by P. J. Conn
Mary Margaret had eaten half of her dinner before Joe stopped to take a breath. "With movie roles and catering jobs, do you think you'll have time to continue working as a detective?"
He laughed. "Sure, I'll have plenty of time. They won't be asking for my footprints at Graumen's Chinese Theatre anytime soon, and I doubt I'll ever have another reason to play a busboy. Although, it's a good ploy to get into celebrity parties, so maybe I should keep it up."
"It will look good on your professional résumé," she countered. "Gladys Swartz impressed me as an extremely intelligent woman, but do you really believe she can get the charges against Stuart Helms dropped?"
"Yes, because the tie between him and Cookie is too thin to merit prosecution."
"I keep thinking about the refrigerator," she mused. "Could someone have chosen it to throw the blame on Stuart?"
Joe stared at her a long moment. "That's an angle I hadn't considered, but you're right. The killer might have wanted Stuart to be blamed."
"Or, what's the writer's name who lives in your building?"
"Brett Wayne, which can't be his real name."
"Would anyone have stashed the body where they did to throw the suspicion on him?"
His hamburger was too good to let grow cold, and he thought about her question while he ate. He took a drink of coffee to wash it down. "Brett is an innocuous soul. He keeps to himself and writes, with an occasional visit to Sherry's. At the wrap party, he watched the girls, but he didn't approach any. I don't see him as any kind of threat."
"When the police catch a murderer, aren't they often loners who keep to themselves? If he is such a solitary individual, he could be harboring murderous thoughts."
"He could be. I've never seen the inside of his apartment, but he's never been in mine either."
"There's still no trace of the couple who rented apartment three?"
"None that I could find. That they vanished is reason enough to believe they were involved in the crime, and Gladys will use it, but it just doesn't feel right. Let's enjoy our dinner and leave the detective work in my office."
"If you insist," she teased, and batted her eyelashes. "Have you been too busy to shop for tassels?"
She had timed the question so he'd not have a mouthful of food to choke on, for which he was grateful. "Not yet, but I'll put it on my list for next week."
"Good, I'm anxious to start practicing. It might put some spice in our honeymoon."
"Our honeymoon will be plenty spicy with or without tassels," he promised, but he still had a pitiful amount in his savings account making the day trip to Catalina still the best possibility.
* * *
Saturday morning, Joe met Hal Marten and Gilbert Werner for golf. It was a bright sunny morning, without any hint of fall in the air. They'd played several holes before Hal asked him about the refrigerator case.
"Gladys doesn't discuss her work with me, other than to mention she took your landlord's son's case. How's it going on your side?"
"I've plenty of suspects, but no proof any of them did it."
"No possibility of getting incriminating photographs?" Gilbert asked. Joe had gotten some for him.
"Taking photographs of men going in and out of a mob haunt might get me in more trouble than it's worth. Let's concentrate on improving our golf game for the rest of the morning."
"That's fine," Gilbert responded, "but I like hearing about your cases. My engineering job pays well, but there's nothing in the way of excitement."
"I do have another case that's puzzling." Joe told them about the twins who hadn't known a brother existed. "It looks as though their mother raised the barber, and the architect was adopted by a much wealthier family."
"Is there any way you can help them reach an accord?" Hal asked.
"I don't see how. I reported the facts, and it's up to the brothers to deal with them, or not. The architect's wife is paying for my investigation, which tickles me, as he doesn't want anything to do with it."
Gilbert turned toward Joe. "Maybe the architect needs more time to adjust to the shift in his family. If he hadn't been told he was adopted, it must be a difficult thing to accept. Makes me wonder how the mother chose which son to keep and which one to give away. That's the real story right there."
"True. The doctor is the link between the two families, and perhaps he made the choice for her," Joe surmised. "Private adoption is legal, but money may have changed hands, and that's another story."
"A wealthy family may have been eager to pay for a son," Gilbert added.
"They could have, but they'll never admit it," Joe replied. "Whatever the family secrets involved in the boys' birth, apparently they'll stay secret."
The men continued playing the front nine holes, and Hal soon changed the subject entirely. "Are you dating anyone, Gilbert?" he asked. He placed his ball on a tee, and followed with a forceful swing to send it flying down the fairway.
"No, not anymore," Gilbert admitted as he teed his ball. He kept his head down as he lined up his shot. He was the best player of the three, and they all knew it. He made yet another excellent drive before he admitted more. "I just don't meet any women where I work, and I've already dated the other guys' sisters."
"There should be plenty of attractive nurses at Joe and Mary Margaret's wedding. That would be a great opportunity to meet them," Hal encouraged.
Joe hadn't thought about the guest list, but Gilbert was a man he could count on to behave himself. He slapped him on the shoulder. "Plan to be there, and I'll introduce you to every unmarried nurse Mary Margaret knows."
Gilbert blushed at the thought. "Okay, I guess it couldn't hurt to go."
Hal laughed at his lackluster response. "I'll see you have a good time. Now we need to keep walking rather than block the party following us on the course."
Relieved to have the attention swing again to golf, Gilbert led the way.
* * *
Monday morning, Fred Cooper telephoned Joe. "I'd like to see my brother, and thought I'd meet him after work the way you met me. Would you come with me? I'd like to have a witness in case he wants to make a point with his fists."
Joe turned his attention to the serenity of the new painting and drew in a deep breath. "I had a brief conversation with Phillip last Thursday. He wasn't eager to meet you then, but maybe his view has softened over the weekend. I've got the address of the architectural firm, so why don't I pick you up?"
"I'll close early, and meet you out front."
"See you later, Fred."
It was a terrible idea, Joe already knew it, but Fred had the right to make the choice on his own. Maybe the brothers would shake hands and each go his own way. Or, Phillip could be as obnoxious in person as he was on the phone. Either way, he'd be there and get to see the consequences of one investigation at least.
He hung his bulletin board on the wall behind his desk and devoted an hour to thoughts of Cookie Crumble. He wondered how Max was doing at home in Kansas City, and hoped his sister's funeral had been respectful and well-attended. Too many pretty girls came to Los Angeles bent on making it big in the movies. It was a shame Alice hadn't lived long enough to play a single part.
* * *
Fred wore a nice shirt, sports coat and trousers to meet Phillip. "I doubt we have anything in common, but I do want to shake his hand at least once. Do you suppose he'll ask about our mother?"
"I doubt it." Joe had tried not to hold his breath the whole way to the Fitzgerald, Finegold and Sloan office, but it had been an effort. "Let's wait in the parking lot for the firm to close for the day. If we walk in the front door, I'm afraid Phillip will walk out the back, and drive away."
A sly smile tugged at Fred's mouth. "Oh no, I want to use the entrance and meet everyone I can so Phillip can't deny he has a twin."
"Throw caution to the wind and involve the whole staff? That does have a certain appeal," Joe admitted. He parked in the firm's lot and followed Fred through the front door.
The recept
ionist looked up from her desk to smile, and then stared. "Mr. Fitzgerald? I thought I saw you at your desk just a moment ago."
"It is confusing, isn't it?" Fred asked. He smiled warmly. "I want to surprise my brother. Will you ask him to come to the front without telling him why?"
"I had no idea he had a twin. What fun that must have been growing up." She reached for the desk intercom. "Mr. Fitzgerald, I have something that needs your attention. Will you please come to the front for a minute? Thank you."
Fred and Joe moved to the side of the receptionist's desk so Phillip wouldn't see them until he reached her. It took only a minute before the architect appeared. Startled, he looked Fred up and down, and ignored Joe.
"What is it you want?" Phillip asked rudely.
"Just stopped by to say hello. This is Joe Ezell. We'd like to buy you a cup of coffee, or a drink if you'd rather."
"No, thanks." Phillip focused a menacing gaze on the receptionist. "You ever pull another stunt like this, and it will be your last day here. Do you understand me?"
Her eyes filled with tears. "Yes, sir."
Phillip returned to his office without a backward glance, and Fred laughed. "We both got the looks, but I'm the only one with any charm. I'm sorry if I got you in trouble."
She grabbed a tissue and dabbed at her eyes. "I thought he'd be happy to see you."
Another of the firm's architects, Noel Sloan, a tall sandy-haired man, came in the front door carrying a roll of blueprints. "Hey, Phillip, could you take a look at these before you call it a day?"
Fred extended his hand. "I'm Phillip's brother, Fred, and this is Joe Ezell, a detective friend of mine. How do you do?"
"Noel Sloan." He juggled the blueprints to shake each man's hand. "I had no idea Phillip even had a brother, let alone an identical twin. Does he know you're here?"
"Yes, he does."
After being introduced, Joe stayed out of the way and enjoyed their conversation as Noel described how fortunate he felt to be working with such a talented architect. He called Phillip the genius of the firm, and mentioned the address of a building of theirs under construction on Wilshire Blvd.
"What sort of work do you do?" Noel asked.
Fred handed him a card. "I own a barber shop. It's been the family business."
"Really?" Joel appeared confused. "Isn't your father an attorney?"
"Phillip's is. We didn't grow up together."
The receptionist was leaning forward in rapt attention, but drew back in alarm when Phillip reappeared.
Noel spoke first. "Fred just told me you two were raised apart. That's got to be a fascinating story, and I'd love to hear it. Why don't we all go and have a drink before going home?"
"Drink yourselves into a stupor," Phillip answered. "I don't care. I'm leaving."
Fred stepped aside as Phillip shot by him and nearly ran out the front door. Badly embarrassed, Noel looked at Fred.
"I don't understand. Are you two involved in some sort of a family feud?"
"It's entirely one-sided," Fred replied. "We'd love to have a drink with you, wouldn't we, Joe?"
"Sure would." Joe understood Fred wanted Phillip's friends to make their own judgment about him. They walked a half-block to a bar that drew businessmen at the end of the day, and sat in a red leather booth.
When Noel realized Fred knew only his own story and not Phillip's, he understood why he needed a detective. "My family is so uninteresting, a detective would fall asleep listening to my background, but I can see why you need one."
Joe immediately seized the opportunity to learn more. "How did you and Phillip meet?"
"We were fraternity brothers at USC. I began as a math major, but Phillip pulled me into architecture, and I've never regretted it."
"What sort of a man is he?" Joe continued.
Noel sat back. He'd ordered a martini and turned the glass in his hands. "The first word that comes to mind is difficult, but his ideas are so original and clever no one objects to his surly attitude. He doesn't just think of what would garner attention for the firm today, but what would build our reputation over the next twenty years, and we hope even longer."
"Does he play golf?" Joe asked, with no intention of inviting Phillip to join him and his friends.
"Are you kidding? No, his idea of fun is to work on a project to suit his own tastes rather than a client's. He goes up to San Francisco to oversee our work there, and he uses whatever spare time he has to sketch Victorian buildings. He's very modern in his thinking, but he's fond of the Victorian era for some reason."
Fred checked his watch. "Thanks for talking with me. I appreciate your time, but I don't want to make you late getting home."
Noel finished the last drop of his martini. "I enjoyed meeting you, and will readily admit to being too curious to let you walk away." He handed Fred one of his cards. "If you're ever inspired to build a home or new shop, give me a call."
"I wouldn't want to cause trouble at your firm," Fred replied.
"It might be good for us," Noel answered.
Joe made it a point to give Noel one of his business cards. "Someday you might have need of a detective."
Noel laughed. "I just may, and I’ll keep your card." He slid it into his jacket pocket.
Joe drove Fred back to his shop. "I'm sorry Phillip wasn't open to knowing you."
"You warned me. It's a shame we can't talk to Percival McDowd. Do you suppose his medical records could be in storage somewhere?"
"They might be. Why don't you call your aunt Ida and ask if the doctor's widow is living somewhere close? She might know, and I won't have to charge you to make the call."
"I'll call her when I get home."
After leaving Fred, Joe drove home. He called Mary Margaret after he'd enjoyed a can of soup, and asked about her day.
"It was the usual," she complained, "not nearly as exciting as yours I'm sure."
"It's nice to have a reputation for excitement, but today was nothing special." He'd wait until they were having dinner to tell her about Fred and Phillip, but he was sorry the story didn't have a happier ending.
* * *
Fred Cooper called Joe about ten o'clock on Tuesday. "The police called me at home at six this morning. Someone tossed a brick through the shop's front window. They asked who might have done it, but I couldn't offer Phillip's name without proof. As for anyone else, not liking a haircut is one thing, but such a person wouldn't have vandalized my building. Phillip could have been mad enough to have done it though. What do you think?"
"Give me a minute, and I'll call Phillip's wife. She won't offer an alibi if she doesn't realize he needs one." Joe got out her number, and made the call.
"Mrs. Fitzgerald? It's Joe Ezell. We need to settle my bill. Can you come into my office this morning?"
"Not before eleven-thirty. Will that do?"
"Yes, see you then." Joe rocked back in his chair. He hadn't been drawn to her when they met, but now that he knew her husband, he was prepared to give her a mile of slack.
* * *
He had hot coffee with cream and sugar waiting for Florence. He presented his bill with the additional hours and sat back while she studied it. "Is your husband back at home?" he asked.
"Yes, but he's been leaving at dawn to stop by the Wilshire construction site before he goes to the office."
"He did that this morning?"
"Yes." She crossed her legs and gave her skirt a tug to cover her knee. "Phillip isn't pleased Fred Cooper discovered they were twins due to my meddling in his life. I don't regard it as a mistake though." She gazed at him over her coffee cup, which was an oddly flirtatious gesture. "Lacy is too embarrassed to admit that when she first saw Fred, her uncle Fred I should say, she assumed her father was cheating on me, on us."
Joe recalled that meeting well. "Even if your husband doesn't want to know Fred, the investigation showed there were two men, rather than one unfaithful one. That has to be considered good news."
"Yes, indeed."
She set her coffee cup on his desk, and placed what she owed him in cash beside it. "I have a terrible feeling this isn't over yet, but I hope I won't have to call you again anytime soon."
"It's been a pleasure, Mrs. Fitzgerald," he responded. He closed the door behind her and returned the cream and sugar dispensers to the drugstore counter. When he got back to his office, he called Fred to report Phillip had been leaving home at dawn.
"He must have done it then. Do you remember the address of the construction site Noel Sloan mentioned?"
"Yes, I do. It might be worthwhile to stop by and see if they are using bricks."
"He threw an old brick through the window, not a new one. Maybe he took one from rubble left from the previous building."
"I'll take a look. Were you able to talk to your aunt Ida?"
"We had a long chat last night. She won't admit a thing about the night I was born. But she's kept in touch with Dr. McDowd's widow, Rebecca, who lives in Monrovia. I'll give you her address and telephone number. Do you have a pencil?"
Joe had his notebook ready and took them down. "You realize I earn my living doing detective work," he began.
Fred interrupted him, "I expect to pay you, Joe. Just pick up a brick if you can, and see if Mrs. McDowd will speak to you in person. If her husband arranged adoptions, she has to know about it. Wasn't there a midwife's name on Phillip's birth certificate?"
"Yes, a Bertha Lloyd. I might be able to find her."
"Let's concentrate on Rebecca McDowd first," Fred suggested.
"Will do. What are you doing about your window?"
"It will be replaced today. I own the building, and have insurance."
Impressed, Joe said good-bye, but before he left to search for used bricks, he called Henry Hilburn to ask if he'd learned anything new about the police investigation into Cookie's murder.
"You don't believe the boy who's out on bail did it?" Henry asked.
"No. Has Det. Lynch found the Thornton's? They couldn't have simply vanished."
"I'll check on it for you. When people leave town, jurisdictions can get all tangled up, but Lynch ought to at least know where they are."
