Murder On Ice

by P. J. Conn

  "This looks like Fred from the barber shop down the way." She called to the manager.

  "Yes, that's Fred Cooper, although I've never seen him wear a suit. You say he's won an inheritance? Lucky guy. None of my worthless relatives has anything to leave the rest of us."

  Joe thanked them, took the photo and slipped it into his shirt pocket thinking Lacy Fitzgerald must have seen a barber who resembled her father and worried herself silly over nothing. Certain he'd solved the case, he went on to the barber shop. The barber at the first chair turned and smiled at him.

  "Sit down. I'll be with you in a few minutes."

  Joe had studied Phillip's photo and didn't need to remove it from his pocket to check, but the man didn't merely resemble Phillip Fitzgerald, he was the man down to the dimple in his left cheek.

  Chapter 7

  Joe sat down as directed and gave Fred Cooper's startling appearance some thought. It was extremely doubtful Phillip Fitzgerald led a double life spending half his days as an architect, and the other half running a barber shop. Florence Fitzgerald hadn't mentioned her husband had a twin. Sometimes cousins looked very much alike, and it was logical Fred and Phillip were somehow related. If Florence hadn't made the connection, it was possible Phillip and Fred didn't know about it either.

  The case was becoming a different mystery altogether, and when Fred's client paid and left, with a very nice haircut, Joe approached him. "I don't know what I was thinking. I'm an extra in a movie we're shooting tomorrow, and I shouldn't get a haircut today. I'll come back another time."

  He turned away, and then stopped, as though he'd had a sudden thought. "You remind me of the architect working on my sister's new house. Is Phillip Fitzgerald a relative of yours?"

  Fred shook his head. "No, and I don't believe we have anyone named Fitzgerald in the family. I'm here Tuesday through Saturday. Come back whenever you can."

  "I will." Joe was positive he'd be back and soon.

  It was too late in the day to call Florence when he might interrupt her dinner. God forbid!

  * * *

  Mary Margaret felt like having lasagna so they went to their favorite Italian place. It had red and white checked tablecloths, and a container of breadsticks on every table. Joe ate three before he tasted anything more than confusion.

  "Is being in a movie anywhere near as exciting as you thought it would be?" she asked.

  "Not yet. We'll see how tomorrow goes, but once the chairs start flying in the saloon, I intend to keep out of the way and see Max does too." They'd had a long talk on the telephone last night, so she knew how poorly Max had taken the news of Alice stripping as Cookie Crumble.

  He reached for another breadstick. "I've a new case that started out looking fairly simple, but it's taken a weird turn."

  "I love weird turns," she responded with a delighted smile. "Tell me all about it."

  "I was hired to follow one man, and found another who looks exactly like him. They don't appear to be acquainted, but they could be twins. I can answer my client's question as to whether or not her husband is cheating on her, but there needs to be a lot more sorted out if the men are brothers and don't realize it."

  "That is definitely a weird turn all right. Maybe the men are twins. Sometimes twins are separated if they're put up for adoption. Maybe that's what happened in your case, and the boys went to different homes."

  "That's one possibility. Maybe the mother was overwhelmed with the thought of raising twins, and gave one away."

  "Ouch," she replied. "I know you feel obligated to tell your client the truth, but do you feel you ought to also tell the other man he may have a twin?"

  The waiter brought their meals, and Joe paused to savor his ravioli. "I'm an only child, and I'd love to have a brother. That only confuses the issue."

  "Well, I have two brothers and two sisters, but if there were another sibling wandering about, we'd all want to meet him, or her. Of course, asking our mother to explain might embarrass her to tears, and none of us would want that. Suppose the twins were born before a young couple married? The girl might have hidden the pregnancy and left the babies on a church doorstep. Or she could have gone to a home for unwed mothers, and the staff there found homes for the boys."

  "There are multiple possibilities, but they're grown men now, and they may not know they were adopted. People used to hide that fact from their children. There's certainly no shame in it, but some wanted it kept private."

  "Secrets can be dangerous," she observed. "Are both men pretty well established?"

  "Yes, one is an architect, and the other owns his own barber shop."

  "So they took completely different paths," she mused. "There are all sorts of intriguing twists to this case. I'll leave them to you to handle as beautifully as I know you will."

  "Thank you," he responded. "I'll try not to feel abandoned."

  "I haven't abandoned you, Joe. Don't be silly. I'm simply leaving the case in your capable hands."

  "So, how was your day?"

  She sighed. "No one has been hired to take Georgia's place, and we're all overworked as a result."

  "Is there a shortage of nurses?" he asked.

  "Not if you look only at the numbers, but at the end of the war, many went back to being wives and carrying for their families, rather than continue to work in the VA hospital. Other young nurses have married returning vets and moved out-of-state with them."

  They had talked about combining their incomes after they married, so he knew she intended to continue nursing. She also wanted a couple of kids, but he sure hoped that day wouldn't come too soon.

  * * *

  Joe found Max no more talkative Friday morning than he had been yesterday, and they drove to MGM in a somewhat strained silence. At wardrobe, they found their western clothing where they'd left it and hurriedly dressed for the saloon scene. They were ready, but the star of the film, a handsome man Joe had never heard of, required more time to prepare.

  "What does he need?" Max asked. "Someone to hold his hand through the fight, that isn't really a fight?"

  Joe turned his back to the others standing nearby. "Keep your voice down. We're being paid for the day, and it doesn't matter if we're doing nothing, or not doing much with the cameras rolling."

  Max briefly remained silent, and then took a new tack. "Wouldn't Mr. Sutton have sent Alice to audition for small parts? Isn't that where most actresses begin?"

  "It is, but Archibald thought your sister was really special, and he wanted her to have a chance at a lead."

  "Or so he says."

  With Max's cynical view, Joe continued to wonder about everyone involved in Alice's case. "It's possible she did work as an extra. I'm going to amble on over to the saloon girls at the end of the bar and ask. Stay here."

  Joe walked behind the bar to reach the three girls, a blonde, a brunette and a redhead. They were dressed in colorful costumes with full skirts, low cut tops and tightly cinched waists. As a finishing touch, they had tightly curled upswept hairdos.

  "Good morning," Joe whispered. "Alice Reyes was the sister of a friend, and she did some extra work. Did any of you ever meet her?"

  The redhead hid her laughter behind a gracefully placed hand. Her nails were polished a deep wine red, which might not have been authentic for the old West. "Cookie Crumble you mean?"

  "Yes, she also went by that name. Did you know her?"

  The blonde produced a silk fan and waved it to accent her words. "Honey, everyone knew Cookie."

  Joe was glad Max had stayed put. He lowered his voice, "You met her on a set?"

  "No, at one of Casper Green's parties. Frankly, his parties are better than his Westerns. He ought to film them and promote them as comedies."

  "Hush," scolded the brunette. "Don't you dare insult Mr. Green. I need this job even if you don't."

  "Don't we all," the redhead echoed.

  "When does Mr. Green hold these parties?"

  "After the film wraps, but they aren't for every
one, the stars, producers, and he invites a few others, mostly pretty girls. He owns a big home in Beverly Hills with a gigantic pool. There's live music for dancing, and plenty of booze, so everyone has a good time."

  "Do you remember when he held the last party?" Joe held his breath, but naturally, things didn't fall into place.

  "It must have been a month ago now," the redhead replied, and the blonde nodded.

  "It was the middle of August and really hot, so everyone wanted to get into the pool," the brunette added.

  "Did you see Alice there?"

  "Yes, she was one of Casper's favorites. She came with another girl from Sherry's, Lily something or other. She was elegant and aloof. Just the type many men can't resist."

  "Lily Montell?" Joe asked.

  "Yes, that's her. She's been to Casper's parties before, but that night they came together."

  "Did they leave at the same time, or did you see Alice leave alone?"

  The three laughed, then quickly hushed. "She never left alone," the redhead whispered.

  "You don't either," the brunette scolded.

  Joe looked over his shoulder, but Casper still wasn't ready to shoot the scene. "Tell me something about the men at the parties."

  "Most were movie people with lots of money, and they left their wives at home. It was all in fun and no harm done," the blonde insisted. "Why are you so curious? Did you date Cookie yourself?"

  "No, we never met." Joe had put a handful of his business cards in his hip pocket and gave one to each girl. "I'm a detective working on the case. Call me if you think of anything more about Alice." He tipped his Stetson, and made his way back to Max who'd been talking with the actor playing the bartender.

  "None of the whiskey is real," Max announced. "The bottles are filled with colored water or soda."

  "That's real disappointing to hear," Joe responded, getting into character as best he could.

  Casper Green came up to them with a couple of sheets of the script. "Here are your lines. Read them a time or two, and when you're ready, we'll begin." He directed one of the cameramen into position behind the bar.

  "I got it," Max said after scanning the page. He folded the page and shoved it into his pocket. "You ready?"

  "Better slouch over the bar," Joe suggested. He also pocketed the page with their lines and got into the pose himself. He waved to Casper, and heard the whirl as the cameraman began filming.

  "I'm sick of racing you," Joe began. "With only three legs my horse could beat yours."

  "Don't waste your breath bragging. I'm challenging you to another race."

  "I'm sick of racing you," Joe repeated, and the action moved to the center of the saloon where the leads were facing off with challenges of their own. He kept his head down and when the staged fight broke out in a raucous swirl, he shoved Max down the bar, and they stayed out of the way.

  "Cut!" Casper yelled. "That was great. This next time, girls, pick up your skirts and show more leg as you dash to hide behind the bar. The cowboys at the bar were terrific. Do it again just the same." He continued with small criticisms for the actors involved in the fight, and once the tables and chairs were picked up and set in place, they repeated the scene.

  Joe and Max were thoroughly tired of the few lines they'd been given by the time Casper called a stop for lunch. "Is this all there is to acting?" Max asked. "Just doing the same scene over and over until the director is sick of it too?"

  "I'm afraid so," Joe agreed. The afternoon was a repeat of the long morning, but at last, Casper Green called it a day.

  The director walked over to Joe and Max. "You two were as convincing as I knew you'd be. Be here on November 3rd when we begin fighting the war all over again."

  "Will there be sets like this one?" Max asked.

  "A few, but we're shooting on the back lot where we'll have plenty of dirt and mud. We want to make it look authentic." He walked away whistling after a good day.

  "Authentic," Max whispered under his breath.

  "You expect him to fly us all to Germany?" Joe asked.

  "I had no expectations at all."

  "That's probably best."

  They picked up their pay for the two days. At the minimum wage, forty cents an hour for two six-hour days, they earned close to five dollars each. "We should get more for the war movie," Joe hoped aloud.

  "Sure we will. Can we go to get ice cream again?"

  "Now that you mention it, I'm hungry for ice cream myself." Joe never tired of Aunt Lucy's and had a chocolate sundae while Matt ordered a chocolate malt. He had learned something valuable that day, and was prompted to share it.

  "Casper Green holds an occasional party, and the saloon girls told me Alice used to go. There was music, dancing, swimming in the pool."

  "Could someone she met there have killed her?" Max asked.

  "I'll investigate the possibility. One of the other girls at Sherry's goes, and I'll question her, and convince her to invite me along to the next party."

  Max was quiet until he'd finished his shake. "I wish I could stay, but the mortuary has Alice's coffin crated and ready to go. I need to get her home so Mom can have the funeral. The church will be crowded with people who watched Alice grow up. Everyone loved her."

  "I'm sorry I didn't know her," Joe responded. "Let's keep in touch. Would you like to join Mary Margaret and me for dinner?"

  Max gave Joe his home telephone number, but refused the dinner invitation. "I'd rather be by myself tonight," he explained. "You've been a good friend, Joe. Thank you."

  Joe felt sad to drop him off at Alice's apartment. He liked the kid, and intended to solve Alice's murder no matter how many Hollywood parties he had to attend.

  * * *

  Saturday morning, after playing golf with Hal and Gilbert, Joe went by his office to catch up. First thing, he gave Florence Fitzgerald a call. She planned to take the children to the movies that afternoon, and promised to come to his office then.

  "While I have you on the phone, Mrs. Fitzgerald, what is your husband's birthday?"

  "November 11, 1911. What's that got to do with anything?" she asked.

  "It may be pertinent. Did he serve during the war?"

  "No, he was married with children, and he has a heart murmur."

  "Thank you, I'll see you later."

  * * *

  What Joe needed now was a haircut, and he returned to Frank Cooper's shop. He had to wait while two other men went before him. He picked up a National Geographic magazine and read an interesting article on sharks and counted the time well spent.

  When Fred called him to his chair, Joe let the barber begin with small talk, and then posed a question of his own. "I'm thinking of studying astrology. Would you mind telling me your birthday?"

  "That's a lot of hocus pocus as far as I'm concerned, but it's November 11, 1911. I'm only thirty-six, but 1911 sounds like ancient times now, doesn't it?"

  "It's all in your perspective I suppose. Did you serve in the war?"

  "Yes, in the Army, but I spent most of my time up at Fort Ord giving haircuts to recruits, or supervising other barbers who gave them. How about you?"

  "I served in the Coast Guard off Greenland. We handled weather reports that were used to make command decisions in Europe."

  They continued to discuss the war until Fred finished and brushed the stray hairs off Joe's jacket. "Thanks, this is one of the best haircuts I've ever had."

  "That's because I take the time to look at how a man's hair grows. Some barbers cut hair the same way no matter who the client is. It works for some men, but for others, they either find a new barber or get used to bad haircuts."

  Joe paid, tipped him, and also handed him his business card. "If you ever have need of a detective, give me a call."

  "I've never met a detective. I sure like Humphrey Bogart movies though."

  "They're movies," Joe reminded him. "My life is seldom as exciting."

  * * *

  He stopped for a quick sandwich at the drug
store counter downstairs in his building, and was seated in his office when Florence Fitzgerald arrived. She looked no more pleased than she had on her previous visit. He smiled anyway.

  "I've good news," Joe began. "The man Lacy saw wasn't her father, but another man who resembles him closely. They could be twins, in fact. Both were born on November 11, 1911. Has Phillip ever mentioned having a twin?"

  "A twin? What nonsense. He's an only child."

  Joe weighed his words carefully. "We still have two men with identical looks and the same birthday making it highly likely that they are brothers. Was Phillip adopted?"

  "No, of course not."

  Clearly she had no interest in pursuing it, but he couldn't resist pressing the issue. "Fred Cooper owns a barbershop across the street and down a way from the El Capitan Theatre. Before you pick up your children, you might want to stop by and ask if he cuts children's hair."

  Her gaze grew absolutely frosty. "You want me to see for myself, is that it?"

  Joe nodded. He handed her his bill, and she paid in cash. "I've answered Lacy's question, but whether or not your husband is really in San Francisco is another matter. I left my telephone number with his firm, but he didn't return the call."

  "He was probably too busy. Let's stop while we're ahead," Florence exclaimed, and saw herself out.

  Joe rocked back in his chair. He thought Florence would be too curious not to go by Fred's barbershop, but she'd probably be too proud to call him and admit it.

  * * *

  He spent the afternoon checking the pawnshops near Alice's apartment. He took the photo from the LA Times, and while many a shop owner recognized her as Cookie Crumble, she hadn't pawned anything with any of them. That didn't mean she hadn't pawned expensive gifts elsewhere, but it would take weeks to canvas every pawn shop in the greater Los Angeles area, and he couldn't devote the time.

  He stopped by Sherry's on his way to Mary Margaret's. He slipped into the corridor to their dressing room without being stopped and waited outside the open door for the girls to notice him.

  "Good evening, ladies. May I speak with you a minute Bernice, or do you prefer to be called Lily?"