by Bill Bernico
The next morning at precisely ten o’clock I went back to work and shortly after I opened my office, Russell Finch stepped in and took a seat across the desk from me. He pulled a pen from his pocket in a no nonsense manner and sat poised with it, ready to sign.
“You get right to it, don’t you, Mr. Finch?” I said, turning my contract around and sliding it in front of him. I pointed to the place where his signature was required and he signed, putting his pen back in his pocket when he’d finished.
I pulled the contract apart and gave Russell Finch his copy. He neatly folded it the short way three times and slipped it into his inside coat pocket. I stuck the other copies into my desk drawer and slid it closed again.
I pulled out my notepad, flipped it open to the entry I’d made last night and looked up at Finch. “You’ll be happy to know that Mrs. Finch was indeed playing bridge at the neighbor’s last night, Mr. Finch. I looked in and saw her myself, sitting at the table with three other women.”
Russell Finch nodded politely. “Well thank goodness for that at least, but there’s also this afternoon.”
“This afternoon?” I said. “What happens this afternoon?”
Russell sat upright and turned toward me speaking in his no-nonsense tone. “For the past five weeks now Cora has been spending every Thursday afternoon shopping from around three-thirty to sometimes after seven, or so she says,” Finch explained. “I can’t imagine that we’d need as much as she says she’s buying. I mean, really, Mr. Cooper. How much stuff does one household need? And why is it always on Thursday afternoons? It makes me wonder how much is shopping and how much is shopping, if you catch my drift?”
“I think I catch your drift, Mr. Finch,” I said. “You’re afraid she may be shopping for another man, is that about the size of it?”
“Wouldn’t you be, Mr. Cooper?” Finch said. “I’m a peaceful man by nature, but I can be pushed just so far, you understand. And if I’m wrong about all this I need to know that as well. I need the peace of mind, Mr. Cooper, and you can give it to me.”
“I’ll give this my personal attention, Mr. Finch,” I said. “It shouldn’t take me more than a couple of days on the outside to determine if your wife is seeing someone else. If so, you’ll get my full and detailed report. If not, you’ll have your peace of mind. Does that sound fair enough?”
Russell Finch rose from the chair and extended his hand. “Yes, that’ll do nicely. Thank you Mr. Cooper,” he said. “I knew I could rely on you.”
“Good day, Mr. Finch,” I said and showed him to the door and let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.
After he’d gone, I closed up the office and drove over to Amy’s house and filled her in on the details of the case. This might just be fun after all, I thought. And years from now we’d be able to tell our grandchildren about how grandma and grandpa solved their first case together.
“How’d you like to go shopping?” I said.
“You don’t really mean shopping, shopping,” Amy said. “Do you? You mean surveillance shopping, right?”
“See?” I said. “You’re catching on already.”
“I’m a fast study,” Amy said.
“Well, let’s see just how fast,” I said. “Mrs. Finch has been spending the last five Thursday afternoons supposedly shopping downtown.”
“That’s today,” Amy said. “You want me to follow her this afternoon?”
“Right again,” I said. “You’ll need your car to follow her to where she goes, whether it’s shopping or whether it’s something else. From there it’s a lot of legwork.” I gazed at her beautiful, curvy calves. “And from what I can see, you have just the legs for it.”
Amy stuck one leg out and twisted it, just like Claudette Colbert did when she was demonstrating to Clark Gable how to hitch a ride from the side of the road in It Happened One Night. I’d seen the Oscar-winning movie and I could tell Amy had seen it also, by the way she was imitating Colbert’s hitchhiking scene.
I wolf whistled at her and she lifted her skirt a couple of inches, looking back at me to see if I was looking at her leg. I was, indeed. “Okay,” I said. “Let’s concentrate on the task at hand. If you keep that up, we’ll never make it out of the house. Stick with her if she goes to the stores. I wouldn’t follow her into every store she visits. You can always stay outside and pretend to be window shopping until she comes back out.”
“And if she does meet someone instead of going shopping?” Amy said. “Then what?”
“Then you write down times, locations, names, if you know them, activities and anything else that will give Mr. Finch an accurate account of what you’d witnessed. Got it?”
Amy saluted like a little soldier. “Yes sir,” she said, standing at attention.
I stepped up in front of her and yelled, “At ease, soldier.” She relaxed and I took her in my arms and kissed her long and hard.
“Why sergeant,” Amy said, trying out her Southern Belle accent. “I’m not that kind of woman.”
I laughed. “That’s good,” I said. “Real good. But they’ve already found their Scarlett O’Hara.”
“Tomorrow’s another day,” she said, dragging out the joke.
I squinted and pinched my lips tight. “Frankly, my dear, you’d better get ready if you’re going to tail the woman.”
It was coming up on three o’clock and Amy had changed her clothes and her shoes, saying she needed to blend in and still be comfortable while walking. I told her she looked just fine, handed her a slip with Finch’s address on it and tucked the photo of Cora Finch in her jacket pocket.
“You stay behind her with your car,” I said. “I’ll be behind you with my car. If she goes shopping, you stay with her on foot and I’ll hover nearby in the car in case she hops a bus or takes a cab at the last second. Let’s go.”
We both parked half a block from the Finch residence and waited. At exactly three-twenty Cora Finch emerged from her house and walked a narrow path to her garage. A few seconds later the garage door opened and a burgundy Ford backed out of it and down the driveway. Cora aimed her car west and headed toward downtown Hollywood. Amy pulled away from the curb and fell in behind Cora, leaving half a block between the two cars. I stayed behind Amy’s car at a reasonable speed, making sure I didn’t lose either of them at a red light.
A few minutes later Cora Finch pulled her car into the Bullock’s parking lot, got out and walked straight toward the store. Amy parked two rows back and three spaces over from Finch’s Ford and followed the woman into the store, making sure not to look directly at her until she was sure Cora wasn’t watching her. I stayed in my car in the parking lot and waited.
Once in the store, Cora Finch walked immediately to the back of the store and through a door marked ‘Office.’ Amy walked toward that area but stopped short and pretended to be looking through a rack of dresses hanging there. Amy couldn’t hear anything that was being said inside the office and decided to step a little closer. Still no sounds came from within. She decided to go back outside and find me. She walked over to where I sat parked and approached my window. I rolled it down.
“She went directly to some office in the back of the store. I can’t see or hear anything from where I am. Maybe you can see if there’s an outside window or something. I’m going back inside in case she comes out of there.”
“Right,” I said, laying my hat on the seat next to me, getting out of my car and walking toward the back of the store. There was a narrow alley between two buildings, too narrow for vehicular traffic, but plenty roomy enough for me to sneak around. There were boxes piled up and wooden barrels sitting nearby. This looked like a temporary holding area for discarded cases until they could be hauled away.
I could see a window facing this little alley. It was criss-crossed with widely spaced chicken wire embedded in the glass. I stepped up onto one of the cases and crouched next to the window, trying to see inside. I could make out Cora Finch but I wasn’t sure whom she was talking to
. It was another woman in a business suit and that woman looked familiar somehow, but I couldn’t place her. I cupped my hand around my eye and leaned in for a closer look. Cora and the woman were still talking, but the other woman had her hand on Cora’s shoulder, rubbing it.
Whatever the woman was saying to Cora seemed to have a soothing effect on her because soon she was rubbing the other woman’s shoulders as well. When Cora leaned in and kissed the other woman full on the mouth, I knew that Russell Finch’s suspicions were correct, except that Cora wasn’t seeing another man. She was seeing another woman. All at once it came to me where I’d seen the other woman before. It was Mrs. Owen Carver, Finch’s bridge playing neighbor. She looked different all dressed up like this. I’ll bet if I had hung around longer that night, I’d have see the other two card players leave first. And Cora Finch would have stayed around to help clean up, or at least that would have been the premise.
I stepped down off the box and tiptoed out of the alley and then walked back to my car. I plopped my hat back on my head, pulled out my notepad and wrote down what I’d witnessed. I tucked my notes into my coat pocket and decided to go into the store and find Amy. She was still going through the rack of dresses at the back of the store when I entered. I got her in my sights and motioned for her to come over to where I was standing.
“She’s still in there, isn’t she?” I said.
“If she’s not, she didn’t come past me to get out,” Amy said.
“Just wait until you hear what I saw,” I said, pulling Amy with me as I made my way to the exit door again. By the time we got back to my car, Amy had a pretty good idea of how Cora Finch had been spending her Thursday afternoons as well as her bridge nights with the neighbors.
“Now what do we do?” Amy said.
“Now we report back to Russell Finch, collect our fee and close the case,” I said. “An easier hundred dollars you couldn’t make.”
“Plus expenses,” Amy added.
“Plus expenses,” I allowed. I turned to Amy. “Well, is being a P.I. everything you thought it was going to be?”
Amy looked a little disappointed. “Now I know what you meant by the average case being kind of boring,” Amy said. “I didn’t get to do much investigating, just a little riding around and following a lesbian on foot. I could have gotten one of my bridesmaids to do that for nothing.”
“That’s the nature of this job,” I said. “It’s not all excitement and glamour like you see in the movies. That’s all embellished to make the movie more exciting. If they made a movie about what we just did, no one would come to see it.”
“On the plus side,” Amy said, “at least now we have the rest of the day to ourselves. You know what I’m thinking?”
“Maybe it’s the same thing I’m thinking,” I said, bending over, raising my eyebrows and flicking ash off an imaginary cigar like Groucho Marx.
“Well,” Amy said, “there’s that, too. But I was thinking we could take in a movie tonight. There’s a Tracy and Hepburn movie that sounds pretty good. It’s called Adam’s Rib and it’s one of those screwball comedies that they do so well together.”
“I’m all for that,” I said. “But are you sure you wouldn’t rather see your hero, Victor Mature? He’s playing at the Majestic in Samson and Delilah.”
“No,” Amy said. “Let go to Adam’s Rib instead.”
“I thought Victor Mature was your favorite movie star,” I said. “What gives?”
“Well,” Amy said, “to tell you the truth, I already saw it that night you had to work late. I didn’t tell you about it then but, yeah, I’ve already seen it. Sorry.”
“Was it any good?” I said.
“It was very good,” Amy said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it took home an Oscar or two.”
“All right,” I said. “Tracy and Hepburn it is. Let’s go.”
The following morning I woke, shaved, showered, ate breakfast and drove over to Amy’s house. She was already sitting around the kitchen table reading the paper. When I came in she laid the paper down and rushed over to give me a kiss.
“Good morning, dear,” she said.
“And the same to you,” I said. “Is that coffee I smell?”
“Sit down,” Amy said. “I’ll get you a cup.”
I sat at the table and picked up the paper Amy had been reading. I went immediately to the entertainment section to see if any new movies had come to town. Amy set my cup of coffee in front of me just as I picked the paper up off the table. I continued reading it in that position. Amy took the seat across from me and began reading the side of the paper that faced her, sipping her coffee in between glances. I flipped the paper over to the next page and held it up in front of me, reading about some tax hike that was being proposed. Amy grabbed the paper out of my hands and slapped it down on the table to the part she’d been reading opposite me. She got up out of her chair and came around to where I was sitting.
“What is it?” I said.
“Look here,” Amy said, pointing to an article on the backside of the paper. “Look at this article.”
I read the article out loud, with Amy all the while reading it over my shoulder. “Russell Finch, 51, was found shot to death early this morning in an alley off Ventura Boulevard. Police have no clues as to the assailant and are hopeful someone will come forward with information surrounding the death. Finch was a well-known businessman in the area. He leaves a wife, Cora and a daughter, Susan, 28.”
“Is that your Russell Finch?” Amy said.
“One and the same,” I said. “I don’t suppose I’ll be able to collect that last thirty-five dollars now.”
Amy slapped me on the shoulder. “You have a morbid sense of humor sometimes, you know that?”
“I have to call Dan,” I said. “We have to go down and see him, both of us.”
“There’s the phone,” Amy said.
I stood up and stepped over to the phone that hung on Amy’s kitchen wall and dialed Dan Hollister’s number. His secretary, Hannah answered on the second ring.
“Lieutenant Hollister’s office,” Hanna said, as cheerful as ever.
“Hannah,” I said. “Matt Cooper. Is Dan in? It’s important.”
“Sure Matt,” Hannah said. “Hang on.”
Dan came on the line immediately. “Can you make this fast, Matt?” Dan said. “I’m up to my armpits in paperwork this morning and I really don’t have time for chit chat.”
“And I’ll bet some of that work involves the murder of Russell Finch, doesn’t it?” I said.
“And just what would you know about that particular case?” Dan asked.
“Enough to help you narrow down your suspect list,” I said. “Might you be interested?”
“How quick can you get here?” Dan said.
“We can be there in fifteen minutes,” I said.
“We?” Dan said. “You got a mouse in your pocket?”
“Amy and me,” I explained.
“This is hardly the time for a social call,” Dan said.
“This isn’t a social call at all,” I said. “Amy and I both have information that may help you on this one.”
“Bring her along,” Dan said.
“We’re on our way,” I said and hung up.
I turned to Amy. “Are you ready to go?” I said.
“Just let me grab my purse,” she said.
We made it to Hollister’s office in less than fifteen minutes and found him refilling his coffee cup at the coffee maker in the hallway. He took a sip and then spotted us coming toward him. He gestured with his cup toward his office. We followed him in and closed the door behind us. Dan pulled two chairs up to his desk and sat behind it on his own chair. He took another sip from his cup and then just looked at us strangely.
“You might want to have Hannah take notes,” I said. “We’ve got a lot to tell you about this case.”
Dan pressed the button on the intercom and Hannah’s voice came over the box. “Yes sir?”
“Hannah,” Dan said, “Would you come in here and bring your steno pad with you, please?”
Hannah didn’t answer, but was in the office in mere seconds, ready to take notes. She pulled up a third chair and sat poised with her pencil.
“What have you got?” Dan said.
I filled him in on my meeting with Russell Finch and described the card-playing neighbor next door. I told him about how Amy and I had tailed Finch’s wife around town, finally stopping at Bullock’s Department Store. Then Amy jumped in and added some more information of her own. When I got to the part about seeing Cora Finch kissing Mrs. Owen Carver Dan’s eyebrows shot upward and Hannah stopped writing momentarily.
“You might want to talk to Mrs. Carver,” I said. “If she and Cora Finch were involved and if she were the jealous, possessive type, she might have a motive to want Mr. Finch out of the picture.”
Dan shook his head. “That’s going to be a little difficult,” Dan said, pulling one more piece of paper from his pile and handing it over to me. “They found Dorothy Carver bludgeoned to death less than an hour ago. And it ain’t pretty.”
Amy gasped. “And I was just telling Matt that I was a little disappointed because our first case turned out to be so dull.”
“Our case?” Dan said. “You were working on this case as well?”
“Well,” I said, “not really working on it. More like helping me keep notes and such. You know, the kind of activities that don’t require a P.I. license.” I looked at Amy when I said this and she took the hint.
“Yeah,” Amy said. “That’s what I meant. I was keeping Matt’s notes for him.”
“So what we have here,” Dan started to say, “are two neighbors, lesbians, the both of them. And they’re involved with each other. The husband suspects his wife is cheating on him and hires you to look into it while you,” he looks directly at Amy at this point, “help Matt keep his notes in order. Now the husband turns up dead and so does the other woman. Where does that leave us?” Dan turned to Hannah. “Did you get all that?”
