The Clark Gable and Carole Lombard Murder Case
Page 20
“Oh,” said Carole.
“What?” asked Clark.
“Supposing Takameshuga’s not on Oscar’s boat!”
Herb said, “My money’s on him being on the boat. We’ve been keeping an eye on it. It’s been loading supplies. Probably for a trip to Mexico where he would start his first lap back to Japan.”
Carole said, “You know, if Mala clicks here Takameshuga might decide to settle down, send for Mala’s mother, you know, mend his ways.”
The silence in the car was deafening.
In the trailer, Jim Mallory was trying to figure out which way the Cadillac was heading. He had pulled in for gas as the Cadillac pulled out of the station, but Jim wasn’t worried about catching up with it. Now he was worried something was seriously up and wondered why Herb didn’t have Clark pull over and tell him what was going on. He reminded himself Herb was to be trusted.
Not Hazel. She yelped, “Where the hell are we?” She tried looking out a window. The downpour was relentless. She hoped there wouldn’t be mud slides. She didn’t relish being trapped in one. She yelled, “Jim, where the hell are we going?”
“I’m following Herb.”
“So where’s he heading?”
“Search me.”
They awakened Oscar. He arose from a troubled sleep that featured visions of Lydia Austin’s body. He felt he was being watched. He was. Patty, Maxine, and LaVerne were sensitive to the whimpering he made while asleep. Patty thought he was cute but didn’t attempt to lick his face. Also the odor of the brandy he’d been drinking put her off. Oscar looked out the window, at the rain coming down in sheets. He squinted. Christ, we’re on the Pacific Coast Highway!
He leaped to his feet and entered the front of the van. “What are we doing on the Pacific Coast Highway?”
“Following Herb,” said Jim innocently.
“Where are we going?”
“I don’t know. But they’re sure in a hurry. They’re doing seventy. I can just about keep up.”
Oscar had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Hazel asked him, “You feeling sick again?” Oscar didn’t answer. He felt for the reassurance of the handgun he carried in an inside pocket of his leather jacket.
Hazel said, “We’re passing Mike Lynton’s joint. Damn Herb! What the hell’s he up to?”
Oscar suspected what Herb was up to. He had slipped up. He was too quick to identify Lydia’s body. He hadn’t recognized it, the face was so badly deteriorated. He just knew it was her because he had brought her there. He intended to move it elsewhere but didn’t get around to it because his only alternative was the Salton Sea near the cave, but there were communities there and he feared being apprehended. Now he feared Herb Villon was about to score a home run with bases loaded. And one of the bases held Ito Takameshuga.
“Jim. Pull over,” said Oscar in a hoarse voice.
Jim, startled by the order, took his eyes off the road and caught a glimpse of Oscar’s handgun.
Hazel gasped. Oscar was the killer Herb was after. She had a scoop worth thousands. She reached for the telephone. “Don’t touch the phone, Hazel!” Don’t touch the phone? Was he inviting her to have a stroke?
Jim did the first thing that came to mind. He swerved the trailer and Oscar stumbled backward. Jim leaped from his seat and jumped atop Oscar, wrestling him for the gun. Hazel thought fast and got behind the steering wheel, bearing down on the horn.
But Clark had seen what was going on through his rearview mirror. He alerted Herb and Arden. Carole’s hands covered her mouth. Clark had pulled over. Herb was out of the Cadillac and rushed toward the van, with Clark and Arden following on his heels. Carole wished they were working from a script. Then she’d have a gun. She had nothing. She felt naked.
In the van, Jim held Oscar with his hands behind his back. Hazel had the gun and Oscar pleaded, “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” Herb entered the trailer, Clark and Arden still behind him.
“For crying out loud,” yelled Jim in frustration, “what the hell’s going on?”
Herb said, “Hazel, the gun’s useless until you release the safety.”
“Oh.” Hazel handed him the gun and commandeered the phone. Carole entered the trailer, drenched to the skin. She asked anxiously, “Did he confess?”
Carl Arden accepted the gun from Herb as Clark and Carole hurried back to the Cadillac and Jim got behind the steering wheel of the van. He followed Clark to Oscar Levitt’s sloop. The assistance Herb had called for earlier consisted of six detectives and they were milling about on the dock. Clark pulled over and Herb was out of the car yelling, “Are you guys nuts? Is the Jap on board?”
One of the detectives jerked a thumb toward the lounge belowdecks. There was only one crew member aboard and he looked bewildered. Herb, Carole, Clark, and Arden went below to the lounge.
“Mala!” cried Carole. The Eskimo, with a tear-stained face, was kneeling beside the body of Takameshuga. He lay face up in a pool of blood, his right hand still gripping the hilt of the dagger he had used to kill himself in the Japanese tradition.
Carole gasped, “Oh my God! He’s committed Harry Carey!”
Carl Arden corrected her, “Hara-kiri.”
“No matter how you pronounce it,” said Carole, “he’s dead.”
Mala spoke softly, “He is with his ancestors.”
Carole wondered if she’d given him some blubber cookies to take with him.
* * *
W. C. Fields and Groucho Marx weren’t especially fond of each other, but on a whim, Groucho phoned Fields to join him at Romanoff’s for a little memorial to Lydia Austin. Carlotta Monterey was at Groucho’s side sipping a pousse-café. Groucho and Fields had ordered martinis and Romanoff grandiosely told them their drinks were on the house.
Softly Groucho sang, “‘Lydia, oh Lydia, oh have you met Lydia?’” and his voice broke. He choked back tears and Romanoff understandingly gently rubbed his back.
Groucho said good-naturedly, “Lydia did it better. Dear Lydia. How anxious she was for me to do a dramatic role. I thought of doing a new version of Dracula. Now that’s a part I could really sink my teeth into.”
Fields groaned. “What we should do, Groucho, is my new version of Robin Hood. I’ve had the vision for months. Groucho, you should play Robin Hood,” a very magnanimous gesture on Fields’ part, “and I’ll play Friar Tuck, which you have to admit is perfect casting.” He thought for a moment. “Now as for Maid Marian, I think Margaret Dumont is a bit large for the part.”
“She’s large enough to play it twice,” said Groucho, searching for an excuse to make a hasty exit.
“And what do I play?” asked Carlotta petulantly.
“Why, my little frayed petticoat,” said Fields, “you’ll play third base.”
* * *
In the plane flying to Atlanta for the world premiere of Gone With the Wind, Carole held tightly to Clark’s arm. She was terrified of flying. Irene Selznick had plied her with sedatives, which didn’t seem to have helped, and now she tried applied psychology. “Carole, tell us again how you captured Oscar Levitt and stood by while the Jap committed suicide.”
Carole came alive. “You really want to hear it again?”
“Oh yes,” said Mrs. Selznick while stifling a yawn, “maybe David will be interested in buying the film rights.”
David O. Selznick glared at his wife. Carole screeched, “Pappy! Pappy! Did you hear that? David’s going to buy the screen rights and we can play ourselves!” She began casting aloud. “George Brent would be divine as Herb. Joan Davis is perfect for Hazel. And of course Walter Pidgeon for Carl Arden. Now for Jim Mallory…”
“Jimmy Stewart,” said Clark, realizing it made sense to humor Carole until the plane had landed.
“Oh perfect!” She released her grip on Clark. She leaned back in her seat, then said, as her eyes began to mist, “And for the girls, we’ll find four unknowns. We’ll hold a contest like David did to find Scarlett O’Hara. I still have the lease on the
house our girls were living in. I wish Mala hadn’t gone rushing off to Tokyo to join her mother. But she insisted her mother had said there were greater opportunities for an Eskimo girl in Japan.”
Clark said, “Maybe she’ll open a bakery and feature those goddamn blubber cookies.”
Carole shrieked with laughter. The FASTEN SEAT BELT flashed on and Carole said, “Oh Pappy! I feel good all over! I’m happy!”
He kissed her cheek.
Previous Novels by George Baxt:
The Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers Murder Case
The William Powell and Myrna Loy Murder Case
A Queer Kind of Umbrella
The Humphrey Bogart Murder Case
The Bette Davis Murder Case
A Queer Kind of Love
The Mae West Murder Case
The Marlene Dietrich Murder Case
The Noel Coward Murder Case
The Greta Garbo Murder Case
The Talking Pictures Murder Case
Who’s Next?
The Tallulah Bankhead Murder Case
Satan Is a Woman
The Alfred Hitchcock Murder Case
The Dorothy Parker Murder Case
Process of Elimination
The Neon Graveyard
Burning Sappho
The Affair at Royalties
“I!” Said the Demon
Topsy and Evil
A Parade of Cockeyed Creatures
Swing Low, Sweet Harriet
A Queer Kind of Death
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Previous Novels by George Baxt
Copyright
THE CLARK GABLE AND CAROLE LOMBARD MURDER CASE. Copyright © 1997 by George Baxt. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
Production Editor: David Stanford Burr
eBooks may be purchased for business or promotional use. For information on bulk purchases, please contact Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department by writing to MacmillanSpecialMarkets@macmillan.com.
First Edition: December 1997
eISBN 9781627797160
First eBook edition: June 2015