"Wait up, sweetheart!" Jack called loudly enough for our tail to hear. "What about that kiss you promised me?"
We were between streetlights, so the shadows were pretty thick and the darkness overwhelmed me as I moved farther down the narrow passage. Suddenly, Jack's hot breath grazed my ear. "That's good, baby." His hand pressed my backside. "Keep walking." Then the warmth of his body vanished.
I gnawed my lower lip as I continued walking forward. What I wanted to do was turn around and ask him what he planned on doing. But I knew a good detective wouldn't question his partner in a situation like this. A good shamus would assume his partner had a plan-and trust it.
And that's exactly what I did: I trusted Jack and kept walking. My heels clicked loudly along the alley's cobble-stones, echoing up the walls of brick on either side of us. It smelled rank back here between the buildings, like spoiled food. I bumped a metal garbage can. Farther down the alley, a cat meowed loudly. I heard scurrying. Mice? Rats? I shuddered in the dark but kept going until I heard- Smack! Thwack! Smack!
Fists were hitting flesh behind me. There was a loud grunt, a body fell, and I worried whether Jack was okay. But when I turned around, it was Jack's dark silhouette that was still standing.
I backtracked quickly to get to Jack's side. The man who'd been following us was now crumpled against the alley wall. "Do you know him?" I asked.
Jack shook his head. He crouched low and patted the man down, coming up with two handguns. "Here," he said, shoving one at me and then another. The first was a snub-nosed revolver. The second had a long, narrow barrel. I think it was a German Lugar.
"Whoa, Jack," I said, holding up my palms. "I don't know how to shoot these-"
"Good because I just want you to hold them, okay?"
"Oh, okay." I juggled the weapons, finally getting a firm hold of each gun butt.
Jack noticed my awkward maneuverings. "Fingers off the triggers, okay?"
I vigorously nodded.
Jack turned back to the man. He was groaning now, coming to, and Jack started his interrogation. "Who are you?"
The man shook his head. "Buzz off."
Jack searched the man's pockets, pulled out a wallet, and flipped it open. "Well, well, well… this little license says you're a private dick, just like me… Egbert P. King."
"Bert," the man muttered. "Nobody but my mother calls me Egbert."
"Okay, Egbert, who sent you to tail me?" The man snorted, rubbed the back of his head. "You got it all wrong in the tail department, fella. I wasn't tailing you." Jack squinted. "Oh, you weren't?"
"No. See, I saw that piece o' tail you're with-" he pointed at me-"and I thought I'd grab me some, too. She's not too expensive, is she? Looks like cheap goods to me."
Jack's meaty fist cocked back. "You son of a-" "Jack, don't!"
Too late. He'd knocked the other PI unconscious. I sighed. "That wasn't too smart, Jack. Now he can't tell you a thing."
Jack grabbed the guy's lapels and shook him. "Wake up, shitbird."
The man groaned.
As Jack shook him again, I heard something suspicious. In the street beyond the alley, a car was rumbling closer, only it wasn't rolling at a normal pace. It was cruising slowly, as if the driver were looking for something or someone.
"Jack, listen," I whispered.
"You made a mistake, Shepard," muttered the PI named Egbert. "A big one."
Just then, three gunshots came in succession. Someone was opening fire on us.
It was too dark to see anything but a few white flashes from a dark car window. Above us, an old fire escape pinged as bullets ricocheted off the rusting structure.
Jack reacted instantly. While I was still gaping in shock, he was pulling out his own weapon, returning fire, and pushing me farther into the darkness.
"Move, baby! Go!"
I did, stumbling farther down the alley a few feet before I realized I was holding weapons, too! I dropped the revolver into my pocket, and pointed the Lugar with two hands.
Before I could fire, Jack was next to me, pushing the gun's barrel toward the ground. "I said run. Not shoot!"
"But-"
"Let's go!" Jack hustled me the length of the alley and we turned down the next street. Then he stashed me in a dark doorway and told me to stay put until he returned. A few minutes later, he was back.
"They're gone," he told me, returning his weapon back to the shoulder holster inside his jacket. "Egbert and his ride both hightailed it out of here. But I'm not surprised."
"Why?"
"Those shots landed a mile over our heads. Whoever fired them didn't want to hurt us. They just wanted to scare us." "But who hired them?"
"Something tells me I'll find out soon enough."
"Here," I said, holding out Egbert's weapons. "You want these?"
Jack took them from me. He checked the safeties then pocketed them both. "You did good, sweetheart. Stop shaking." "I thought we were dead."
Jack touched my cheek, gave me the slightest smile. "Only one of us is dead, Penelope. And I'm glad about that."
I was, too, because life was short. I forgot sometimes, but this moment reminded me.
Jack reached over and drew me into his arms. His touch wasn't playful, like it had been in the car; it was tender, his expression ardent. This time, I didn't pull away; and when his mouth covered mine, I closed my eyes and let him drive
CHAPTER 12. Murder by the Book
Hmm. Next time I come out with you, I'm gonna bring along an extra set of nerves.
– Kiss Tomorrow Goodbye, 1950
"PEN, WAKE UP! Come on, wake up!"
Someone was patting my hand. I tasted dirt, felt a sharp pain in my back and a dull throbbing in my head. "Where am I?"
"You're in the woods beyond Charity Point," a male voice replied. "Don't you remember?"
"What year is it?" I murmured, wondering where Jack had gone.
"Uh-oh, she's acting goofy, Fiona."
I opened my eyes to find Seymour crouched over me, his face pinched with concern. I tried to sit up.
"Wait, maybe you shouldn't move," he said. "Something might be broken."
"I've got to sit up, Seymour. Rocks are digging into my spine, and I think I have a bug in my blouse!"
Seymour called over his shoulder. "I think maybe Pen has a concussion."
I pushed Seymour away. "I don't have a concussion. And who are you talking to, anyway?" I sat up, did a double-take.
Fiona was pale faced, standing beside the mud-splattered golf cart. Grass stains streaked the cart's bright finish. Torn vines clung to the headlights and dangled from the rearview mirror. A low-hanging branch had ripped a ragged hole in the pink-and-white pokka-dotted canvas top. Taking the golf cart off-road and into the woods had obviously exacted a toll on the fragile vehicle.
"Let me guess," I said. " Seymour was driving."
"No, it was me," Fiona replied. "I saw Seymour follow you into the woods. I knew I couldn't catch up unless I had wheels. I drove up the trail and picked up Seymour first. We heard you calling in the distance, but we couldn't find you. Then we heard you scream."
"That's when I grabbed the wheel and made Fiona go off-trail, right through the brush," Seymour said. "And we finally found you."
"I appreciate it."
Seymour and Fiona helped me to my feet. I gingerly touched my head, groaned when I felt the lump above my forehead.
"No blood," Seymour said, inspecting my skull. "Just a jumbo-sized egg." He stepped back, pulled a twig from my auburn hair.
"I think I'm okay," I said.
Seymour frowned. "What the hell happened, Pen? Why did you run into the woods like some nutcase?"
I told them about seeing Dr. Rubino from the top of the lighthouse, then following the man into the woods. I glossed over the part about getting lost. Left out the crazy dream of tracking down clues with Jack Shepard in 1948 Queens, New York, and simply told them that a speeding biker ran me down.
"I'm going to speak wit
h Chief Ciders again," Fiona said angrily. "This is unacceptable. It's trespassing. How long before one of these careless dirt bikers runs down one of my guests!"
Fiona helped me brush off the remaining dirt and leaves from my hair and clothes. "Did you recognize the biker?" she asked. "Someone you maybe saw around town?"
I shook my head. "I don't know… it happened so fast."
Fiona pressed. "What do you remember?"
I closed my eyes, massaged my throbbing temples. "Darth Vader," I said.
Fiona whispered to Seymour. "What does she mean, do you think? That he was all in black?"
Seymour snorted. "Well, I doubt she means he was waving a lightsaber."
"He was a big man," I continued, my eyes still closed as I struggled to replay that split-second flash of memory. "He wore a black leather jacket. His head was completely covered with a darkly tinted visor, and his motorcycle was big. I don't know what brand it was, but it was black and chrome." I sighed and opened my eyes. "That's really all I remember… hey, wait a minute!"
I turned to Seymour. "Do you remember seeing Hedda's granddaughter, Harmony?"
"Sure." Seymour smirked. "I'm a man and I'm breathing. How could I forget seeing her?"
"I meant, do you remember when we saw her at Mr. Koh's fruit bins this morning? Do you remember what happened?"
Seymour 's eyes bulged. "Oh, right! A big motorcyclist in a black leather jacket was flirting with her." He paused and then shrugged. "Of course, there are a lot of motorcyclists in the area, especially in the spring and summer. He might be the same guy, or he might not. We need more to go on."
I nodded. "Right now we just have to go."
Seymour blinked. "Go where?"
"Back to the store." I rubbed my forehead. "I may have taken one in the cranium, but I haven't forgotten that we need to take a look at Dr. Irene Lilly's brand-new book."
IT WAS NEARLY four o'clock when Seymour dropped me off in front of Buy the Book. We'd taken his car to Finch Inn because mine was still crippled by a dead battery.
"I'll be back as soon as I find parking," Seymour said and pulled away from the curb.
The store was crowded with customers, which was certainly gratifying. But I felt a little guilty for having left Sadie and Mina alone for so many hours on such a busy day. On the other hand, Sadie was all for my investigating Irene Lilly's death, and that's what I'd been doing.
As soon as I entered the store, Brainert Parker cornered me. His brown hair was neatly combed and his scarecrow frame was dressed as smartly as ever. He had no bow tie today, but his khaki pants displayed a knife-sharp crease and his salmon-colored button-down appeared to be pressed within an inch of its life beneath his favorite blue blazer.
"Pen, you've got to tell me what happened this morning," he said in a whisper. "I tried to get the details out of Sadie, but she's been busy with the store. She simply told me that Dr. Lilly had a fatal accident, and I should talk to you."
"Yes, yes. How much do you know?"
"I know that the woman died in a fall from a ladder."
"And what do you know about her new book?"
"Excuse me?" Brainert frowned. "What does that have to do with her accident?"
"Listen to me, Brainert. I'm convinced that what happened to Dr. Lilly in our store this morning was no accident. I'm sure she was murdered and the scene was staged to make it appear as if she died in a fall."
Eyes wide, Brainert gripped my arm. "You'd better fill me in."
"I will. But first we have to take a look inside Dr. Lilly's new book. I'm betting it will give us a clue why someone wants her dead."
Brainert scanned the sales floor. "Where is the book? I don't see it on display."
"Because of what happened to her, we decided to keep the shipment boxed up in the storeroom." I waved at Aunt Sadie and called to her. "If you need me, I'll be in with the stock."
She nodded and went back to ringing up a customer's purchases. When I turned back to Brainert, Seymour was walking up to us.
"Hey, Parker, did she tell you?" he called. "Pen was run down in the woods by a mad biker!"
A few customers curiously looked our way.
"Keep your voice down, Seymour," I whispered.
"I call it as I see it," he said with a shrug then glanced at Brainert. "So? You in on the case?"
Brainert frowned. "It's a case, is it?"
"Sure," said Seymour. "Pen's running the investigation, and I'm her right-hand man."
Brainert rolled his eyes. "You have a right hand, Seymour. That's all I'm willing to concede."
"I have a fist, too, Parker. You want me to show it to you?"
"Stop bickering!" I commanded. "Just be quiet, both of you, and follow me."
I led the pair into the stock room and closed the door behind us. The cramped space smelled of ink, paper, and cardboard. The boxes delivered from San Fernando University Press were stacked where our delivery man had left them. I ripped open the top carton, gave one book to Brainert, one to Seymour, and took one to look at myself.
The three of us fell silent for the next five minutes as we examined Dr. Lilly's newly published work. As she'd promised in her speech at the theater, the dust jacket of her book featured the poster from Wrong Turn, which meant Hedda Geist's strikingly beautiful image dominated the cover. Her blonde hair flowed over her hourglass curves, encased in the shimmering silver gown she'd worn in the movie-the one that had gone missing from Gotham Features's wardrobe, if I could trust the dream that Jack had given me.
I flipped the book over. There was no text on it, only a large color photograph of Dr. Lilly-very unusual for an academic book. I opened the front, read the flap copy, and my jaw dropped.
"This isn't a film study," I said, finally breaking the silence. "Yeah," agreed Seymour. "Looks like a biography of Hedda Geist."
"You're both mistaken," said Brainert. "It appears to me that Murdered in Plain Sight should be filed under true crime."
"What are you talking about, Brainiac?" Seymour asked.
Brainert shook his head. "You two don't know the first thing about speedy evaluation. Contents reveal the outline, then skip to the last few chapters for the conclusion." He tapped his copy of the open book, his finger running down the middle of one page after another. "From what I gather, Dr. Lilly has written an expose that accuses Hedda Geist of the calculated murder of Irving Vreen back in 1948. She claims Hedda planned and executed the entire murder."
"But Pierce Armstrong was tried and convicted of manslaughter for that crime," I pointed out.
Brainert squinted at the page. "Dr. Lilly seems to be saying that Hedda Geist manipulated Pierce Armstrong and Irving Vreen into the confrontation. Her goal all along was to see Irving Vreen dead and Armstrong convicted of his murder."
"I knew it!" Seymour cried, slapping his knee. "Pierce Armstrong was a fall guy. He was railroaded. Hedda was the real vixen. She arranged everything."
Brainert shook his head. "This is quite disturbing. And, frankly, it's very difficult for me to believe that the Hedda Geist-Middleton I've gotten to know could be capable of this. As a young woman she was a gifted actress playing femme fatales to perfection, but I can't believe she actually was one. Look at the quiet, respectable life she's lived for decades. She's been an esteemed member of the Newport community for years. She's a beloved mother and grandmother. She's given tens of thousands to charity-"
Seymour snorted. "Not to mention your own pet project: restoring your movie theater."
Brainert put a hand on his hip. "What are you implying?"
"That you have an agenda."
"I'm an academic. I need to see evidence. My own observations tell me that Hedda's a class act. This alleged crime she committed was sixty years ago. Pierce Armstrong was tried and convicted of manslaughter for that crime. How in the world could anyone prove that conviction was false after all these years?"
"Dr. Lilly was an academic, too, Brainert," I pointed out. "I doubt she would have published a bo
ok without new evidence. She invited members of the press to our store today. I think she must have had solid facts to present. We just need to read them." I held up the book. "Consider this exhibit A."
"Exhibit A, huh?" said Brainert, paging through the final chapters. "All I see here related to the letter 'A' are Allegations" Brainert was silent for a minute, continuing to skim. Finally, he sighed and shook his head. "I don't even see a motive for Hedda to have supposedly perpetrated this heinous crime."
Seymour grunted with skepticism. "It sounds to me like you're more than willing to overlook your business partner's past. Obviously Dr. Lilly saw things differently."
Brainert smirked. "Obviously."
"What are you saying, Brainert?" I asked. "Do you believe Dr. Lilly based an entire book on unsubstantiated gossip?"
Brainert sighed. "If there's any real evidence in here, I'll be willing to consider it. Until then, I'm putting this theory about Hedda on the level of Frannie McGuire's story that she sold Elvis Presley take-out quahogs at the Seafood Shack in 1992."
"What's so hard to believe?" Seymour said with a wrinkled brow. "Everybody knows Elvis staged his own death."
"Now you're being ridiculous," Brainert sniffed.
"And you're being naive," Seymour charged, "to trust a spiderwoman like Hedda Geist-"
"Wait one minute," said Brainert, loudly snapping shut Lilly's book. "It's one thing to speculate about a woman's past. It's quite another to insult her with a name like that. I'll not have you slander a major contributor to the history of motion picture arts, not to mention an upstanding member of our community-"
"Our community?!" Seymour cried. "The old bag lives in Newport. Since when can we afford to live in Newport?"
"Hold the phone," I said.
"What?" they asked together.
"Hedda Geist may live in Newport now, but she didn't come from money. Not even close." While the two men were bickering, I'd continued to skim Dr. Lilly's book. I pointed to one of the early chapters. "It says here that Hedda was the fourth daughter in a family of seven. Her father was arrested for robbery when she was nine and died in a prison brawl. Hedda's mother cleaned houses to make ends meet."
The Ghost and the Femme Fatale Page 13
