. George and Amelia met when he selected her for a chance to become the first woman to fly across the Atlantic. She accomplished the feat as a passenger, but Putnam, the master manipulator, courted the media and steered Amelia’s career with well-timed precision.

  I held out hope that the help Amelia referred to was our opinion on whether she should go ahead with her dangerous flight across the Pacific. “How can we help?”

  “Amelia didn’t want to say over the phone.” Laura’s forehead wrinkled as if we’d been summoned to a hospital after a close friend had been in an accident. “But she asked to make sure I brought you.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that. “Me?”

  I had no idea what we were about to walk into, but why would Amelia ask Laura to bring me? If she needed my background as a detective, I might be walking into a real pickle.

  The last time I “helped” on an investigation, the local cops fingered me as the prime suspect in a Hollywood murder. I promised Laura I’d never get involved in police business again. “What else did she say?”

  Laura shook her head. “It wasn’t so much what she said, but the way she said it.”

  “And how’s that?”

  “She sounded worried, frightened almost. Jake, we’re talking about Amelia Earhart. Nothing scares her.” Laura squeezed my arm. “You don’t think something’s happened to her husband?”

  I turned onto the road toward Wheeler Field. “We’ll know soon enough, sweetheart.”

  I wanted to take Laura’s mind off Amelia’s phone call. “I never liked him.”

  “Who?”

  “George Putnam.”

  “Oh, great. If anything’s wrong with George, don’t mention that to the cops.” Laura studied my face. “I admire George for what he’s done for Amelia’s career. He’s the perfect promoter. He needs her to write books about her adventures and make him even richer, and Amelia needs him to promote her next venture.”

  “She doesn’t need him.”

  “Oh, no? Think Amelia’s the best female pilot in the world? Most people assume that, but until a couple of years ago, she was still taking flying lessons. When she became the first woman to cross the Atlantic, she was a passenger while two men split the piloting duties, yet people in Europe and back home greeted her as the hero, just like Lindbergh. She toured the country speaking and earning more dough than she’d ever made. That was George’s doing.”

  At a traffic light, she pulled a makeup case from her purse and powdered her nose. “Don’t get me wrong. He doesn’t call all the shots. Amelia’s a great match for George, fearless and determined. She created her own successful line of clothes. She sold the idea for the Wings in the Dark movie to Paramount. He supports Amelia’s career, much like you do mine. You’re always there for me, a
ttending Hollywood parties with snobbish actors and holding your tongue when fans gush over my latest film. I know these things bother you, but you do them for me.”

  I still didn’t like the guy. “Sounds like more of a manager than a husband.”

  She snapped the case closed. “We’re childhood sweethearts whose love stood the test of time. Their marriage is based on business, but it works.”

  Laura was angry I didn’t see George’s positive qualities, but I preferred my wife irritated with me rather than consumed with worry about Amelia.

  My sense of dread increased the closer we got to the airfield. I’d not only promised Laura I wouldn’t get involved in another homicide investigation. I’d made the same promise to myself. My detective days were right where I wanted them: behind me.

  We drove through the gate, where the guard checked our names on a list and waved us through. Laura regained her composure and appeared ready to handle whatever we were about to face. She even managed a smile. “You’re as concerned about what we’ll find as I am, aren’t you? But you helped me talk my way out of my dread. Did I ever tell you how wonderful you are?”

  “Not that I recall.”

  Laura laughed and kissed my cheek. “Amelia and I do have something in common. She turned down George’s marriage proposals on six separate occasions. I only turned you down five times.”

  We climbed out of the Oldsmobile, looking like we’d taken a wrong turn, me in my tux and Laura in her silver gown. We followed a sandy path to the hangar housing Amelia’s plane, the Lockheed Vega. A Cadillac sedan and two Honolulu PD patrol cars sat near the entrance.

  My gut twisted into a knot. This was more than trouble. I recognized a crime scene when I saw one.

  One cop, tall and stout and bored-looking, stood beside a dark Cadillac sedan, smoking a cigarette while a young officer guarded the entrance.

  Policemen didn’t have it so easy. The job didn’t pay well and police departments wanted guys with patience, integrity, and guts. Twelve million people were out of jobs in the country. But even in Hawaii, few wanted to be cops.

  The hangar’s open door revealed her large plane and a handful of people. I spotted Amelia right away. In trousers and a brown leather jacket, she paced, running a hand through her familiar cropped hair. Her husband stood at a desk near the entrance, talking on the phone.