“I get it!” Gordon exclaimed.
Ivan chuckled. “I know Colette played Nevada, but who was your character in the town of Serenity?”
“Ah. For about a week's worth of episodes I played Desdemona, the belly-dancing hooker who caused the breakup of Nevada’s eighth marriage to Spike but Desdemona really loved Spike and they took off together to work for a drug cartel in Montezuma, Chile which I'm pretty sure is not on a real map, only the writers didn’t want Spike’s character back on the show because they wanted Nevada to remarry Beecher so the plane blew up with both Desdemona and Spike on it. That way they figured they could change their minds if they want to bring either of us back which ain’t happenin’ for Desdemona due to my contract with Endless Time although if they really want to recreate her they can do the whole ‘her face had to have plastic surgery after the plane blew up’ bit and hire another actress.” I sighed “So. Enough soap talk. Back to our killer. Taylor’s a suspect but we don’t know why other than possible pissed-off-ness over the breakup. Who’s next?”
After a brief moment of stunned silence, apparently due to my monologue about the soap opera, Johnny glanced at his notes. “Diamond and Omar Richards. Mainly Diamond with Omar doing cleanup.”
“Motive?” Four people chorused.
“I have no idea other than something involving that red Corvette and money. Diamond definitely is suspicious because of her little stunt using Omar. Perhaps Taylor was having an affair with Diamond and Diamond decided she wanted more and decided to get Colette out of the way.
Shay snorted. “Too normal. ‘There’s gotta be something better than this.’” She immediately shot a look at me. “And if you start singing from Sweet Charity I’m leaving.”
“I’m fine. Thank you so much for sticking the song in my brain for the rest of the day but I shall remain silent for the time being. Johnny?”
“Are you asking me if I’m also remaining silent or giving me permission to expose the last few names on the list?”
“Just tell us who you’ve got, ”Gordon said.
“One or more of the Haywards. They also asked about Colette’s last words.”
Gordon blinked. “Why?”
“I don’t know. Maybe they wanted Colette’s apartment? That building is now a co-op and she had a nice place and they have three kids so they may have wanted extra space. We’ve all lived in New York long enough to know people do literally kill for that.”
Shay jumped in with, “There’s no way. The motive, that is. They’ve done that on every TV crime show that’s ever been set in Manhattan. Makes the whole town look like a bunch of greedy murderers. Trite. I don’t like it. We want original.”
“Fine.” Johnny scowled at her. “Got a better idea?”
She scowled back. “Yeah. None. Honestly, I think the Haywards and at least one naked actor type should be dumped from the list. We need motive, people. Motive!”
I waved my hand in the air for peace. “That’s why we’re about to include and focus on my favorite suspects. Motive galore. Kaleb and Kenny-Anne Townshend. Well, at least it appears there’s motive if they’ll inherit which is something that needs to be looked into.”
Gordon broke in with, “They believe they do. I asked them when I was questioning suspects if they knew if Colette was leaving anything to Kenny-Anne. They were quite forthcoming. Said that Colette had told them Kenny-Anne would inherit her apartment one day. Kaleb and Kenny-Anne were well aware this could place them on a suspect list but they swore they would never have done anything to hurt Colette and weren’t aware of anything of value she might have left other than that apartment.”
Shay stated wisely, “Which means they’re either terribly innocent or very sneaky liars.”
I finished my third quesadilla. “Which also means we still have no idea who shot Colette.”
Chapter 27
Shay and Gordon left shortly after I made my glum pronouncement about all our musings and deductions leading nowhere. Ivan took off to meet Barry for a day of something absurd like golf, which is only absurd imagining the best dance teacher in Manhattan (Barry) quietly putting or slicing or whatever. Johnny and I stayed at the table.
“We’ve been deserted, have you noticed?”
I smiled at him. “I have indeed. I believe Shay has talked Gordon into a trip to the Cloisters museum for the rest of the day.”
“Very cultural of her.”
“Not really. She kept me awake until about three last night discussing her latest plan for a movie—something to do with vampires hanging out in the Arms and Armor section. She figured it could be done quite cheaply if the mayor’s film commission okays use of the museum. I think she's tired of going out of town. Prague did her in."
Johnny nearly spat out his drink. “Tell me you’re kidding.” Pause. “Forget it. I’ve known your roommate long enough to not only believe she’s already got the story board mapped out but that she’ll charm every member of that film commission and within weeks coffins will be piled outside the Medieval Enclosed Garden. Doubtless loaded with actors waiting to pop out and head for carotid arteries everywhere."
“I like it. If we weren’t otherwise engaged in acts of passionate least on set for the next few weeks, I’d offer our services as vampires from Texas.”
“Do they have vampires in Texas? I don't remember any roaming the streets of Houston, but then again, I left when I was eighteen to hit college in New York."
“Hmm. Come to think of it, probably not. Too hot. They’d have to be indoors twenty-four/seven out of the sun so they wouldn’t explode. Or implode. Or just burst into spontaneous acts of combustion. I’m fairly certain there are Lone Star zombies. In shorts and halter-tops. That’s both the girls and the boys.”
Johnny stifled a laugh. “I’m going to pretend we’re not having this discussion. So, did you bring the books?”
Instead of a direct answer, I reached down under the table where I’d stowed my biggest bag, filled with the scrapbook and two rather large volumes on silent films and film stars and the beginnings of the film industry in Fort Lee. All three taken from Colette’s apartment, sanctioned by the N.Y.P.D. via Gordon Clark. I hoisted the bag onto Shay’s empty chair.
“What do you want to look at first?”
“Much as I’d love to spend a few hours gazing at old photos, since you said there are pages missing and nothing interesting in the rest, let’s dive into the book on Fort Lee,” he responded.
“I skimmed it the first day I had it. I checked the table of contents and the index for names that might be familiar—in terms of Colette’s murder that is. Nothing jumped out at me. But I really haven’t had a chance to dig since then.”
“Well, let’s do it now.”
I handed Johnny the book and ooched my chair closer to his so I could read over his shoulder. It probably wasn’t as efficient time-wise as letting him read about movie making while I read about movie stars but it was nice being close and focusing on the same pages together.
We spent about forty minutes learning about the early days of movie-making in New Jersey and the enterprising souls who’d scraped together their pennies to attempt to become moguls in a brand new industry.
Finally one of those paragraphs with photos that are set off in a little box to sidetrack a reader from the main narrative caught my attention.
“Johnny.”
“Yes.”
“Check this out.” I tapped my finger on the paragraph.
Johnny immediately began to read aloud. “ ‘Numerous smaller studios sprang up in Fort Lee from Nineteen-Sixteen through Nineteen-Twenty. These were studios that were swallowed up by the larger production houses after proving their worth at creating quality films. Peerless. Ivanax. Eclair. National Film Laboratories. There were also studios that were so small they only made one or two pictures before failing. These studios often had dramatic or expensive sounding names, but those names did not keep them from bankruptcy or, as was also often the case, destruction
by fire. Some of these studios included The Ritz Studios; Lightning Bolt Films; Harmony Pictures and Herald Square Cinemas.’”
Johnny glanced over at me. “You’re thinking that Cinnamon Garrity might have made a film at one of these smaller studios?”
“I am. Specifically at this Harmony Pictures place. That poem by Wallace Stevens has been bugging me. Remember one of the collections it’s in is In Harmonium. Maybe there’s a connection? Could Cinnamon have even had something to do with the studio? Believe it or not there were women who owned some of these places. And we don’t know for sure she died penniless. That might have been sentimental journalism sneaking in from Daniel Asher. Also, Harmony Pictures was in business more than ten years before her death. She might have had a share in it. Or even one of the big ones. I really want to check this out.”
We stared at each other before simultaneously exclaiming, “Road trip!”
“Did you manage to abscond with an Endless Time van this weekend?” I asked.
He grinned. “I did. And don't ask what I'm using to blackmail Yolanda and several producers with for that usage. Okay. Let's hit the road. I assume you’re asking for a doggie bag?”
“Well, duh. Hell, yeah. I’m not letting quesadillas go by the wayside. I don't care how soggy they'll be. We’ll need sustenance to find this deserted old studio somewhere in the wilds of vacant lots in Fort Lee.” I stopped. “Poo.”
“Yes?”
“This could be a trip made in vain. Most of those old warehouses that slapped those classy names outside to become film production studios are long gone. I’m serious about the vacant lots. You've seen 'em. Or worse for our plans—new housing. I’m pretty sure there’s even a school that took over one of the larger studios about thirty years after the studio burned to the ground.”
“All true, but Abby, there are remnants. I roamed that area when we first started filming in Fort Lee and they hadn’t yet figured out if Gregory Noble was going to ride in and save everyone or be involved in the action from the beginning. I was waiting for you one afternoon and started touring. I found some old buildings that still had names tacked on the front. They weren’t pretty. They were definitely firetraps. But there were at least five or six that still were in existence. Let’s chance it. Even if there’s no trace of Harmony Pictures ever being in existence we’ll tour some of the other spots and see if they offer some hint of where Cinnamon Garrity might have hidden patents or a film.”
“If that’s what she did,” I remarked. “My gosh! Do you realize everything—and I mean everything—from Colette’s shooting, to her words, to our so-called suspects is all speculation? We’re groping in the dark here, Gerard.”
“Quit being Miss Glum. We know something isn’t kosher because of the note left on the Endless Time bulletin board. We know that someone tried to find out first if Colette spoke to you and then tried to keep you from investigating. We’re on the right track. Plus, if we find absolutely nothing anywhere in the ruins of Fort Lee studios at least we have a day on our own wandering in and out of funky old buildings without someone taking a photo or shooting at you.”
I brightened. “Good points. Let's roll!”
Johnny had parked the van in one of the few garages in the neighborhood so we were on the road in less than fifteen minutes. The George Washington Bridge was about a ten-minute ride from West 80th Street, but it was a Sunday so the traffic was minimal by Manhattan standards. We were on the bridge and in Fort Lee before I even had a chance to dive into the doggie bag.
Since Johnny had done this tour of studio buildings before he didn’t bother with a map. He drove straight to the area that housed dilapidated warehouses and parked on the dirt road in front of the largest studio ruin. We sat for a few moments in the van and gazed at the destruction of dreams. The movie-making book had provided stories of studios or laboratories consumed by fire but I’d had no idea no one had bothered to clean up after the wreckage for over half a century.
“My God. I’m not sure what terrifies me most about exploring—the possibility of wood crashing overhead, disease from who-knows-what chemicals may have remained or worse yet, ghosts of the poor people who were trapped here.” I whispered.
“Well, the only good news is that the majority of these fires occurred in the wee hours of the mornings when no one was around. It’s one reason there’s so little left. The places were deserted and they didn’t exactly have an alarm system with sprinklers or some watchful guard with a cell phone to call nine-one-one. But at least these early fires primarily destroyed property. Not people.”
I nodded. “Okay. I’ll keep that in mind as we roam. But, there’s still such a lingering ambiance over this whole area of smashed dreams and hopes and lives. All of which are still reasons for desolation and despair. If I start to cry, simply ignore me, okay?”
He shot me a ‘like hell I’ll ignore you’ look, then quietly said “Come on. Let’s walk a little. I know these first buildings were the bigger-named studios so let’s avoid them for now.”
We left the truck and began to follow a path between the ruins of a company that had half a sign reading “Barcley & Fin . . .” which was dangling from an open doorway and a smaller shack that appeared to have been used as a set—perhaps when filming Westerns or melodramas.
“Does this lead anywhere?” I asked.
“I’m pretty sure it does. I didn’t get a chance to come back this way before but you can actually see these old buildings from some of the cliffs in the Palisades and I remember there were some structures behind these bigger places. Just keep going—and avoid all the broken glass. It’s pretty nasty through here.”
“I’m glad I was smart enough to wear my clunky work boots today,” I grinned. “They were supposed to be a fashion statement but they do nicely in a pinch for tromping through the wastelands of Fort Lee.”
I stopped. “Johnny!”
“What?”
“Look. To the right just beyond that ghastly inn looking wreck. What is that?”
“The inn or to the right?”
“The inn. To the right is a building that has a large H and a large A glinting through smashed windows. Maybe a sign inside? But I am curious about the inn as well.”
“You may have to remain curious about the inn. I don’t see much to identify it. I’ll bet it was used as a set piece. The directors did seem to love using inns in the silent movies.”
I chuckled. “Where else can one film a salacious sex scene? This one looks really neat though.”
“Well, it also looks like it will crash to the ground if either of us steps inside so let’s head to the right and check out your smashed windows.”
I nodded. Johnny chivalrously helped me over some large pieces of wood shingles. Within a few seconds we were in front of what may once have been an entrance to a building that appeared to have been a studio with a laboratory in back for actual processing of celluloid.
“Ready?” Johnny inquired.
“Oh, sure. Ready for what might be the question, though. Now that we’re here, uh, what exactly are we looking for?”
“I have no clue. You’re the brains who thought Harmony Pictures might have something to do with Cinnamon Garrity so I figure you’ll have another brainstorm about where to go once we enter.”
“Thanks. So much.” I took a step inside. “I’m kind of hoping the spirit of Cinnamon—or Colette—casually drifts by and taps us on the shoulders and we'll hear this whisper saying, ‘go to the west wall and peer inside the steamer trunk which is all that is left of anyone’s possessions at Harmony Pictures including those of Gabrielle Garrity and there you will find the answer to all of your questions, my friend.’”
Johnny laughed. “Well, it won't be us. It'll be you but only if she's singing."
“Good point. Okay. I shall now try to stay quiet and soak up the atmosphere. If ghosts are roaming I'd imagine they'd prefer not to have to shout to be heard."
We both fell silent and each surveyed the room for
a different spot in what appeared to have been the offices of the old studio. Luckily, several desks had escaped complete disintegration. Johnny headed toward one that appeared to have a drawer or two intact. I took to the perimeter of the room, generally checking for any hidden trap doors that might lead to a basement full of riches.
Thirty minutes later we’d found nothing. The only hopeful sign was literally a sign. To be more precise-- a poster. I spotted it in the northwest corner of the offices, where it laid face against the wall along with about six other posters. The back was blank which was why I hadn’t originally noticed anything. But when I turned it around, I hit the mother lode. Harmony Pictures Presents Miss Gabrielle Garrity and Mr. Timothy Leyton in The January Sun. 1928.
“Johnny! Come check this out.”
“What?”
“A poster. I can’t believe this is still intact. It’s fantastic! Take a look at this. It’s a movie starring Cinnamon but using her real name,” I exclaimed as Johnny joined me.
“I agree. That is fantastic! We’re taking it when we leave. It should be restored and given to the movie museum. And if they don’t want it, I say it’s yours. Sadly, it’s not totally intact. There’s some rot distorting some of the images.” He squinted. “Can you read what that says at the bottom?”
I squinted as well, then shined the flashlight on the area Johnny was interested in. “Whoa. Johnny. I can't believe this. If I’m not mistaken this says something or other— something by our old friend Daniel Asher.”
Cold Wind to Valhalla (Abby Fouchet Mysteries Book 3) Page 19
