by P. J. Conn
"Yes, St. Edmund's Episcopal. It's just a few blocks from your firm's office building. I couldn't have taken photos without giving myself away, but you can call the church and ask about the new Sunday school building. They'll confirm Phillip is the architect. He's volunteering his time and talent. Does it violate the terms of your partnership?"
"No, not at all. If Phillip wants to build Sunday schools up and down the state, Finegold and I would have no reason to complain unless he ignored our contracted work to do so."
"Good, then you have no reason to worry about him any further. While I did my best to avoid Phillip, he saw me at the hotel Saturday morning and invited me to have breakfast with him. I gave him a believable story for the case I was supposedly on, and he didn't appear to be suspicious."
Neal sat back and rubbed a hand over his face. "The Phillip I know would rather go without eating than invite someone he barely knew to join him for a meal. It sounds as though you met an entirely different man."
"He surprised me too, but he may have wanted a chance to justify his behavior toward his newfound brother," Joe replied. "Share my report with your partner, and then throw it away at home so Phillip doesn't come across it accidently at your office."
"I will. You've taken a lot off my mind." Neal had brought cash to settle up the Discreet Investigation's bill, and shook Joe's hand before parting. "I'm glad we met."
"Thank you."
As soon as Neal had left, Joe telephoned Marty Streech, the reporter with the LA Examiner. "Good morning, what do you know about an actress named Marsha Kincaid? She was chosen to star in Showdown at Sundown, one of Casper Green's Westerns, and then supposedly quit and returned home to Tulsa."
"I remember her. She had long blonde hair, and I mean long, like illustrations in Alice in Wonderland books. Casper Green showed her off as his new star, and then dropped her. Want me to ask our entertainment editor what he knows?"
"Yes, call me if you learn anything useful."
"Does it have anything to do with Cookie Crumble's murder?"
"It may, and I'll give you the story when it's sorted out." Joe hung up and took out a folder to create a new file.
* * *
That night, Mary Margaret made pork chops with stuffing, mashed potatoes, and green beans, one of Joe's favorite dinners. She ladled the gravy on his plate in a graceful swirl and sat down to join him. "You haven't said much about Cookie since you came home from San Francisco. Have you hit a dead end? No pun intended."
"I have an interesting lead, but let's wait until it proves to be helpful before I give you the details."
"If you insist." She scooped up a forkful of stuffing and savored it before changing the subject. "We need to talk about the wedding."
He swallowed without making an audible gulp. "Yes?"
"My mother thinks it would be a good idea for you to meet the family before our wedding."
Her father had passed away two years ago, and he understood how important it was for her mother to like him. "I'd love to, but I can't swing a trip to Seattle as well as a wedding and honeymoon this year."
"We could get married in Seattle," she offered without meeting his eyes.
"Aren't most of your friends here in LA now?"
"Yes." She pushed aside her half-eaten dinner. "I hate to ask my mother to make two trips to LA rather than just one for the wedding."
He was also fast losing his appetite. "There are your sisters and brothers to consider as well."
"True. It would be a lot easier for my family if we married in Seattle."
She didn't look happy about it though. He reached across the table for her hand and squeezed her fingers. "I'll marry you in Timbuktu if that's what you want."
"Thank you, but that's a little extreme. Just think about it, and we'll talk about it later. It's only October, so there's plenty of time."
"You'll need a dress."
"My mother wants me to wear hers. It's sweet, but dreadfully old-fashioned. My sister, Rose, wore it when she married Roger, but she'd have much rather have had her own. She couldn't bear to hurt our mother's feelings though."
"Your other sister, Sharon, she's not married?"
"Not yet, but she's had the same boyfriend since grade school, and they'll probably marry one day. My two brothers are still in college."
"So there's the two of us who could go to Seattle, or your mother, two brothers, one single sister, and one sister and her husband, six of them who'd have to come to LA?"
"When you put it that way, it seems selfish to ask that of them."
"We could get married here first, and travel to Seattle and get married again."
"You'd do that?"
"Sure, why not? Of course, that would mean your mother wouldn't have a chance to meet me before I became her son-in-law."
"That's a complication, it's true." She picked up her fork. "My family might object, but if they didn't know about wedding number one, they couldn't complain about it, could they?"
The sparkle had returned to her gaze, and he grinned with her. "We could have an engagement party here, and the wedding there. Or after the wedding there, we could have a second reception here when we came home."
"I hadn't realized there were so many choices." She smiled at the thought.
"As long as I'm your first choice for husband, nothing else matters to me."
"You are an absolute peach, Joe Ezell. I don't tell you that often enough."
He laughed with her. "I'm not keeping count. I could use a little more stuffing if there's any left."
"You know I always make plenty."
Joe went into the kitchen to help himself. He liked the homey feeling of her cottage, and most especially the magic she created in the kitchen.
* * *
Wednesday, Joe hadn't heard from Marty Streech, and rather than wait, he placed a call to the Tulsa Daily World. He asked for the newspaper's society editor, and had a long wait for her to come on the line.
"Good morning, this is Eloise Parker. I hope you'll invite me to whatever wonderful party you're planning."
Her voice had an excited trill, and he hated to disappoint her as he introduced himself. "Rather than plan a party, I need information on Marsha Kincaid. I wondered if you'd written a story on her when she left for Hollywood."
"Why yes, I did. She was a very popular girl, and everyone wished her well."
"Have you spoken with her since she returned to Tulsa?"
"I hadn't heard she'd come home. Who told you she had?"
"Casper Green, the director who'd hired her for one of his films."
"He must have been mistaken, because I've not seen her, or heard a word about her either."
She sounded as though she knew everyone worth knowing, and in a town of more than 150,000, that was no small feat. "Perhaps I should speak with her parents. Do you recall their names?"
"Of course, they're Minnie and John Kincaid. He's in oil, as many men are here in Oklahoma. Now you have me wondering what's happened to Marsha. We'd expected to see her on the screen long before now."
Joe thought it was possible Marsha had been so humiliated by her brief involvement with Casper Green that she might have gone home and laid low. Or, she could have disappeared somewhere between Hollywood and Tulsa. Hadn't she been missed?
"Thank you for your time." Joe hung up and placed his next call to the telephone information operator in Tulsa. He asked for John Kincaid's number, got it, and placed a call. A woman answered, and he asked for John.
"Mr. Kincaid is at his office this morning. You should call that number."
"I'm sorry. I've mislaid it. Are you Mrs. Kincaid?"
"No, I'm Miss Ivy the housekeeper."
"Nice to speak with you, Miss Ivy. Could you give me John's office number, please?"
"It's no secret." She recited the number. "Make a note of it this time."
"I certainly will. I'm also a friend of Marsha's from Hollywood. Is she there by any chance?"
"Yes, she is, b
ut she's not taking any calls."
Joe was greatly relieved to hear Marsha had arrived home. "Will you please give her my number and ask her to call me at her earliest convenience?"
"She's finished with Hollywood."
"I don't blame her, but I'd still love to talk with her about her experiences here."
He provided his number, but hung up without any real hope Marsha would ever return his call. He tried her father's office and told the secretary who answered that he was with the Tulsa Daily World. She put him through to John, and Joe hurriedly pulled together what he hoped would be a believable story.
"Good morning, this is Eloise Parker's assistant, and we're following up on a feature story Miss Parker did on your beautiful daughter, Marsha. Is she filming a movie in Hollywood, or perhaps appearing in a play there?"
"Good lord, have you no shame about poking your nose into everyone's private business?"
"I'm so sorry to have disturbed you, but we want to wish your daughter every success with her movie career."
"She's done with Hollywood. Now don't bother us ever again."
Joe hung up without making any effort to defend himself. It sounded as though Marsha Kincaid was alive, if perhaps traumatized by her California experience. He wished he'd had her name when he'd spoken with Tom Green yesterday. Perhaps he'd mention her the next time he dropped by to see the young man.
The telephone rang just as Joe was locking his office door ready to go home. Hoping it might be Marsha Kincaid, he hurried back inside to answer. "Joe Ezell."
"It's Lily Montell. I've missed nearly two weeks of work at Sherry's and came in this afternoon to brush up on my routine. When Corky Coyne got here half an hour ago, he asked me where I'd been, and I told him the truth. He became furiously angry with Casper Green, and left here swearing he'd sort him out for good. I don't actually care what happens to Casper, but could you go by his home and keep Corky from getting into too much trouble?"
There was no way Joe was going to put himself between Corky and Casper, but he'd go to cheer Corky on. "I'll leave right now."
Chapter 18
With the heavy late afternoon traffic, Joe couldn't make good time, but Corky wouldn't have either. He worried about what he might find, but not enough to stop and call the police with a request they intervene.
Near the corner where he'd turn for Casper Green's home, a stalled car backed up the right lane. The drivers behind him leaned on their horns, as though the cars ahead of them had stopped for no good reason. He could sail through town on most days, but without exception, whenever he was in a hurry, the going would be painfully slow. Blaring horns only worsened the situation. Finally able to seize a break in the left lane traffic, he drove around the car causing the problem, and made the turn.
He needed a confession from Casper and hoped he'd not arrived too late for the man to give one. A big Lincoln sedan that looked like it could have belonged to Mickey Cohen, or one of his close associates, was parked in the circular driveway. He parked behind it. Angry shouts came from behind the house, which he took as a good sign. He ran along the path around the garage to the patio, where he found Corky dangling Casper by the scruff of the neck. The toes of the frantic director's shoes barely brushed the flagstone. Casper was the one yelling, or rather begging, while Tom stood back out of the way rather than defend his father.
"What's going on here?" Joe shouted, intending to startle Corky, even if he could not stop the assault in progress.
"This piece of trash killed Cookie," Corky growled. "And he's not getting away with it." He swung the director toward the pool, forced him over the side into the deep end, and shoved him under the water. He counted to ten, and then yanked him up by his hair. Casper drew in a sputtering breath.
Tom hadn't moved. "Did he kill her?" Joe called to him, and the young man nodded.
"It was an accident!" Casper screamed, and Corky dunked him again.
"You might want to call the police," Joe suggested, but there was no urgency in his tone.
"It's too late," Tom answered. "Cookie's dead, and my dad deserves whatever Corky gives him."
Corky again hauled Casper to the surface. The director gasped and blustered and grabbed hold of Corky's arm to save himself. "I never meant to hurt her," he sobbed. The water streaming from his wet hair mixed with his tears.
Joe took a step forward. "I heard him, and Tom's a witness to what happened to Cookie. Brett Wayne will also testify against Casper. You needn't drown him."
"How do you know what I need?" Corky shouted back at him.
"Looks like it's up to us, kid," Joe pointed out. "Go call the police while I rein in Corky."
Tom again shook his head. "They aren't needed."
Although Joe was on Corky's side, he had his limits. When Corky dipped Casper into the pool for what could be the last time, Joe picked up a heavy patio chair and swung it at Corky's head. He barely distracted him.
Corky glanced over his shoulder. "This guy believes in accidents, and I'm giving him one. Stay out of it."
There was a circular life buoy with an attached rope hanging on the patio wall, and Joe went for it. He dropped a loop of rope over Corky's head, and before the bodyguard could free himself, Joe ran the rope around the closest of the wooden columns supporting the patio roof. He used it for traction and pulling hard, yanked Corky away from the edge of the pool.
Casper broke free, swam with a desperate stroke to the pool ladder, and heaved himself out. He leaned over, coughing, and shaking badly. "Enough," he moaned. "I'll confess. I'll tell the police everything."
Finally satisfied, Tom went inside to make the call. Corky ran toward Joe to slacken the rope around his neck, and ripped it off over his head. Joe wisely stayed on the opposite side of the column.
"I know you loved Cookie, and she wouldn't want you to go to the gas chamber for killing Casper. That wouldn't honor her memory." Joe was prepared to argue with the brute until the police arrived, but Corky's legs abruptly collapsed under him, and he sat down hard on the flagstone. He covered his face with his hands, and sobbed Cookie's name over and over in a mournful howl.
Joe felt sorry for him, but he couldn't even get his arms around the guy, let alone hug him. He kept his eye on Casper, and the half-drowned man continued to weep and tremble beside the pool. A nearby wrought-iron rack held folded towels. Joe tossed one to Corky, but he left Casper to deal with his own misery alone.
* * *
The city of Beverly Hills had its own police force, and Joe hadn't met any of the officers who responded to Tom's call. Completely undone, Casper insisted through copious tears that Cookie had loved rough sex play, and that her death had been a terrible accident.
Tom admitted only to hiding the body. Corky retreated behind his usual fierce bodyguard pose and admitted absolutely nothing. Joe stood back and let the scene play out without interfering. When an officer asked for his statement, he gave him his card and made it brief.
"Mr. Green has been making sexual demands on the young women who appear in his films. I've been investigating one such incident, and came by to speak to him. Mr. Coyne was here also discussing the issue. Casper's conscience finally got the better of him, and he confessed to killing Cookie Crumble. Her real name was Alice Reyes. I'd like her to be remembered that way."
"Fine, I'll make a note of it. You'll be asked to come to the station to give a formal statement."
"I'll look forward to it." As soon as they were permitted to leave, Joe urged Corky out to his car. The big Lincoln proved to be his. "Nice car."
"It runs." Unable to meet Joe's gaze, Corky looked back toward the house. "You won't tell anyone what really happened, will you?"
"As far as I'm concerned, Casper slipped and fell into the pool."
"Yeah, that too, but don't let anyone know I cried."
"Your secret is safe with me, Corky."
"It better be."
Joe tried not to laugh, but he was actually beginning to like the guy.
&nb
sp; * * *
He called Gladys Swartz the minute he got home, and gave her a brief recount of the afternoon. "Casper's admitted to killing Cookie. How long will it take the DA to drop the charges against Stuart Helms?"
"I'll see he drops them tomorrow. We should go to our favorite place in China Town and celebrate the end of the case with Mary Margaret and Hal. Are you doing anything Saturday night?"
Joe laughed. "I am now. See you then."
While Casper might not be charged with Alice Reyes's murder until tomorrow, Joe couldn't wait to call her brother, Max. "I hate to describe this as good news," he began. "The director we worked for, Casper Green, has confessed to killing your sister, but he insists it was an accident. His son, Tom, and a writer who lives in my apartment building, hid her body here in an empty apartment to throw suspicion off Casper."
Max was silent a long moment as the news soaked in. "I wish I'd known the truth when we met him. How can he call strangling Alice an accident? Won't the authorities see it as a bald-faced lie?"
"I'm sorry to say there are men who abuse women before having sex. Casper must be one of them, but there may have been more going on. Alice had dated his son, and when Casper liked her too, she must have objected."
"And he killed her?"
"Yes, but knowing he did it doesn't ease the hurt. I'm so sorry you lost your beautiful sister."
"Well, yeah, that pain will last an awful long time. Guess we won't be doing that war movie after all."
"MGM will probably assign it to another director, but I've lost interest in it. Say, can you ride a horse?"
"Sure, I can."
"I may be able to get you some work on a Roy Roger's Western."
"Roy Rogers? That would be great."
They talked a few minutes more, and Joe hung up thinking how much he'd like to see the kid again.
* * *
Joe's next call went to Marty Streech to let him know an arrest had been made in the Cookie Crumble case. The reporter came to see him Thursday morning.
"This story is bigger than a single murder," Marty exclaimed. "Starlets are coming forward to describe their own awful experiences with Casper Green, as well as other directors who've taken advantage of them. I have enough material for more than a week's worth of columns."
