by P. J. Conn
"I love it!" She grabbed him for a bubblegum flavored smack on the lips and stepped back to speak in a whisper, "This has to be our secret. Please don't give anyone else an idea. It's all I can do to stay ahead of them."
"Agreed." He'd never thought of himself as having a talent for choreography, but she'd had the original idea.
Patty Poleto talked to him next. She was a blue-eyed bleached blonde. "You must have seen my photo on display out front." She folded her hands beneath her chin and batted her false eyelashes at him.
"I'm the Southern Belle, and have layers and layers of lace-trimmed slips and bloomers beneath the near endless yards of my gown. It takes almost as long to squeeze into my costume as it does to shimmy out of it. Speaking of which, our 'dressing room' is little more than an old broom closet, but whenever I suggest hiring a maid to help us dress, the manager says he'll be happy to deduct her salary from mine. I ask you, is that fair?"
"Certainly not," he agreed. The top of her floral robe gapped open to provide a tantalizing view of her ample charms. He focused on her eyes. "What can you tell me about Cookie?"
She bit a hangnail. "Nothing good. I couldn't wait for her to finally land a movie role and leave. The rest of us are just trying to earn a living, but she'd drone on about how she'd win an Oscar for her film debut. I refused to listen to her prattle rather than tell her to shut up, but I was tempted to slap her silly a time or two."
"Did you say that to Detective Lynch?" he asked.
"Are you kidding? Of course not, or he'd have me on his suspect list."
"Good thinking. Do you know anything about the men she dated?"
"She liked college boys, but she wasn't particular about which one. I think she was more careful with some of the other men who frequent Sherry's, you know what kind I mean. They might have plenty of money to spend on a girl, but they keep real scary company."
"I understand, and I plan to avoid them too."
Bernice Ross was Lily Montell for her act, and the last of the strippers being featured at Sherry's. In her late twenties, she had an elegant routine where she dressed as a 1920s heiress featured in Erte's art deco prints with slinky lily-patterned gowns, black satin gloves, and a long cigarette holder. Her dark hair was cut in a short bob, and she was the most subdued of the women Joe had met that day.
"Let's just say Cookie was as relentlessly annoying as a mosquito whining in your ear. None of us shed a tear when we learned she'd died. That sounds rather harsh, doesn't it?"
"I find an honest opinion refreshing," Joe countered. "Who do you think might have killed her?"
She shrugged. "I've no idea, but what's happened to the people who rented the apartment where she was found?"
"Excellent question. I haven't found them, but the police may have better luck."
"I didn't care for the detective working the case. He's the type who'll go to a strip joint three nights a week and still swear he's never been in one."
"Clearly you're an excellent judge of character," Joe replied. He handed Bernice his card. "If anything more occurs to you, please give me a call. On the off-chance someone is out to murder a whole string of strippers, I'd like to stop him at one."
"Good luck." She walked away with a seductive sway, and then paused to turn back. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." Joe wasn't sure how he'd sparked that show of gratitude, but he smiled as though he were pleased. He couldn't wait to tell Mary Margaret how he'd spent the afternoon, but he'd make it about the case, and not the assortment of half-clothed women.
Chapter 5
Mary Margaret was in a subdued mood that night. "We lost a favorite patient, and I feel sick about it. Please tell me something at least amusing if you've nothing side-splitting to share."
They were in her cottage snuggled together on the couch. "I'm sorry about your patient. I know you're fond of them all. Let's see, I did help a stripper choreograph a new routine, and that has to strike you as oddly amusing."
She sat up, more keenly interested than amused. "What were you doing with a stripper, may I ask."
"I'm working on Cookie's case, and went to Sherry's to speak with her co-workers."
"Co-workers is a flattering term." She relaxed in his arms and covered a wide yawn. "Don't worry, I'm not jealous. I haven't the energy for it tonight."
That she worked with handsome physicians and surgeons all day, to say nothing of recuperating young veterans who might have enormous charm, wasn't something he cared to concentrate on either. "I'd never want to make you jealous, sweetheart. Besides, without their stage makeup and costumes, they aren't nearly as pretty."
This time, she nearly jumped from his arms. "You saw them without their costumes?"
He laughed, even if she wasn't in the mood for humor. "They weren't as naked as they are at the end of their acts. They were wearing street clothes or light robes, and we spent our time standing in a hallway talking about Cookie."
"We only saw a couple of girls on the night we went to Sherry's. How many did you talk to today?"
"The two we saw, plus two more, but we were talking about a young woman who had been murdered, not flirting away the afternoon."
"Except when you were choreographing a routine?"
"That was a serious effort at creating art, Mary Margaret, not mindless flirting. I don't flirt, except with you. Is there any more of your luscious apple pie?"
She slipped from his arms to rise. "I see right through your ploy, Mr. Ezell. You're trying to distract me, but I might be able to find a couple of pieces if I look real hard. I'll make coffee."
He watched her nearly skip into the kitchen and figured he was out of trouble, if he'd been in any, which was unlikely with such a delightful fiancée.
She liked to call her one-bedroom cottage cozy, but when he moved in after the wedding, it would be a challenge not to constantly bump into each other. That could be nice though. Being careful not to crowd her in the kitchen, he remained on the sofa and thought about Lacy Fitzgerald.
He'd been wise not to take her case, but he still felt bad about having to disappoint her. Apple pie would help, of course, but he couldn't eat his way out of a case like Cookie's, and he wouldn't even try.
* * *
The next afternoon, Joe got a call from Mae, the noontime bartender at Sherry's. "Cookie's brother, Max, is here. The police won't tell him anything about their investigation. He seems like a real nice kid. May I send him on to your office? Please."
He heard the slight catch in her voice, a clear sign of distress. "Sure. Do you still have my card with the address?"
"Yes, and I'll draw him a map, so he'll be there soon."
"Fine." Joe opened his case folder on Cookie. He'd typed his notes from yesterday's interviews with her fellow strippers, but shifted the pages to the bottom of the stack. None had wept a tear over the murdered girl, but her brother didn't need to know how little she'd be missed.
By the time Max finally arrived, Joe had thought he might have decided against coming to see him. He stood to greet him. "Max? Come on in and sit down. Would you care for coffee?"
Max was a tall, lanky kid, who only his mother would describe as handsome, but he might one day grow into his oversized features. He had the same thick brown hair as his sister, with an unfortunate cowlick he reached up in a futile effort to tame.
"No, thank you, Mr. Ezell, I'm sorry I'm late. I know how to get from one place to another at home, but here I keep getting turned around and go in the wrong direction every time."
His apologetic smile gave him a charm Joe hadn't expected. "You needn't apologize, and call me Joe. I'm so sorry you had to visit California for such a sad reason."
Max waited for Joe to take his seat before he sat down. He had to move the chair a couple of feet away from the desk to accommodate his long legs. "Alice and I talked about my coming for a visit, but she wanted me to wait until she had a role in a movie so she could show me around the set." He swallowed hard. "That's not ever going to happen n
ow."
"Everyone who knew her remarked on her talent," Joe replied, which didn't stretch the truth too far. Her agent had praised her, and her many fans loved her act. "Where are you staying?"
"The rent's paid until the end of the month at Alice's apartment, so I'm staying there. The police made a mess of it searching for clues, but they didn't find anything and said I could move in."
Joe wondered if Cookie—he'd have to remember to call her Alice—had just been a lousy housekeeper. "You and I might find something the police missed. Would you mind taking me there?"
"You really want to go?"
"Yes, I do."
Flustered, Matt blushed a deep red. "I don't have the money to pay you. Alice sent money home for mother, but we don't have enough in the bank to hire a private detective."
"I'm being paid by another interested party, so you've no need to worry over my fees. My services are covered."
His expression brightened. "Really? I don't want to say anything bad about the Los Angeles police force, but they didn't seem very interested in finding who killed Alice."
"They're careful not to make promises they can't keep," Joe replied. Something he needed to learn. "Give me Alice's address, and I'll follow you there."
"I rented a car so I wouldn't have to pay taxis to get around town, but it would be a whole lot easier for me to follow you so we both don't get lost. Alice's apartment is on a side street near Sherry's." He handed over the address on a scrap of wrinkled paper. "She wrote to Mom about modeling, so I was surprised to learn she'd been waitressing."
"Waitressing?" If his sister had had such a job, Joe hadn't heard about it.
"At Sherry's. It's a real nice restaurant. The girl bartender sure was friendly. I guess she and Alice were good friends."
Max reminded him of a big puppy, and he could understand why Mae had shielded him from Alice's true employment. He doubted the kid could leave town without learning she'd worked as Cookie Crumble, a favorite stripper with Sherry's clientele, but it didn't have to be that afternoon.
* * *
Alice Reyes's apartment was in a stark concrete building built in what passed for an ultra-modern style before the war, but the architect posed no competition for Frank Lloyd Wright. Pale aqua glass bricks framed the wide entrance, creating a disorienting blur as Joe and Max entered.
Max led the way to the elevator. "She's on the third floor, so she had a nice view."
"I'm sure she enjoyed it," Joe responded.
They stepped out of the elevator. "Hers is the first one on the right. It's convenient, but must be kind of noisy when the elevator runs late at night. I guess it didn't matter to her." He unlocked the door and reached in to turn on the light.
"Will you need help packing her things?" Joe asked.
"She didn't own much except her clothes, and I'll give them to the Salvation Army rather than send them home. Mom would be too sad to open the boxes, so they'd just sit in Alice's bedroom catching dust."
"That's very thoughtful of you."
"Thanks, but it's what seems right. I just got into LA this morning, so please excuse the mess. I wanted to see what the police knew, rather than spend my time cleaning up."
The door opened into the living room, with a small kitchen to the left, along with a hallway to a bath and bedroom. It was a small apartment by any standard, and Joe felt an almost uncontrollable urge to open the refrigerator.
"Do you mind if I get a glass of water?" Joe asked.
"No, go right ahead. There must be clean glasses in the cupboard."
Joe had expected the sink to be full of unwashed dishes, but it was empty and sparkling clean. The burners on the stovetop were without a single crumb or drip. Maybe Alice preferred not to cook meals for one. He found half a dozen mismatched glasses and turned on the tap to fill one. He now had a reason to open the freezer compartment on the refrigerator, but all it held were the two empty ice cube trays. He filled them.
It was lunacy to expect to find a dead body after the police had searched the apartment, but Joe still held his breath as he pulled open the door. There was a bowl of oranges on the top rack, and a jar of grape jelly in the door. That was it. He closed the refrigerator as softly as he could.
"It looks as though your sister ate her meals out," he called to Max.
"Mae, she's the nice bartender at Sherry's, told me Alice ate her meals there. It's a good thing, because she was an awful cook. Mom tried to teach her, but she'd always insist movie stars didn't have to prepare their own meals."
Joe joined him in the living room. "Her determination should have paid off."
"Well, sadly, someone thought different." Max gathered up movie magazines strewn over the sofa. "Back home, Alice always had a library card, but it looks as though she only read magazines here. I guess she wanted to keep up with show business." He stacked them on the coffee table.
"In her letters home, did Alice mention dating anyone?"
Max sat down on the sofa and leaned back. The afternoon sunlight streamed through the large window behind him giving his dark hair a golden shimmer. "Never, which was odd because she was always chasing boys back home. She was homecoming queen and real popular, but if she wanted a boy who hadn't thought to chase her, she'd go after him."
Joe folded the sweater hanging off the back of a chair and sat down with him. "How would she go about it? Did she have any special tricks?"
"She'd dress extra cute and show up wherever he worked. She'd just walk by and say hello. She usually got his attention."
"She didn't leave anyone special when she came to California? Someone who might have followed her?"
"You think someone from home killed her?" Max shook his head. "No, sir, that just wouldn't have happened. The man who killed her has to be someone she met here. How are we going to catch him?"
"You're a nice kid, but it would be best if you accompanied your sister's body home and let the police, with whatever help I can provide, solve the crime."
"You've no idea who did it, do you?" Max countered. He stood and began to pace the small living room in a frantic circle.
Joe spoke in a soothing tone, "It's likely the murderer is someone she knew from Sherry's, someone who was infatuated with her, while she had no interest in him. He must regret becoming so violently angry with her, but he can't bring her back to life."
Max shoved his hands into his pockets. "She knew how to take care of herself."
"She may have been drinking, and didn't realize she was in danger until the murderer's hands were wrapped tightly around her neck." She would have seen the specter of death in the man's narrowed gaze, and Joe hated to think how terrifying her final moments must have been.
"You think he was a man she trusted, until it was too late?" Max asked.
"Yes. It's possible he gave her expensive gifts. Have you looked through her jewelry?"
"Haven't even looked for it."
Joe stood and nodded toward the hallway to the bedroom. "It would probably be in a jewelry box on her dresser. Do you mind if I help you search?"
"No." He led the way. "Looks like she left in a hurry and didn't have time to make the bed."
"The police might have thrown back the covers." Joe opened the drapes to let in the light. The room was painted a pale pink. There was a pink blanket on the bed, and a white chenille bedspread pooled on the floor beside it.
Teasing bits of lingerie peeked out of the dresser drawers, and Joe continued to let Max believe it was the police's doing. There were some necklaces hanging from the mirror frame above the dresser, but they were costume jewelry, not expensive tokens from someone who'd adored Alice. Max looked through the top drawer and found a red leather jewelry box, but it contained only a pair of small gold hoop earrings.
"Mother gave her these for her birthday one year. She said every woman ought to have at least one pair of gold earrings." He closed the lid and set the box on top of the dresser. "Mom would like to have those, so I'll take them home." He continued to se
arch the dresser drawers, but found no more jewelry.
"Did the police say anything to you about Alice's purse?" If she'd pawned expensive gifts, the tickets might have been in her wallet. Joe wanted to follow up on them, but it looked as though he'd have to make the rounds of nearby pawnshops and hope to find one Cookie, no, Alice, visited.
"No, they didn't find it with her. Do you suppose the murderer has it?"
"Probably, or he might have tossed it in a convenient trashcan. Let's just assume it's lost." He checked his watch. "Let's take a quick look through the closet."
Max opened the door to find it stuffed with colorful dresses in the latest styles. "She always loved clothes. Do you suppose the Salvation Army will take her things still on the hangars?"
"Yes, it will save them the trouble of unpacking boxes. Let's check the hat boxes for cards or letters a man might have sent."
There were three round boxes on the shelf and Max took them down and placed them on the bed. The first two held cute little hats, the third had letters tied with ribbon. "She saved Mom's letters." He thumbed through them before setting them on the dresser with the red jewelry box. "I'll take those home with me."
Joe had hoped to find something to link Alice to the man who'd killed her, but it just wasn't there. Of course, if the killer had her purse, he would have had her keys and could have beaten the police there and removed photos of them together, or anything with his name. He could also have taken whatever expensive jewelry he'd given her so it couldn't be traced to the store and buyer.
He doubted they'd find anything important in Alice's makeup in the bathroom, so he walked right by. "Come with me to pick up my fiancée, and we'll treat you to dinner."
Max hung his head. "You don't need to do that."
"You already have dinner plans?"
"No, but..."
