The Clark Gable and Carole Lombard Murder Case

by George Baxt

  “Oh shut up!”

  Nana Lewis was on the verge of losing her cool. Lola Kramm was trailing her with a quizzical expression on her face, and Nana was wondering if the psychic was getting a premonition about her. Jim Mallory thought Lola was connecting Nana to Lydia Austin, and Nana saw Oscar Levitt lumbering toward her and Jim. Maybe he’d made up his mind to hire her as Lydia’s replacement.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting anything?” said Levitt when he reached them. “This Kramm broad has me spooked. A little while ago she said to me something about my boat being clouded in darkness. And I said it’s my new movie, Darkness in Hollywood, and she said no, it’s your boat.”

  Nana said to Jim, “Oscar has a reconditioned sloop he bought in Baja a couple of financially successful movies ago. It’s moored just past Mike Lynton’s casino. We’ve been to Catalina on it a couple of times. The last time the boat sprang a leak. For crying out loud, Oscar, don’t let the Kramm thing haunt you. That look on your face!”

  “Well, damn it, Lydia Austin was with us the last time.” The way he said “the last time,” it sounded so final. “Do you suppose that’s the cloud the Kramm dame sees?”

  “Careful,” cautioned Jim, “she’s staring at you.”

  Nana said, “Maybe she sees a couple of financial backers playing with your ectoplasm.”

  “She doesn’t see a damn thing,” exploded Oscar. Then calmly, “I’m sorry. But I don’t enjoy being haunted.”

  Carroll Righter had brought Lola a drink and the psychic said, “I’m making that man nervous.”

  “Which one? Oscar Levitt?” Lola nodded. “Lydia Austin is to do the lead in his new movie.”

  “She won’t.” The voice was eerily self-assured.

  Righter was celebrated for his cockeyed prognostications, mostly brought on by an overdose of scotch whiskey, but he didn’t make anyone’s skin crawl the way Lola made his. A typical Righter reading consisted of his suggesting to a client that she spend Saturday cleaning her closet or that she take a drive out to the desert and meditate but beware of sunstroke and Gila monsters. Lola Kramm was something else again. She had once told an elderly actor there’d be a death in his family, which prompted him to keel over from a heart attack, and Lola said to his newly created widow, “See?”

  “Lydia won’t do Oscar’s movie?”

  “There won’t be a movie.”

  “Aren’t we being a bit fanciful, Lola?”

  She drew herself up to her full four foot eleven inches, looked into Righter’s face, and said, “The movie will never be made.”

  “Just as well,” said Righter. “I hear the script’s a stinker.” Now he waxed whimsical. “I dare you to tell this to Oscar Levitt.”

  The psychic said, “He’s had an affair with Lydia Austin.”

  “If you say so. You’re the psychic.”

  “Don’t mock me.”

  Righter said soberly, “Yes, they were an item not too long ago.” He scratched his nose. “Now let me see, in Lydia’s life there was also Mike Lynton, W. C. Fields…”

  Lola shuddered. “That dirty old man.”

  “Lola, Hollywood has cornered the market in dirty old men. Surely you’ve heard of Louis B. Mayer, Jack Warner, Harry Cohn, John Barrymore, et cetera et cetera et cetera. Lydia’s most recent is Groucho Marx.”

  “The lady had quite an eclectic taste.”

  “Had? Had? Past tense?” Righter’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. Hazel Dickson had come up behind the psychic, the soft sand muting her approach. “You’re positive Lydia Austin’s dead!”

  Hazel echoed, “You’re positive?” Lola yelped and turned to see Hazel and scold her.

  “You frightened the hell out of me! Don’t sneak up on people like that.”

  Hazel couldn’t resist asking, “Couldn’t you feel me coming?”

  Lola said haughtily, “All the noise on the beach is playing havoc with my reception.”

  Hazel was back to business. “You sense Lydia is dead?”

  “Either dead or unconscious.”

  “She’s been missing over a week,” said Hazel. “Maybe she’s in a coma. I better tell Herb and Jim.” The psychic and the astrologer watched as Hazel scurried away in search of Jim and Herb. She passed Clark and Carole conversing with Edna Mae Oliver.

  Edna Mae was saying, “I hate parties. I don’t know why I go to them. I don’t drink very much. I don’t nosh very much. And I absolutely loathe most of those in attendance.”

  Carole jollied her. “Come off it, Edna. You love to go to parties so you can make some evil comments about anybody and everybody.”

  “That’s not true. That’s a canard. I only speak my mind. And when I speak my mind I speak the truth. Take that utterly offensive Lola Kramm. She’s over there”—she pointed blatantly—“yonder, with the equally offensive Carroll Righter. The man’s dangerous. He’s a lush. He should be drummed out of the regiment.”

  “What regiment?” asked Clark.

  “Mr. McLaglen and his odious Black Shirts. They’re fascists and racists and they should be investigated.”

  “Maybe they are,” said Clark. “See that gentleman talking to W. C. Fields? He’s Carl Arden of the FBI.”

  “Oh, is he indeed?” She wore pince-nez suspended on a chain around her neck. She positioned them on the bridge at her nose for a better look at Arden. “Rather a handsome man, Mr. Arden. What could he possibly have to discuss with that old reprobate Fields? Years ago when we were both on Broadway, Bill dated me a few times. We were both working for Flo Ziegfeld. Bill was in one of the Follies, I think, and I was doing Parthy Ann Hawks in Showboat. I must say with all those beautiful Follies girls I was rather flattered that Bill selected me for a date. He later explained they were all of a kind and I was a novelty.”

  “Hee hee hee,” giggled Carole. “Did he try to rape you?”

  “Damn it, no.”

  Carole asked, “What do you think of Lola Kramm’s ethereal getup?”

  “I like the dress,” said Edna Mae, “but not what’s in it. Lola and Mr. Righter are quite right for each other. They both specialize in empty gestures. Ten years ago Righter told me to give up trying to make it in Hollywood. Not with my face.”

  “I love your face,” said Carole kindly.

  “You do? Make me an offer. As we all know, my dears, this face is my fortune. Thanks to it I’m a very rich woman and I can afford my bodyguards. Where the hell are the brutes?”

  “You don’t need them,” said Clark.

  “Why? Do you think my face would scare off any kidnappers?”

  Clark gently pinched her cheek. “No, babe. There are no kidnappers. It’s a false alarm. Carl Arden told us.”

  “Well, I’ll be hanged! But what about the Austin child? Isn’t she kidnapped?”

  “My poor darling has certainly disappeared. But now we’re not so sure it’s a case of kidnapping.” Carole shuddered.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Clark.

  Carole was embracing herself. “Somebody just walked over my grave.”

  “Oh stop that! Stuff and nonsense!” fumed Edna Mae.

  “Fancy meeting you here, my stuffed Hungarian cabbage!” W. C. Fields had lost Carlotta somewhere but decided Edna Mae would be a likely substitute.

  “I’m neither Hungarian nor a cabbage,” said Edna Mae in her most ladylike voice. “What have you done with Carlotta? I thought I saw her with you a short time ago.”

  “Well, I’ve either lost her or misplaced her. I’ve been thinking of trading her in for a new model.” He asked them, “Anybody interested in Carlotta? I’m entertaining all offers. I’m certainly not entertaining Carlotta.” He had his cane under one shoulder while lighting a cigar. “Do any of you know if I’ve had an affair with Miriam Hopkins? She looks so familiar. An animated powder puff. I’ve been talking to the FBI. We were discussing the missing Japs. He thinks they’re probably miles out to sea by now. Knots to you. Smuggled out of the country on a Japanese fishing boat. Why didn’
t they fly out, I asked him in my most genteel voice, and he said because they wanted to avoid going through customs. So I said they’re probably spies and he just gave me this strange look that makes me think I guessed right. “He looked hard at Carole. “Why of course! You’re Carole Lombard! What’s become of you? What have you been up to lately? Trying to make a comeback?” Carole winked at Edna Mae. Fields stared hard at Clark. “Why you varlet! You mountebank!” He raised the cane over his head. “You stole my part! You did Rhett Butler!”

  Carole reached up and pulled the cane out of Fields’ hand. “You might hurt someone with this pig sticker.”

  “How dare you! Unhand me! Return my weapon or I’ll crush you to a pulp. Are you two still married? Ah, the joys of wedded bliss!” He retrieved the cane and focused on Edna Mae Oliver. “Why, as I live and struggle to breathe, it’s my old partner in crime Edna Mae Oliver!” Delicately he took her hand and kissed it. “Been deflowered yet?”

  “Oh Bill,” said Carole. “What a terrible thing to ask.”

  “Why, I ask you, why? I’m as concerned about it as she is. You know, Eddie Sutherland, who’s trying to direct my current opus, tells me I’m an institution.”

  Edna Mae said with a sniff, “You’re an institution who belongs in one!”

  Carole’s eyes found Hazel Dickson and Herb Villon. Jim Mallory and Nana Lewis were with them, but apparently engaged in a conversation of their own. Carl Arden joined Herb and Hazel as she was telling Herb about the conversation with Lola Kramm and Carroll Righter.

  Herb mulled over Hazel’s words carefully. He was a master at sifting through information and placing it in the right perspective. Hazel, at Herb’s insistence, repeated what she’d told him and Carl Arden said, “Lola Kramm is right in there with the best but that doesn’t mean she’s infallible.”

  Herb said to Arden, “I have to admit I’m so desperate, I’ve been entertaining some pretty wild thoughts as to what fate has befallen Lydia.”

  “Let me hear some of those wild thoughts,” said Arden. “Maybe I can help tame them.”

  “Maybe she went off with Takameshuga and the six other dwarfs.”

  “Why would she do that?” asked Arden.

  Herb explained. “Lydia gets around. We know she met him through Mala Anouk, whom he dated several times. So maybe on the sly Lydia played footsie with Takameshuga and he liked her feet and invited her back to Japan.”

  “To do what?” asked a skeptical Hazel. “Study to become a geisha girl?”

  From her tone of voice, Carl Arden could tell that Hazel, like so many other Americans, had geisha girls all wrong. “Hazel, I think you’re under the misconception that geisha girls are whores. No such thing. They are carefully trained to give satisfaction but sex rarely rears its pretty head. Oh, maybe here and there from time to time one of the girls succumbs to the blandishments of a hot and bothered male, but if they do and they’re caught out, they’re finished. It’s a great honor to be selected and trained as a geisha. Most of them make very good marriages.”

  “Oh really?” said Hazel. “Maybe I should start giving Japan some careful consideration.” Carl Arden didn’t have the heart to tell her she was a bit long in the tooth for a career as a geisha. He also didn’t tell her that highly trained informants had alerted Washington to the possibility of a conspiracy entered into by Japan and Germany. He also refrained from sharing the information that American spies in Japan had been apprehended and executed. And Washington was helpless to retaliate. That is why he sought Takameshuga and the six other Japanese who had vanished and cursed the higher-ups for waiting too long to send him out on a mission that might now prove to be fruitless. He pinned his hopes on the American spy ships patrolling the Pacific waters under various camouflages seeking Japanese boats that were not registered, such as the Sarita Maru, the one that had sailed from Long Beach at the time Takameshuga and the others disappeared.

  The sun was starting to set and some of the guests were departing for other venues or to other engagements.

  “Miwiam,” Kay said to Miriam Hopkins, “you’ve given a superb party. Elsa Maxwell couldn’t have done it better.” Maxwell was the celebrated society party thrower. She choreographed them for wealthy clients at very eye-popping fees. She was short and obese, and played the piano brilliantly. A product of the Midwest, she had invented herself magnificently and was an international success. She had few rivals. Of these, one was Syrie Maugham, ex-wife of author W. Somerset Maugham, and another was Elsie De Wolfe, who married Charles Mendl, who was a lord, and now De Wolfe was Lady Mendl and never let anyone forget it. It was Elsa who comforted Lady Mendl when she bemoaned the thought of few people showing up at a party she had arranged for the same night Maxwell was overseeing one. Maxwell phoned Lady Mendl and said magnanimously, “Elsie darling! My list is overloaded! I’d be delighted to lend you some of my guests!”

  Though her party had been packed with guests, Miriam bemoaned several who hadn’t shown up. “No Garbo! No Dietrich! No Stanwyck!”

  “The hell with them,” said Kay. “Did you tell anyone they were invited?”

  “Oh of course not,” said Miriam. “It’s bad luck to share a guest list!”

  Kay didn’t question where Miriam had heard that one. Miriam did come up with some lalapaloozas. “And anyway,” Kay said, “just because the sun and some of your guests are setting doesn’t mean the party’s over! Everyone’s having a marvelous time! Look at the ones in the water! They’re splashing and playing games and mark my words: I predict there’ll be many an abortion as a result of this party!”

  “How cynical!”

  “My eye cynical! Cawwoll Wighter’s had a snootful. I hope he’s not driving!”

  Kay followed Miriam, who led her to Righter and Lola Kramm. Miriam said to the psychic, “Carroll’s not driving you home, is he? He’s in no condition.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Lola, who herself had had a fair share of liquor. “Two lovely young men have volunteered to drive us home. Their names are Roy and Sammy and until this evening they were bodyguards for the Gables, but the Gables don’t need them anymore since the FBI person told them the kidnapping scare is a false alarm, But of course!” She waved her right hand and said airily, “Those mysterious ten men who are gone were here under false pretenses.”

  “Oh weally?” asked Kay. “You know this for sure?”

  “Not for sure. Just take it as a qualified assertion by a great psychic!”

  Miriam whispered to Kay, “What an ego. She puts me to shame!”

  Kay was watching Nana Lewis and Jim Mallory, who had stripped down to bathing ensemble and swim trunks as they ran into the ocean.

  “Ah, youth!” Kay said with a faraway look in her eyes. “They say youth must be served. Now I understand why. They’ll take it anyway.”

  “Take what?” asked Miriam, somewhat confused as well she should be. Kay was getting morbid.

  “What they want. What they feel they are owed. Miwiam, we’re contemporaries. In our youth, did we make unweasonable demands?”

  Miriam said stoutly, “My demands were never unreasonable despite my reputation for being difficult. I knew what I wanted. I went after it and I got it. And so did you, Kay.”

  “If I had my life to live over again, it would all be so different.”

  “How would it be different?”

  She favored Miriam with a small laugh and said. “I’d have children.”

  “Didn’t Kenneth McKenna,” Kay’s ex-husband, an actor, “want children?”

  “He did. I didn’t.”

  “Oh.” She put an arm around Kay’s waist. “No use crying over spilt offspring. Anyway, you’re too old to bear children.”

  Kay bristled. “Who says so?” She thought of Maurice Chevalier, who had once so desperately wanted to marry her. “I’d have a child wight now except Maurice is back in France. I’d have a baby at the drop of a hat.”

  “And did Maurice take his hat with him?”

  In the water
, Sammy and Roy were entertaining some guests with their acrobatics. Jim Mallory and Nana Lewis were dog-paddling and vastly enjoying the exhibition. Roy balanced Sammy on his shoulders, and then Sammy reciprocated. They acknowledged their damp applause, enjoying their reception.

  On the beach, Hazel was trying to lure Herb Villon into the water, but Herb was having none of it. As far as he was concerned, bathing should be confined to the bathtub.

  “Come on, Herb. Nobody’ll notice your knobby knees.”

  “They are not knobby!” he said flashing her a slightly filthy look. Hazel knew better than to continue arguing the point. She had seen him in the buff often enough to know his knees were knobby, just as she knew that Dietrich was knock-kneed and posed her legs very carefully for the camera.

  Herb was staring out at the water beyond where Sammy and Roy were cavorting. He shaded his eyes with his hands for a better look. “What’s out there?” asked Hazel. “Johnny Weissmuller looking for a lost vine?”

  Suddenly Herb was stripping. First his shirt, then his shoes and trousers, and Hazel gleefully unzipped her dress to join Herb in a dip. Without a word to Hazel, he ran into the water, unmindful of the late afternoon chill.

  “Wait for me!” shrieked Hazel as she gave chase.

  On the beach, Carole saw Hazel chasing after Herb and had the urge to join them. “Come on, Pappy! Let’s show them the Australian crawl!” She was quickly out of her costume.

  Edna Mae urged Clark, “Go on! Have some fun! I might wade in up to my knees. Haven’t done that in ages. Not since the Dark Ages.”

  Herb was a strong swimmer. Jim Mallory saw him go past Sammy and Roy and sensed something was wrong. He left Nana and swam quickly in Herb’s direction.

  Carole screamed with delight as Clark shoved her head under water. When she surfaced she yelled, “Now it’s my turn to try and drown you!”

  But Clark had seen what Herb had seen and headed toward him. “Hey!” shouted Carole. “Where’re you going, Pappy?” Now she saw what they saw. She saw Jim Mallory joining them. Then she yelled at Sammy and Roy, pointing in the direction Clark and Herb had taken. Roy, standing on Sammy’s shoulders, shouted something unintelligible to Carole but which Sammy understood. Roy dove into the water and with beautiful precision he and Sammy swam toward Herb and Clark, Jim meeting them from another direction. Nana Lewis followed Jim. Her intuition drove her.