by Donis Casey
Alma wasn’t buying it. “Don’t be silly. What are the police going to do? Do you know what this guy did for a living? And look at all this dough! What was that venomous beast up to?”
“Well, we can’t just leave him here and stroll out like nothing happened.”
“Why not?”
“Alma, honey, you were seen.”
While the women were talking, Blanche staggered to her feet and went into the kitchen to pour herself a drink of water, then returned to the living room and flopped down on the couch. Alma and Mrs. Gilbert were too concerned with their situation to pay her any mind.
She cleared her throat. “Graham was a criminal,” she said, and the women looked at her, surprised to hear her speak. Her voice sounded husky. “He was going to use the money to buy drugs for somebody named Dix. But he was in cahoots with another man, a guy called Ruhl, to cheat his boss. They were going to sell the drugs for less than their boss thinks he’s paying for them and keep the difference for themselves.”
The color drained from Alma’s face. “Oh, sweet bejeezus. Dix is the biggest criminal on the West Coast. And this idiot thought he could embezzle from him? I don’t want to run afoul of a bunch of mobsters.”
“It’s pitch black outside,” Blanche pointed out.
“And?” Alma said in the tone one uses when confronted with the obvious.
Blanche ignored the sarcasm. “Can either of you drive a Pierce-Arrow roadster?”
Mrs. Gilbert let go of Alma’s arm. “I probably can. You have a plan, honey?”
“We have to get rid of the body so nobody will ever find it. Graham was supposed to leave for Chicago tomorrow with the money. It’ll be days before anyone even notices he’s missing. If we hide the body and the money, his criminal friends will think he did a bunk. By the time they figure out he’s gone for good, who will think to make a connection between Graham and Alma?”
Alma was unconvinced, but willing to keep an open mind. “How the hell are the three of us going to get him out of here without being seen?”
Blanche stood up. “Let me think.” She paced around the room for a few minutes, eyeing all the possible items that could be of use. She found a set of keys in a bowl beside the front door and pocketed them. “Mrs. Gilbert, help me roll him up in this rug. Alma, you pick up the money and put it back in the case.”
1926, Pasadena, California
When you lie down with dogs,you get up with fleas.
K.D. Dix’s sprawling Nouveau mansion must have covered an acre all by itself. The house was a work of art, all carved wood, stained glass, and subtle colors that blended into the surrounding forest. Oliver and Ruhl were ushered into a two-story foyer by a uniformed butler, who led them on a mile-long hike down a hall to a sunny parlor whose comfortable overstuffed furniture was as old-fashioned as the architecture of the house was modern. “Wait here,” the manservant ordered. “Tea will be brought shortly. Please make yourselves comfortable.”
Oliver wondered if the man was making a joke. “Comfortable” was the last thing either he or Ruhl felt. Much jittering and pacing ensued as they waited.
Oliver half expected to be left to stew for hours. That was a common technique for softening up a witness. But they were only left on their own for a quarter of an hour before the door opened and a short, dumpy, white-haired woman dressed in black entered, carrying a silver tea service. Ruhl and Oliver stood up until the woman placed the tray on a table, then took a seat on the divan before bidding Oliver to sit also.
“Ruhl, you can go,” she said without taking her eyes off of Oliver. Ruhl hastened to obey. Before he left the room he shot a warning look at Oliver.
Oliver was confused. Dix’s wife? A secretary? He remembered that the landlady at Peyton’s bungalow complex had mentioned that an old woman who resembled Queen Victoria had shown up looking for her son shortly after Peyton disappeared. Was this the same woman? The Queen Victoria description fit the bill. “You’re Graham Peyton’s mother,” he said.
She nodded. “I am.”
“I don’t understand. Do you work for K.D. Dix?”
The woman looked amused. “I am K.D. Dix, Oliver. For the past few weeks you’ve been working for me.”
Surprise caused Oliver to forget himself. “You’re K.D. Dix?”
“Pull your eyes back into your head, boy. When I heard that Graham’s body had been found, I gave Ruhl the task of hiring someone not associated with me to look into his death. Ruhl came up with you. I’d like to find out if my purchase has been worth the money.”
Oliver could hardly grasp the fact that this murderous whoremonger and dealer in illicit intoxicants resembled his grandmother. “You’re K.D. Dix?”
Dix was used to his reaction. It was the same with anyone who met her. She counted on it. She carried on patiently. “Mr. Oliver, when Graham’s body was discovered, Ruhl suggested that someone within my organization may have had a connection to his death. Now, I have quite a lot of resources at my disposal. I don’t have to rely on someone who is not on my payroll to look into my son’s death, but Ruhl suggested an independent investigator would be wise and I went along with it. However, I learned long ago not to put all my eggs in one basket, if you’ll forgive the cliché. I have been keeping an eye on you.”
“You’ve had somebody following me?”
She shrugged. It was a small matter to her. “That, and other things, too. You have a good reputation among your former clients.”
Oliver’s low-grade fear turned into anger. “I don’t appreciate being kept on a leash, Miss Dix…”
“Mrs. Dix. No, I imagine not. I am aware of everyone you have spoken to on this matter. Some information that you have uncovered interests me. That Graham kept a secret ledger, for instance.”
Oliver swallowed his words. He didn’t ask how she had found out.
But she told him anyway. “I spoke to Debbie Hall, Graham’s landlady, after you went to see her. She told me that you asked her about a missing ledger. Five years ago, after Graham disappeared, I went to his house myself and removed anything that might lead back to me. He did keep an account of the business he did for me. I recovered that ledger. It did not have a red cover. I’m curious to know why you asked Mrs. Hall about the existence of a missing ledger with a red cover?”
If Oliver told Dix the truth would he be signing Ruhl’s death warrant? If he lied, would he be signing his own? He decided to dance around the truth for all he was worth. “Mrs. Dix, I was fishing, trying to come up with any sort of motive for murder. Two sets of books would do it, and most account ledgers are red or black. I haven’t found anything. Even if such a thing exists and it can be found after all this time, whatever information is in it is so old it could only be of limited interest for someone like you who surely has many other ways to wield…influence.” Oliver was aware that Dix’s rather stilted way of speaking was beginning to affecting his own delivery.
A smile creased Mrs. Dix’s sweet, round face. “True. Still, if there is a second ledger, I want to know about it. I knew that Graham was skimming, and I long suspected that he had an accomplice. I’d like to know who that was, and if a second ledger exists, it could tell me. I would not have lasted as long as I have if I did not insist on respect. I do not want anyone to think he can take something that belongs to me and not pay a terrible price.”
“Even after five years?”
“Especially after five years. But what I really want to find out is how Graham ended up dead at the bottom of the palisades. And if someone put him there, I want to know who. Graham enjoyed courting danger. When he disappeared, Ruhl thought he had run, but I knew that he was probably dead. Yet in spite of my not inconsiderable assets, I was never able to find out what happened to him. Now that his remains have been found, I hope that some fresh clue to his murder was unearthed with his bones. Graham Peyton caused me much heartache, but he was my son, M
r. Oliver, so it matters to me very much.”
“If I do manage to find out that he was murdered and who did it, what do you plan to do about it?”
“I plan to make the killer pay, and pay dearly.”
“Mrs. Dix,” Oliver said, “I have been doing my utmost to discover what happened to Peyton, and will continue to do so if you want. But it may be that his death really was an accident. Or if he was murdered, there may very well be nothing left to lead to his killer. But if I do find that he was killed and also find out who did it, I have to warn you that I will go to the police with the information.” The instant the words left his mouth, Oliver regretted them. What am I doing? I’m no hero. Am I trying to prove I have a shred of honesty left?
Mrs. Dix smiled in a way that did not make Oliver comfortable. “Be my guest, Mr. Oliver. If you find the bastard who murdered my son, you can tell the President of the United States himself. It won’t keep me from having my vengeance.”
Oliver’s heart fell to his stomach with a thud. “It might take me a long time to get to the bottom of this. It may take years, even, to come up with anything at all.”
“I’ve already waited years. I’m a patient woman. Don’t worry, Mr. Oliver. I’ll cover your expenses, no matter how long it takes. From this moment until you tell me what I want to know, I am your only client.”
Oliver left the house through the front door and leaned up against a column on the veranda to roll a cigarette and think the situation over. He flapped his jacket lapel with one hand while he smoked. He had sweated through his white shirt.
What to do? The old woman looked so harmless, which scared Oliver more than if she had been a six-foot tall thug with a shiny suit and a cauliflower ear. He was relieved that at least the whereabouts of the second ledger was only a side issue to her. He knew he wouldn’t rat out Ruhl unless his own life depended on it. Getting involved with K.D. Dix was a bad idea. What would he do if he did find out who killed Peyton? Oliver was not a paragon of virtue, and he didn’t have any particular sympathy for this theoretical murderer, but the idea of giving up some poor schmuck to bloody revenge was too much for him. Yet he didn’t want to run afoul of Dix and end up buried at the bottom of a handy cliff himself.
Ruhl waiting for him in the limo. Oliver slid into the seat next to him and lit another cigarette off of the previous butt. “So tell me, Ruhl, how did Grandma Dix get into the whore business?”
Ruhl made a shushing noise and nodded at the back of the driver’s head. “Keep your voice down. Listen, K.D. is into a lot more than the whore business. And when she shot her pimp in San Francisco back in ’81 and took over his operation, she didn’t look anything like your grandma, believe me. She’s had to be twice as tough as any man to survive, and she learned that lesson well, so don’t underestimate her.”
“I won’t. But you certainly did, Ruhl. She knows that I’ve been asking about a ledger. I managed to put her off for the moment, so she doesn’t know you’re connected.”
Oliver thought the old man might be sick. “God, I should have known she’d keep an eye on you,” Ruhl said. “If you do find it, what will you do?”
Oliver thought about what Dix’s reaction would be if she found out he wasn’t telling her everything. “You’d better hope it don’t turn up, Ruhl. I like living.”
~Like a moth to the flame…~
As soon as Ruhl dropped him off at home, Oliver was overcome with a desire to talk to Bianca. It was irrational. He didn’t want K.D. Dix to have Bianca in her sights. Besides, if he really wanted to pursue this investigation, Alma Bolding was the woman he should be interrogating. But sense didn’t figure into it. He picked up the telephone receiver but reconsidered. How was Dix keeping him under surveillance? Was there a listening device planted somewhere in the apartment? Was the telephone operator on Dix’s payroll? Oliver put his jacket back on and slunk to his car, keeping close to walls and shrubbery, then drove to Beverly Hills by the most circuitous route imaginable. When he was reasonably sure that he was not being followed, he drove up the canyon to Bianca’s front gate and rolled down his window to talk to the guard.
“Is Miss LaBelle at home? I need to speak to her.”
The guard recognized him. “I’m sorry, Mr. Oliver, but you are not expected.”
“Would you please let her know that I would like to see her? I have some important information for her.”
The man’s pleasantly bland expression didn’t change, but he sounded weary. When it came to people trying to get in to see the great Bianca LaBelle, he had heard every ploy there was. “I’m sorry, but if you would like to see Miss LaBelle at her home you are welcome to telephone her secretary and make an appointment.”
Oliver was disappointed, but he did admire the man’s efficiency. He took a different circuitous route back to Santa Monica, parked behind his building, and sneaked upstairs. He fried an egg for his supper and pulled the curtains before he ate. He didn’t feel like putting on a show for whoever was tailing him.
He was just rinsing off his one dish when the telephone rang, two shorts and a long. It was for him.
“I understand you want to see me,” Bianca said.
“Yes, thanks for calling. I wasn’t sure you’d remember me. I have a copy of the script I told you about at your party last week. You were kind enough to say you’d read it.”
Bianca got the picture immediately. “Of course I remember you. I thought your story idea was very promising. I’m free right now. Would you like to come to my place for a nightcap?”
“You’re very gracious. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Oliver replaced the receiver, feeling slightly ridiculous at the ruse. But if someone was listening, it was better to be safe than sorry. Every third person in Southern California was trying to get a script read, so who would doubt that Oliver was as well?
~The Big Squeeze~
This time Bianca met with him in the white living room in front of the massive fireplace. Fee, male-ish again in tails and spats, did not leave the room but stood sentry at the entrance. Bianca was dressed for an occasion of some sort, a vision in a pink chiffon gown with a pearl-covered belt around her hips. A pearl-studded headband sporting a spray of white baby’s breath offset her cropped cloud of sable waves.
She offered him a drink. Oliver declined and made himself comfortable on the couch opposite her. “You’re looking particularly luscious. Am I delaying a night on the town?”
“I’m going to dinner with friends.” She dismissed his compliment with a wave and got down to business. “It’s no wonder you were afraid of our being heard over the telephone, Oliver. I understand you met with K.D. Dix today.”
He exploded. “Jesus H. Christ! Why do you people need me? Why don’t you just spy on each other and leave me out of it?”
Fee took a step forward, but Bianca stopped him with a glance. “Don’t bust a blood vessel, Oliver,” she said. “A friend of mine saw you get into a limousine with Ruhl. It was an accident that I found out at all. Then you came by here this afternoon and asked to see me. What did you learn from Dix that I need to know?”
“Why didn’t you tell me Dix is a woman?”
Bianca favored him with her enigmatic smile. “I thought it would be a nice surprise.”
“Did you know that she’s Graham Peyton’s mother?”
He was perversely pleased to see that he had surprised her for a change. “No! But that makes sense. I always wondered why she’s never stopped looking for him.”
“Have you ever met her? She is one scary bitch. Mainly because she looks like your old granny but you know she’d happily rip your throat out if you cross her. I told her what I know, which ain’t much…yet. I also told her I’d keep trying to find out what happened to Peyton because I was afraid not to. Look, Bianca, what do you know that you’re not telling me? I can’t protect you if I don’t know how you’re invo
lved.”
“Protect me? You think you could protect me from K.D. Dix? I don’t think so. Even if you could, you don’t need to. Even Dix would have a hard time getting to me. As for what I’m not telling you about my youthful involvement with Graham Peyton, it has nothing to do with his criminal activities, or my protecting Alma or anyone else. It only has to do with our personal relationship years ago, when I was young and stupid. I don’t want my name dragged through the mud.”
Oliver was relieved. “I’m glad to hear it. Peyton led many a young girl astray. I’ve met a few of them and any one of them would have been happy to throw him off a cliff. I don’t know your story, Miss LaBelle, but it does seem like you turned out all right. I will take that drink, if you’re still offering.” He leaned back, feeling relaxed and chatty. “You know, it was Ruhl who hired me in the first place, and it turns out that he’s more interested in finding a ledger that Peyton used to cook the books than in finding out why he got killed. Poor old crook is terrified that Dix will find out that he was in cahoots with Peyton to double-cross her. Seems they used their booty to invest in a side business of their own in Arizona.”
She straightened. “Is that so? Graham was stealing from his own mother? I’m not surprised he and Ruhl were tied up in something shady together. Is Ruhl still running the same scam, or did he give it up when Graham died?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask and he didn’t volunteer to tell me. He probably is, or he wouldn’t be as worried as he is.”
Bianca stood up and took a turn around the room. Oliver watched as she paced, trying to figure out why she was suddenly interested in Ruhl, but distracted by her long, silk-stocking-clad legs. She stopped abruptly and turned to face him. “Ruhl has been doing Dix’s dirty work for years. He probably hired you because you’re expendable. He thinks nobody will care when you disappear without a trace. You know that Ruhl is as much a danger to you now as Dix?”
