Persephone Cole and the Halloween Curse

by Haven, Heather

  Percy sat munching on the dog and staring at the narrow alleyway. She was having a lively chat with herself and not liking the outcome of the conversation.

  What the hell are you doing here, Percy? Like the feeling of being a private dick more than the feeling of a pillow under your head? And you can’t even leave the car without chancing a ticket or maybe having it towed by the fuzz. What an idiot.

  Just as she licked her fingers clean and talked herself into driving home and going to bed, a thin, young man walked to the side of the theatre. He glanced around in a furtive way and darted into the alley. Catching a glimmer of his face, she recognized the man as one of the featured performers in Macbeth, Lennox. Percy looked at her watch. Nine-fifty.

  The actors were sent home hours ago. I wonder if he forgot something. But he shouldn’t have a key. If he gets in, that mean someone else is inside the theatre to let him in. Cast and crew were ordered to stay out tonight in no uncertain terms.

  She pulled forward and saw he had, indeed, vanished inside the stage door. Putting the car in reverse, she backed up to her original spot.

  Two or three minutes later, the young man emerged and walked quickly down the sidewalk in the other direction. Another theatre’s show came to an end and a flurry of patrons passed her by on the sidewalk. This group was silent or grumbling quietly among themselves.

  There’s going to be a show closing soon. Too bad. More actors reading Variety or walking the pavements looking for a job. Oh grand, Percy, now you sound like you’re in show biz. Pop was right. Watch yourself.

  The crowd thinned out and an elegant, dark-haired woman walked toward her on the sidewalk, looking familiar.

  Felicity Dowell. Out for an evening stroll at this hour or something else?

  The woman, dressed in black with a cherry red scarf thrown around her neck, turned into the alleyway and disappeared. Percy didn’t bother to pull the car up but merely waited where she was. Again, in less than three minutes, the actress came out, turning in the direction of her apartment.

  Hmmm. Time for another chat with the former Lady Macbeth.

  Percy started the motor and drove down the street, stopping at the curb several feet ahead of the walking woman. Motor idling, Percy slid over to the passenger side of the car and rolled down the window. She leaned her head out.

  “Good evening, Miss Dowell.” The actress started and nearly dropped her handbag. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “Oh, Miss Cole.” The actress forced a light laugh, bringing a nervous hand to her throat. “You did, though. Good evening.” She began to walk down the sidewalk again.

  Percy slid back to the driver’s side, and depressed the accelerator slightly, keeping the car’s pace the same as the walking woman. As she drove, Percy yelled out the open window. “Get in the car, Miss Dowell. I’ll drive you to your apartment.”

  “No, thank you,” came the prim reply, “I prefer to walk.”

  “I don’t think so.” Percy shouted and several people on the street glanced her way. “Unless you want a late night visit from the cops, get in the car. We need to have another talk.”

  Felicity Dowell came to a sudden halt. So did the car. The actress bent down and leaned inside the open window. “Just who do you think you are?” Her voice was haughty and indignant. “I don’t have to --”

  “I’m the person who can give the cops the threatening letter somebody sent you,” the detective interrupted at a more normal volume. “Plus certain other information. They could decide maybe you can’t board a ship for England, maybe you need to hang around and answer some questions regarding a murder and an attempted one. You might be a witness, albeit a hostile one. But for sure, you wouldn’t be sailing to join Lawrence Olivier in his latest project.”

  There was a moment’s silence on both women’s part. The actress opened the door, threw herself on the seat, and slammed the door. “What is it you want?” The cultured side of her voice turned into a guttural growl. She looked straight ahead.

  Percy studied the actress’s profile. “What were you doing just now inside the theatre? You’ve been gone from it for almost a week.”

  Flustered, the woman picked up her hand bag, opening and closing the clasp then fussed with the scarf around her neck. “I was merely out for a walk and thought I’d say hello to some of my friends. I didn’t know the theatre was closed.” She turned her head to Percy and allowed a smile that said, ‘so there’.

  “Cut the crap, lady, and don’t make me mad.” It was Percy’s turn to growl. “Or I’m driving us to the police station right now and turning you over.” It was a hollow threat, but Percy was always good at poker. She stared into the other woman’s fearful eyes, the City streetlights allowing such scrutiny.

  Felicity’s jaw worked up and down, and she looked away. “I can’t tell you,” she murmured, in a teary voice.

  “Sure you can. Just open those flappers and let her rip. I’m waiting.” Percy spoke harsher than she felt, but if she needed to bully the woman into talking, that was just fine.

  The actress sunk into the passenger’s seat, covering her face with one manicured hand. She began to sob. “I...I had some bad news today. A dear friend died. I needed something to…help me through.”

  “Carlisle, right? I heard you were close. I’m sorry for your loss.” She reached into the right pocket of her jacket and pulled out her handkerchief. “Here, it smells a little of mustard, but otherwise it’s clean.” She thrust the cloth into the other woman’s hand. “Blow your nose.”

  “Thank you.” The actress blew her nose delicately then folded the hanky into a square, and looked over at Percy. “I don’t know that you’re so tough. You’re rather nice.”

  “Don’t be fooled,” Percy said, not making eye contact, but looking out the windshield’s glass into the night. “I can be both. I can be neither. And I’m still waiting for an answer.”

  “You have to promise me you won’t say anything to the police. I could be arrested.”

  “I can’t promise you that. But I can promise that if it doesn’t have anything to do with what’s going on with this production, I won’t mention your name.”

  The older woman turned a tearstained fact toward Percy. “Do you swear, Miss Cole?”

  “Hey, I already gave you my word. So talk, already.”

  “Very well.” She wiped her nose then sat up straight. “I was getting a supply of marijuana from Ned,” she blurted out. “I go whenever I need some. He won’t give me more than a two-day supply at a time. Sometimes not even that.”

  “Excuse me?” Percy’s eyes got wide before she threw her head back and laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” Indignation overtook fear, as the actress challenged Percy with her question.

  “Ned? Dealing drugs?” She continued to laugh. “Man, I never figured that in a million years. And you, a Viper.”

  “He isn’t ‘dealing drugs’. He merely supplies a few trusted friends with a gram or two.”

  “Oh, please. Spare me.”

  “And what do you mean, I’m a Viper? What’s that?” Now anger seemed to replace the indignation.

  “Just a term come out of Harlem for a pot smoker. So how does it work? How do you get a bag? The theatre is closed right now. How did you know Ned was there?”

  Uncomfortable, Felicity Dowell ran a hand back and forth along the dashboard, concentrating on a nick on the glove box. “I…I…you have to come back after the show, when the theatre is dark. When I was in Macbeth, I would return about fifty minutes after curtain call.”

  “You turn in your dressing room key when you leave after each performance, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but Ned stays there. If you knock, he’ll let you in. You buy it then.”

  “What kind of a knock? Not a regular one, or else he wouldn’t open the door, right?”

  Felicity Dowell didn’t reply but nodded. After a beat, she said, “It’s this.” She fisted her hand and knocked seven times on the glove
box, five fast raps then two slower ones. “Like that.”

  “In the states, we call that ‘a shave and a haircut, two bits’.”

  The actress came to life and leaned into Percy. “You won’t tell Ned, will you? I don’t want him angry with me or…” She broke off.

  “Cutting off your supply?” She shook her head. “I won’t tell Ned who I got the info from.” She let out a hoot of laughter again then sobered.

  “Listen, Miss Dowell, I can’t tell you how to live your life, but earlier today you said you gave up the booze. This weed thing, it’s just another form of addiction, in case you didn’t know. Of course, who am I to talk? I don’t go anywhere without my pistachios. That’s one of the reasons I’m a zaftig girl, as Mother would say.” She pulled out the bag from the pocket of her jacket. “Have one,” she offered.

  The actress shook her head and looked back at the Royal Theatre. “To be completely candid--”

  “Candid always works with me, so shoot,” Percy interrupted, popping a pistachio in her mouth.

  “I’m going to miss the play and being in America. If it wasn’t for all this trouble and Larry being so insistent I return…but that’s neither here nor there. In answer to your question, I don’t think marijuana will be a problem for me in England. I don’t even think you can get it there. It comes up from Mexico, doesn’t it?” She looked over at the detective for affirmation.

  “So you were turned on to it here. Interesting.” She removed the shells from her mouth, opened the ashtray on the dashboard nearly overflowing with them, and dropped them onto the pile. “I’d better empty this ashtray soon,” she muttered.

  Percy turned back to the actress who was staring out the window at nothing. “Don’t kid yourself. Even with the war on you can get weed anywhere. And a lot of it comes in from India in your part of the world. If you want it, you’ll find it. The question is, do you?”

  “I don’t know,” she answered, looking down but shaking her head. “I’m a weaker person than I like to think.”

  “Aren’t we all,” Percy replied.

  “You seem pretty strong to me, Miss Cole. I envy you.”

  “Truth?” Percy turned the ignition over and started the car. “Every time I consider something like that, I remember my son. Any spare change I have, I’m throwing his way.” She pulled out and drove to the actress’s apartment, a few blocks distance.

  “I don’t have a son,” Felicity Dowell said in a flat tone after they turned the corner.

  “Then get a dog. Or a cat. I hear Sir Anthony is totally devoted to his.” She glanced at the woman with a grin on her face.

  The actress, at first wearing a surprised look, burst out laughing. “I like you, Percy Cole. At another time, we might be friends.”

  Percy pulled over to the curb in front of Felicity’s apartment. “Have a safe voyage back to England, Miss Dowell. Try to stay clear of any jerry subs.”

  The actress got out of the car, shut the door, and leaned inside the open window. “Thank you. I’ll have your hanky laundered and returned to you.”

  “Don’t bother. I have a drawer full.”

  “Then I’ll say goodbye, Miss Cole, and hope you solve your case. Put Miss Marple to shame.” She backed up and waved.

  “It’s in the bag,” Percy said, waving back. I wish, she added as an afterthought.

  She pulled into the traffic, hung a u-turn, and drove back to the theatre. Percy parked the car in the no parking zone once more. She turned off the motor and got out, slamming the car door behind her.

  If I get a ticket or hauled away, Wainwright is damn well paying for it.

  Percy walked down the alleyway and rapped on the stage door with the signal. Ned opened the door, saw her, and with a shocked look, tried to shut the door in her face. Percy decided to strong arm her way inside.

  No time for subtleties.

  Ned stumbled back a few steps, as she barged through the door. He stared open mouthed at her.

  “Hello, Ned. Fancy meeting you here. And at this hour.” She wore a fake smile on her lips, but her eyes were hard.

  He recovered somewhat and went into his small anteroom, shutting the bottom of the Dutch door behind him. “Hello, lady dick, what brings you here at this hour?”

  “I understand you’re selling something, something not quite so legal.”

  “Me? I ain’t selling nothing.” He picked up his well-read newspaper and sat on his stool, holding the paper in front of his face.

  Percy leaned in and snatched the paper from his hands, throwing it over her head. “Here’s the skinny, Ned, and I’m starting off nice about this. You’re selling marijuana on the side, and I want you to stop. You’re going to give me every gram of pot you’ve got, or I’m ripping you and this place apart until I find it. Now which way is it going to be?”

  “You can’t come in here threatening me like this,” he protested, leaning forward in a confrontational way.

  Percy took a step back, pulled the Dutch door open, reached inside and grabbed Ned by the collar of his shirt. She lifted his scrawny body off the stool, leaning her face into his frightened one. She could feel his feet kicking in the air.

  “Maybe I need to make myself clearer. If you don’t turn it over, when I get done searching through everything in this room and on your body, I’m hauling your ass off to jail for dealing drugs. You see if I don’t. So it’s me or the cops. You take your pick.”

  “Okay, okay.” He waved his arms in surrender. “I don’t have much left, that’s all. I sold all but two packets. You can have them. It’s not my fault,” he whined, as Percy lowered him back onto the stool. “Don’t take me to jail. I’m an old man.” He reached in the breast pocket of his shirt, and pulled out two small, flat bags and thrust them at Percy.

  Her eyes never leaving his face, she seized them with one hand, the other still holding onto the top of his shirt. “You got some kind of protection in here, Ned? ‘Cause if you draw a gun on me, I’m going to kill you with it and there’s a promise.”

  “A gun?” His face blanched of color. “There’s no need for a gun. This is a friendly-like thing I do for friends I got in the theatre. Just a little extra cash, that’s all, a little extra cash for my old age.”

  “Don’t look now, Ned, but your old age is upon you and then some. You want to hang on to this job, your dealing days are over. You got me?”

  His features scrunched up, almost as if he were going to cry, he nodded. “I thought you was my friend.”

  “In the long run I am. Who’s your contact? How do you get your supply?” When he didn’t answer, she shook him. “Come on, let’s keep this conversation going.”

  He turned a reluctant face up to hers. “This guy from Harlem, he comes down once a week with a stash. He sells it to me for fifteen, I turns around and sells it for thirty. Everybody’s happy.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “I don’t think --”

  Percy shook him again. “Name!”

  “Reefer,” Ned responded softly, looking away. “Reefer Jones. He specializes in marijuana. That’s all I know. He’s going to kill me if he finds out I snitched.”

  “He won’t hear it from me, Ned.” Percy released her grip on Ned, and he fell back down on the stool. She brushed at the wrinkles she’d made on his shirt. “Don’t you worry about it. I’ll take care of this my way. Everything will be copasetic. But you need to promise me you’ll stop dealing, or I’ll see to it you’re not a happy man. You want to make some extra money, go work at Schraffts. You hear me, Ned?”

  He nodded vehemently, whispering again and again, “Okay, okay.”

  “You sure you gave me all of it?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, in a similar tone as Oliver. She bit back a smile.

  “Then it’s time for you to go home to your missus.”

  She stepped out of the small room and made way for him to get off the stool. Wordless, Ned scurried out, never looking her in the eyes. He opened the stage door, an
d without a backward glance, stepped out into the real world.

  Percy sank down on the vacant stool and leaned against the wall, fatigue overrunning her. She leaned her face against the wall, which felt cool but unyielding. That was her sometimes, cool and unyielding. Aware of a large wall clock overhead ticking, she looked up and saw the time was ten forty-five. Yawning, Percy stood.

  “No wonder I’m tired. Time to get home, kiss the kid goodnight, and call it a day. But finish the job first.” She gave a good stretch and took her father’s fedora off, throwing it on Ned’s stool.

  After checking the stage door to make sure it was locked, Percy made a quick but thorough search of Ned’s small cubby hole. Satisfied it was clean, she trudged down the hall to the ladies room and flushed the two grams of marijuana down the john. Watching it swirl in the bowl and funnel into the plumbing system, memories of the past twenty-four hours swept through her.

  Percy Cole, this has not been your best day. Terrorizing three little boys, threatening a nice English lady, and manhandling an old man. You should be ashamed of yourself.

  “Oh, well,” she said aloud. “That’s show biz.”

  On the way out, she picked up her hat from the cubby hole and brushed it off, reshaping the crown. She plopped it on her head and stepped out into the real world, just as Ned had done. The door closed and locked behind her. Glancing back at it, she wasn’t satisfied.

  They need an alarm system on the theatre. This is ridiculous. People can come and go at all hours of the day or night. I’ll suggest that to someone after this mess is over. If it’s ever over.

  The night was cooler. The temperature had dropped several degrees in the short time she’d been in the theatre and promised to continue its plummet. She buttoned her jacket and drew up the collar as she got into the driver’s side of the car, realizing she hadn’t gotten a parking ticket.

  Maybe the day hasn’t been so bad.

  She thought about it, as she started the car.

  Yeah, it has.

  Chapter Twenty-two