Murder On Ice

by P. J. Conn

  She tightened the belt on her robe and followed him out into the hallway. "I chose Lily because I love the flower. Bernice was my grandmother's name, and she may have been a wonderful woman, but I've never cared for it. Do you like your name?"

  "I prefer Joe to Joseph, so I understand what you mean. Tell me about the parties at Casper Green's home."

  "You heard about those?" She dipped her head, but couldn't hide an incriminating blush.

  "Yes, I did. If you went with Alice, although she was as annoying as a mosquito, why didn't you tell me?"

  She kept her back turned to the open dressing room door. "Casper is a fan of mine, and he asked me to bring Cookie, or Alice, along to his next party. She was so popular with his male guests, he insisted I bring her to the next party and the next."

  "And that annoyed you?" Joe asked.

  "Promise this won't go any further?"

  "I'm discreet, remember?"

  "So you say, just keep this to yourself. Casper has a nice friend, and I go to see him. He's married, and you needn't tell me this is shameful, I already know it is. He has small children and can't leave his wife, and I don't want to be married anyway, so that's simply the way it is. It wouldn't matter who came with me, I go to see him."

  Joe had learned long ago not to be judgmental. "So you and Alice didn't stay together at the parties?"

  "No, Casper has a son who's in college, and after Alice flirted with every man present, she'd usually jump into the pool with him. I'd wander off with my friend, and when I'd be ready to leave for home, she'd already be gone."

  "Do you know where Casper's son goes to school?"

  "USC, Casper's a big fan of the Trojan football team and mentions them often."

  "When was Casper's last party?"

  She licked her lips as she tried to recall. "It was on one of those really hot nights in August, but I don't know the date off-hand."

  "But you could look in your diary," Joe suggested.

  "I could, but it wasn't the weekend Alice died, so what does it really matter?"

  "Right. Did any of the other ladies here attend the parties?"

  "I love the way you refer to us as ladies. No. They've probably seen Casper here, but I never mentioned his parties and Cookie didn't either."

  "I have another source, but will you call me the next time Casper invites you to a party at his place? He'll never know you told me, so there's no risk for you." He handed her another of his cards, and she slid it into her robe pocket.

  "His parties are catered. You could sneak in wearing dark pants and a white jacket and not be noticed," she suggested.

  "Thanks for the idea." He doubted Casper would recognize him if he were circulating carrying a tray of canapés so he just might do it.

  * * *

  That night, Mary Margaret baked pork chops with stuffing and steamed asparagus. Joe enjoyed every single morsel. "Absolutely delicious, as always. Do you ever tire of hearing me say so?"

  "Not yet." She checked her watch. "We've plenty of time before the movie starts if you'd like more."

  "You like me lean, remember? And I have to keep my figure for upcoming movie roles." He laughed, and she giggled with him.

  "I was afraid appearing in a B-movie Western might be a complete waste of time, but I learned Alice attended the director's wrap parties. I'm definitely making progress on the Cookie Crumble case by tracing where she went and who was also there.

  "Alice knew at least one young man who attends USC, and she may have known several others, including Stuart Helms. We saw him at Sherry's, so he knew her from there. This is just another possible link." He told her about his new bulletin board. "It makes it easier to add information and see how the contacts line up. Leon Helms will expect a report, but I'll hedge the details."

  She nodded thoughtfully. "Are you afraid he'll call off your investigation if he fears it might incriminate his son?"

  "Yes, that's why I won't give him any details."

  "But you won't quit, will you?"

  "No, as you well know, I like to finish everything I begin, to everyone's satisfaction."

  She knew exactly what he meant and kissed him soundly.

  * * *

  Monday morning, Joe called Leon Helms to recap his investigation. "Cookie, Alice Reyes, hoped to become a movie star and may have met the man who killed her at a director's wrap parties. I'll continue working on that angle."

  "Fine, just get the matter solved so it can be forgotten. I need to rent apartment three, and every month it's vacant is money lost I can't afford to lose."

  "I'm doing my best, Leon," Joe promised. He had the number for the Kappa Sigma fraternity house at USC, and today might be a good time to meet with Stuart. He had just reached for the telephone, when Florence Fitzgerald knocked at his door and looked in.

  Her eyes were red, and clearly she'd been crying. He'd not thought her capable of such a depth of emotion. "Come in, Mrs. Fitzgerald. Would you like coffee? I just made a fresh pot."

  "I don't suppose you have cream and sugar?" she asked, and sniffed loudly.

  "I'll get some from the drug store downstairs if you'd like them."

  She settled into a chair, her slack posture as droopy as her mood. "Could you, please?"

  "Give me a minute." He rushed downstairs, and asked the girl at the counter for cream and sugar. "It's an emergency," he explained.

  "Here, just take these." She gave him a sugar container and small pitcher of cream. "You'll need a spoon," she added. "It's on the house."

  Joe thanked her and returned to his office. He had grabbed some napkins and set them down on his desk with the cream and sugar. "Here you are, Mrs. Fitzgerald." He poured coffee into one of the cups he had for clients, and was grateful he always kept them clean.

  She poured sugar into her coffee, stirred until it dissolved, and then added the cream. Her hands shook as she raised the cup to her lips. "I'm amazed, Mr. Ezell, but this is actually a decent cup of coffee."

  That was the Florence Fitzgerald he knew. "Thank you. Now tell me what's wrong." He removed her folder from the file cabinet and picked up a pencil to take notes.

  "Well, against my better judgment, I went by Cooper's Barber shop on Saturday afternoon. To say I was shocked by what I found is a gross understatement. I was flabbergasted. Fred Cooper has to be my husband's identical twin, but how can that possibly be?"

  "Would you like me to investigate the matter?" he asked.

  "Of course, why else would I be here? My husband comes from a well-to-do family, but they've never told him he's adopted. Do you suppose my in-laws didn't realize they'd had twins? Perhaps they were told one of the twins had died. When, in fact, he'd been stolen and adopted by someone on the hospital staff. Babies are kidnapped. Look at the poor Lindbergh baby."

  Joe nodded. "Thank God it's rare, but it does happen. I'll begin with the birth records. Was Phillip born in Los Angeles?"

  "Yes, I brought a copy of his birth certificate. He needed it for a passport he hasn't applied for as yet."

  She opened her purse and removed a white envelope. "It lists Pearl and Douglas Fitzgerald as his parents."

  After a brief survey of the document, Joe found it had been a home birth attended by a mid-wife named Bertha Lloyd. "Would your in-laws be open to questions about Phillip's birth?"

  "Good lord, no!" she exclaimed. "They are an extremely private and proper pair. They wouldn't be open to questions about anything personal, let alone their only son."

  "Perhaps Fred Cooper's parents would agree to meet with me. I'll be discreet, but clearly someone has to know how the boys were separated."

  "They're thirty-six. Maybe the people who knew are no longer living." She finished her coffee and placed the cup on his desk. "I didn't notice the plant the last time I was here. Dresses up the office, doesn't it?"

  He'd bought a brass pot for the showy philodendron and placed it on the file cabinet. "Yes, indeed it does."

  "Some art wouldn't hurt," she added. />
  "It's also on my list. You're right, delving into what happened so long ago won't be easy, and especially not if it involves family secrets, but I'll do my best. Fred Cooper seems like a nice man."

  Florence rose. "He might be a veritable prince, but the Fitzgerald's will never welcome a barber into the family. They'd die first."

  "It's an honest trade," Joe reminded her.

  "That's just it. They've not had a tradesman in the family in multiple generations."

  He asked for a retainer. She had come prepared to pay, and he gave her a receipt. He opened the door for her, gave her time to leave the building, and then returned the cream and sugar containers to the lunch counter downstairs.

  He'd wanted more interesting cases, and he sure had them now. He began where he'd been interrupted and called the Kappa Sigma house at USC and asked for Stuart Helms. He had to hold the phone away from his ear as the young man who'd answered yelled for Stuart. Several minutes past before Stuart finally came on the line.

  "This is Joe Ezell, I live in your father's apartment building."

  "Sure, I remember you."

  "Good. I'm a private investigator, and I'd like to buy you lunch and talk to you about Cookie Crumble."

  Stuart hesitated. "I didn't really know her."

  "You know more than you think." Joe named El Vaquero, a popular Mexican restaurant near the USC campus, and Stuart agreed to meet him there at noon.

  After he'd said good-bye, Joe rocked back in his chair. Stuffing a dead woman into a refrigerator was demented, of course, but it had always struck him as something scared college kids might do.

  CC looked in the door. "How are things going this morning, Mr. Ezell?"

  "Surprisingly well. A simple case of mistaken identity has developed into a much more complex investigation. It should take some time to unravel, and I welcome the challenge."

  "I understand, yes, sir, I do," CC responded. "My imagination keeps me from growing bored."

  "You're a smart man, CC. If you have a minute, I'll tell you how I ended up in a Western movie last week."

  The custodian glanced down the hallway, saw no one coming his way, and stepped into Joe's office. "Did you get to ride a horse?"

  Joe laughed. "Not this time, but maybe one day soon." He related his adventure with Max at MGM, and they shared a good laugh. "I'll never star in a movie, but I saw how one is made. It's a lot more work than shows up on the screen."

  "I'll bet it is. Have yourself a good day now," CC replied and left to continue his work.

  * * *

  While Joe arrived at El Vaquero early, he was surprised to find Stuart Helms already seated in the restaurant. Maybe the young man was anxious to get something off his chest. He joined him at the table and scanned the menu. "Is everything still good here?" he asked. He'd found talking about food put people at ease.

  "It sure is." A waiter brought Stuart a plate with three beef tacos, rice and refried beans. Joe asked for the same.

  The detective let Stuart enjoy his first taco before he asked another question. "What was Cookie Crumble's real name?" He did his best to appear confused.

  "Alice Reyes, but she liked to introduce herself as Cookie."

  Joe's lunch appeared, and he savored his own food for a moment. "There's a Hollywood director named Casper Green. Do you know his son?"

  Stuart wiped his hands on his napkin, and picked up another taco. "Sure, Tom Green. He's a fraternity brother."

  "Did he ever bring Cookie to a frat party?"

  "Are you kidding? No. He liked her at Sherry's. We all did, but she wouldn't have fit in with sorority girls."

  "They're a more refined type of young woman, I assume?" Joe asked.

  "I'll say. Tom's father throws big parties, and there would be starlets there. Tom talks about them, but he never brings any to the house." He paused mid-bite. "None of us has actually met any of the starlets, so maybe it's all just talk and nothing more."

  "Are you and Tom good friends?"

  Stuart shrugged. "Not really. He's a couple of years older and runs with a different crowd."

  "Is it my imagination, or are these especially fine tacos?" Joe asked.

  "They're the best in LA. They barbecue the beef, and it makes the difference."

  Stuart was nearly finished when Joe asked, "Who do you think killed Cookie?"

  He had a prompt answer. "Mickey Cohen and his men hang out at Sherry's. Everyone knows they're violent, and it has to have been one of them."

  The answer sounded well rehearsed. "It's likely, but how did Cookie's body end up in a refrigerator in one of your father's apartments?" Joe asked.

  "Beats me," Stuart responded. "Maybe the couple who'd lived there was involved with the mob. Have you talked to them?"

  "Not yet."

  Stuart checked his watch. "I have a class. Thanks for lunch."

  "You're welcome." Joe let him go and enjoyed the rest of his meal down to the last grain of rice.

  The waiter came with the bill, hovered over the table, and whispered, "I heard you mention Cookie Crumble. She's been here with the boy you were with."

  "Really?" Joe wiped his mouth on his napkin.

  "Yes, she was with that boy and one of his friends. They all laughed together and had a good time."

  "Do you remember the last time they were here?"

  The waiter shrugged. "This is a busy place. I can't keep track of everyone."

  "I understand." Joe left him a big tip, paid, and took the receipt to document his expenses. Leon Helms wouldn't be pleased to learn he was questioning his son, but Stuart knew how to lie with a straight face. He probably lied to his father as well.

  Chapter 8

  Fred Cooper's barbershop closed at 6:00 p.m. and Joe waited for him as he locked the door. "Afternoon. If you aren't in a hurry to get home, maybe we could have a cup of coffee and talk."

  "That sounds serious," Fred replied. "Don't like your haircut?"

  "No, my haircut is fine." He pulled Phillip Fitzgerald's photo from his jacket pocket and showed it to Fred. "Do you recognize him?"

  Stunned, Fred shook his head. "I'd swear it's me, but I don't recall anyone photographing me in a suit."

  "He's an architect named Phillip Fitzgerald. You must have some questions about him. Let's go down the street to The Pepper Mill Café and talk. I won't keep you long."

  "Fine, let's go." Fred led the way and waved to the cashier as they entered. "We're just having coffee, Irene."

  "Take any table, honey. I'll bring your coffee."

  Joe found they served a very smooth brew. He'd planned what he wanted to say, but he couldn't control both sides of the conversation, and that's where things usually went astray. He told Fred about Lacy Fitzgerald's worries about her father, and that Mrs. Fitzgerald had hired him to investigate what she regarded as a preposterous case of mistaken of identity.

  "I showed Phillip's photo here, and Irene thought it was you," Joe explained.

  Fred asked to see the photograph again and studied it closely. "This is either an odd coincidence, or we're related somehow. When's his birthday?"

  "November 11, 1911." Joe took another sip of his excellent coffee. "Same as yours. Have your parents ever discussed your birth?"

  "Not really, but I do know my aunt Ida was the midwife. She worked with our family doctor, Percival O'Dowd. He's the only Percival I've ever met."

  "Do you have brothers and sisters?" Joe asked.

  Fred sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Two younger sisters, Kate and Sue. My aunt Ida delivered them too." He checked his watch. "My wife will worry if I'm not home soon. Could we talk about this again tomorrow after work?"

  "Yes, of course. Are your parents still living?"

  "Only my mother, but she's had a stroke, and her memory isn't clear. She lives with Ida in Pasadena. Ida was the baby of the family, and is in her sixties. She ought to know the truth."

  Joe rose with him and picked up the check. "The question is, will she tell you?"
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br />   "I hope so. Let's meet at my shop after work tomorrow, and we can decide how to approach her. Maybe ease her into it."

  "Good plan." The conversation had gone better than Joe had expected, and he couldn't wait to talk with Aunt Ida. He hoped she was a woman who loved an audience for her memories, rather than a fidgeting spinster who'd want them out of her house.

  * * *

  Joe took Mary Margaret to Clifton's Cafeteria that night. This time, he had the chicken potpie, and she had the meat loaf. He waited until they'd taken the edges off their appetites before he told her he'd spoken to Fred Cooper. "He's a nice guy, and seems open to an investigation of how he and Phillip are related."

  "Can you work with him if Florence Fitzgerald is paying you?"

  "I'm not charging two clients for the same case, although I suppose there might be such a case someday. I'm questioning Fred to get answers for her."

  "Still, you've brought him into it. Won't he expect to be in on the answers?"

  She had the most beautiful mouth, and he watched her lick a stray bit of mashed potatoes from her lower lip. "I don't see the Fitzgeralds and Coopers getting together for Thanksgiving this year, but if the men are related, both ought to know how it came about."

  "I agree. How long will Phillip be in San Francisco?"

  "His wife didn't say. I'll call his firm tomorrow and ask. I left a message for him, but he didn't call back. Maybe he knows the whole story and never told his wife."

  "That's doubtful," she mused. "I don't believe he's aware of anything more than Fred Cooper is. If Lacy hadn't mistaken Fred for her father, the men might have lived their whole lives and never learned they had a twin."

  "I'm hoping Fred's aunt Ida knows the truth of the situation."

  "But will she tell?"

  "That, my dear, is the question."

  * * *

  Leon Helms was on the apartment patio watering the plants when Joe left for his office Tuesday morning. He turned off the water, and gestured to bring Joe close. "No use sharing this with the other tenants," he whispered. "Have you learned anything since yesterday?"

  Joe jumped right in. "Did Stuart tell you I'd talked with him?"

  "No, what did he say?"