“Oh. I just thought since they were staying here too, and everyone seemed to know them....”
“From over there.” Eulahbell waved vaguely, indicating Europe, I assumed.
“Americans abroad — theater people and writers and such at least — tend to wind up at the same parties,” Loren clarified. “They stay at the same hotel sometimes, or cross on the same ship. I have to admit I couldn’t believe it when Nick and Lena showed up here the day after we did.”
“Like two bad pennies,” Eulahbell muttered.
“Now, Mother. If it hadn’t been for Nick, we wouldn’t have found out about—” Looking sheepish, he tried to cover his near flub. “We wouldn’t have found out what a nice place this is for rehearsing.”
Why had Eulahbelle used the term ‘bad pennies’? Right now, I wanted to nudge her son some more while he was off balance.
“Gee, I didn’t think you had to rehearse a lot for a movie like you do a play,” I said innocently.
“Uh, no. Not usually. But this one has some dancing—”
“Lots of dancing.”
“Mother.” It was the first time he’d spoken sharply. “One of the actresses has never danced, and another hasn’t for a long time. That’s why we’re here. So... I can work with them.”
His gaze slipped with the lie, and Bingo, I knew exactly why they were in Dayton: the Schwarz sisters. Hermene and Josephine Schwarz had become quite famous for their ballet school. They’d studied in Chicago, and one of them had performed in New York and Europe. The actresses were here for private coaching.
“Nick visits some elderly relative here,” Loren was saying. “Grandmother or aunt. He overheard Archie trying to recruit me in our hotel in London and came around later to say he knew a spot that had what we needed. Easy to get to but not someplace where we’d have to duck photographers, and even with a good rehearsal space.... Look, please don’t mention any of this.”
I crossed my heart. The part about the movie wasn’t important. Nick’s hand in getting them here was interesting though.
“Well. I just hope he and his girlfriend don’t have many fights like that one the other day,” I said. “When I was unlocking my door this morning, I saw the two of them coming out of their rooms—”
“You’re on our floor?” Eulahbelle winked reassurance. “It’s quiet as can be. If some fool didn’t keep opening the window and waking me up with the cold—”
“Mother, nobody opens the hall window.”
“I saw it with my own eyes.”
“When?”
“Last time I told you about it.”
“You’d taken two of those pills for your back. They knock you out.”
“They did — until I woke up shivering.” She glanced over, enlisting my belief in her claim. “I went out to close it, and there was that man of the count’s leaning out with his arms on the sill and a cigarette dangling out of his mouth. I asked could he please close the window and he nodded and went back to smoking. I don’t think he understands English.”
His English was excellent. I’d heard it. I wondered what night she was talking about.
“If they’re not actors, what do they do?” I asked. “Miss Shields and Mr. — ”
“Perry. Nick Perry.” Loren sounded relieved at the change of subject. “I think Lena inherited money.”
“Not a lot though. Her old man lost in the Crash. Some of what she lives on comes from writing filthy novels.”
“Mother!”
“Well, it’s true, honey. Published in Europe but banned over here. I tried one. You know some of the stuff I’ve read, but tying each other up and three in a bed? No thanks.”
Conversation through the rest of the meal was light and enjoyable. From time to time I observed Nick and Lena, who showed no inclination to lean toward each other or touch like two people attracted to each other. I also took note of the count and his family. They sat together like strangers, him ramrod straight, the two women looking nervous and ill at ease. The girl chewed her nails.
Our waiter had just served meringues filled with ice cream and strawberries when a trickle of muted sound through the room announced the arrival of someone important. Looking up I saw Archie Clarke wending his way past tables. On his arm was a nondescript woman enhanced by money. Her chestnut hair swept to one side. Her dress with its narrow two-tier skirt and shoulder capelet, screamed Paris designer. Even with those touches, her only average face and figure might not have won a second look save for the pear shaped diamonds glittering at her ears and neck.
“Wow, those are sure some sparklers,” I said. My whole body flinched at the thought of them in the hotel safe.
I watched in fascination as the Clarkes settled in at their table and people began to pay homage. A pair of young men hurried over to chat.
“That’s Dan and Dave. They dance with the girls,” whispered Eulahbelle.
One of the young men bent toward Lily Clarke’s hand as if he meant to kiss it. Lily was lapping it up. Veronica sauntered over and said a few words. Even Lena Shields went to greet her, and appeared to be in full charm mode. Maybe, since she was a writer, she hoped to hitch her star to the Hollywood crowd.
My sense of uneasiness over Lily’s jewels, and Tucker’s safe, sharpened.
FIFTEEN
After nine o’clock, the damp-behind-the-ears night bellman doubled as doorman, standing just inside the entrance where he could handle both responsibilities. I winked as I went out. He blushed.
A skim of fog had moved in from the river. I drove to my office, glad to be prowling streets where I felt more at home than I did in The Canterbury. Luxury isn’t everything.
The building was quiet. Sophia and Gilead, the Negro women who cleaned, didn’t come in on weekends. Somewhere downstairs in a back room, there was a night watchman who came to life about as often as the spittoon in the lobby. Maybe he was related to the building manager.
In my office I switched on the desk lamp and changed into the clothes I’d put out that afternoon. My evening attire wasn’t quite in the class of Lily Clarke’s. Mine was men’s trousers from the thrift store, a sturdy shirt, and a workman’s jacket. Since I didn’t have diamonds, I jazzed it up with a Smith & Wesson under my jacket.
It was still too early to head out, so I sat enjoying the familiar surroundings and thinking.
Mostly I thought about Lily Clarke’s jewels.
There was no reason to think they’d be a particular target, what with a count’s wife — I guessed that made her a countess — and a couple of actresses on the guest rolls. Still, they’d be hard to resist.
I poured myself some gin, but sipping it didn’t seem to make me any smarter. At midnight I turned off the light and locked my door. Then I went to the alley where Polly Bunten had died.
* * *
I parked on the side street nearest The Canterbury’s back door. For the first quarter hour I sat in the cozy confines of my DeSoto and studied the side windows of the hotel.
They looked out on a cross street and the ground floor sills were a good eight feet above the sidewalk. A very tall man might be able to reach them with his fingertips, but he wouldn’t be able to pull himself up. As to getting out of the building, any intruder who tried to leave Tucker’s office by way of the window risked breaking an ankle. A thief could drop something from the safe out the window, wait for the coast to be clear inside, then slip out and retrieve it. A spindly hedge between the hotel wall and the sidewalk might provide a small amount of cover for a bundle waiting to be retrieved, but just enough traffic passed, on foot and by car, to make that tactic risky.
The rear of the hotel seemed a more logical way for a thief to get in and out. Or for an employee to pass something to a confederate.
Crossing the street, I stood at the mouth of the alley, just out of sight. I waited and listened. After ten minutes, I’d seen no hint of movement and heard no sound save for an occasional car in the street behind me.
I stepped into the alley. Gl
iding over, I tested the kitchen door to the hotel. It was locked. A weak glow trickled out from the single light left on at night. All windows on the floors above were dark.
My eyes picked out a doorway suited to my purposes. With my back against the threshold and my knees drawn up, I made myself as comfortable as I could. I turned up my collar and snugged down the tweed cap hiding my hair. I pulled out the pint of gin that would make me look like dozens of other men sleeping one off. I took a swig to warm me. Then I waited.
Nothing happened.
A pudgy man shambled his way down the alley, looking in trash cans and muttering to himself. He didn’t notice me. Around two a.m. I nodded off. All at once I came fully awake, aware of a sound.
My eyes were well adjusted to the dark around me. As they swept the area, I spotted a figure climbing stealthily up the fire escape. A man. Headed for a second story window, which now was open.
Silent as the bricks behind me, I slid to my feet. Several hours on the ground had stiffened my muscles. I flexed them as my hand crept toward my .38.
A quick glance around me showed only emptiness. I moved, darting across the alley. My foot found the first rung of the metal fire escape. I started up, eyes fixed on the figure above me.
Something whispered over my head. A metal wire circled my neck. Before I could react it bit in, jerking me backward.
SIXTEEN
Instinct to fight the tightening wire which would kill me in seconds drove out all other thoughts. I let the .38 fall from my grasp and grabbed with both hands for the wire.
Then I realized fighting the wire was exactly what my attacker expected. What he didn’t expect was for me to grip his forearms as if they were bars and jerk my knees to my chest, curling toward the very weapon meant to end my life.
If he’d been larger he might have maintained his balance. Instead, my unanticipated weight pitched us both forward. We slammed into the metal stairs.
It caused my assailant to lose his grip on one end of the garrote. I flung myself to the side, rolling over the edge of the bottom few steps of the fire escape. The short fall onto the brick alley hammered my bones but I was free.
My fingers groped frantically at the ground beside the fire escape. They brushed what I was hunting. My Smith & Wesson. As soon as I found the trigger I fired, without caring where.
A snarl of rage rewarded me.
I fired again. I had no sense of where my attacker was. A voice hissed above me. Muffled steps ran. A window slid swiftly down.
Heart beating so I thought my chest would split, I pulled myself up. I gasped for air, coughed, tried again, felt it wheeze through my windpipe. When I put my hand to my throat, it came away wet.
“Everything okay?” The kitchen door of the hotel opened. A man who must be the room service waiter stood peering out.
“Car backfired,” I rasped. I got to my feet. “Scared the bejeezus out of me. Even dropped my bottle.”
The door clicked closed.
Breathing still didn’t come easily. At the moment, I was glad it came at all. When I’d steadied some, I crossed the street and climbed into my DeSoto. I placed the Smith & Wesson on the seat beside me. I tilted the mirror to look at my neck. A narrow two-inch line across my windpipe bled merrily.
* * *
Running into the hotel the way I was dressed, with a bleeding neck, would cause too many questions. I drove to the office and dialed the nighttime number Tucker had given me.
“Check the safe,” I said when he answered. “And check things on the second floor. Let me in the kitchen door in fifteen minutes.”
He didn’t waste time on questions. I hung up and sat at my desk with all the lights on. I’d never had a run-in with a garrote before, but I knew if my reactions had been a few seconds slower it would have strangled me, possibly cutting an artery on the side of my neck or crushing my larynx for good measure.
Whoever had gone in the window was playing for high stakes.
And he — or she — had an accomplice.
* * *
“The way you were attacked... it was the same as Polly, wasn’t it?”
Frances bent over the back of the couch in their apartment winding a ribbon of gauze around my neck. I’d just filled them in on what occurred in the alley.
“Different method of choking.” I wasn’t sure about that, but her fussing embarrassed me.
“You’re sure you don’t want a doctor to look at this?”
“Thanks, but I’m okay.”
As she tied off the gauze, I reached for the coffee cup sitting in front of me. On the opposite side of a low table Joshua Tucker was sipping whiskey, but I needed something to keep me awake. It was almost four in the morning.
“What about the safe?” I asked.
Tucker rubbed his hands together, faintly pleased.
“Didn’t look to me like it had been touched. I used to manage a first-rate magician. It hit me yesterday I could use a trick of his to keep track of the boxes.”
Tugging at the sash of her silky green dressing gown, Frances came around to settle on the couch beside me.
“This tonight, someone sneaking in a window, it proves Joshua was right about that empty box doesn’t it? Somebody was — is — getting into the safe.”
I nodded. The joe wasn’t doing much to revive me.
“Why not grab everything at once? Why go in again?” Tucker rubbed his overnight stubble.
“Maybe the first time was testing the waters. Maybe they meant to make their real play tonight, but stumbling into me, and then you hotfooting it downstairs scared them off.”
Maybe. Maybe, maybe.
Or maybe not.
“The smartest thing for you to do is hire a guard to sit in your office,” I said. “Somebody in plain clothes.”
“No.”
“I can take what’s left of tonight—”
“No.”
“Just until I find out if there’s some sort of burglar alarm you can get installed.”
The stubborn little hotel owner was shaking his head.
“Too much hustle and bustle. It’d scare off whoever’s doing this.”
“Which is probably the smartest idea. I have to tell you, the chances I’ll be around at exactly the right time to stop whoever wants in the safe, or figure out who that is beforehand, aren’t good. And Archie Clarke’s wife came into the dining room while I was there tonight. The diamonds she had on would choke an elephant.”
Tucker’s grin lacked its usual wattage, but it was there.
“I got confidence in you, kid. And I’m a good judge of talent.”
“Besides, if we’ve got a rotten apple working for us, we want to know who,” Frances chimed in.
It was just enough to keep him going when he might have seen reason. I tried a different angle.
“Do you know any jewelers who do appraisals? Ones you’ve dealt with and trust?”
“Sure,” said Tucker. “We took some of Franny’s jewelry to one a year or two back. Daniel-something. Nice fellow.”
“Call him first thing tomorrow. This morning. See if he’ll come have a look at what’s in the safe and estimate what you’d be out if you lost the whole lot.”
Hearing the price tag might scare some sense into them.
SEVENTEEN
Four hours of sleep and a bath revived me. At nine on the dot Ione strode into the hotel lobby and my jaw dropped.
Ione was wearing trousers. The soft, fawn colored flannel had been cut unmistakably for a woman’s shape. The jacket matched. Her blonde hair was done up in a businesslike twist. With the poise of a general she marched toward me toting a square black case, which I could tell by the way she gripped it was heavy.
“Wow,” I said. In a lobby accustomed to well-heeled clients with interesting trappings, several sets of eyes had nonetheless turned to take her in.
“One of my New York outfits,” she said serenely. “I thought it might be appropriate.”
Ione was building up nice s
uccess as a magazine writer. Once or twice a year she took the train to New York and met with editors who bought her pieces. Jenkins groused that she spent most of what she earned on clothes, but he was proud of her.
“Those two old biddies checking out look as if you’ve caused them to need smelling salts,” I said.
“They’d better have a ton of it. Lots of women are wearing trousers. Is there some place I may set this? It weights a ton.”
The desk clerk showed us a storage closet in the office area behind the desk. There Ione removed Jenkin’s expensive toy from its case with appropriate care. All seriousness now, she went over it, making sure everything worked, and possibly reminding herself how it worked as well.
“Now,” she said. “Have I instructions?”
“Right here.” I waved my handy-dandy clipboard. “I’ll point out areas and you’ll take pictures with that wherever you like.”
“Matching it at least somewhat to where you indicate.”
“That would be nice.”
Ione cocked her head.
“You look very nice with a scarf at your neck. I don’t think I’ve seen you wear one before.”
“Thanks.”
Frances had pressed a couple into my hand as I left last night. The soft blue one I wore wrapped around my neck did a nice job of hiding the cut. It was scabbing over already, but still needed gauze here and there, and certainly camouflage. I didn’t much like scarves, since one had nearly cost me my life, so it cheered me that someone with Ione’s fashion sense liked the result.
We started our spot of play-acting in the dining room. I hadn’t expected to see so many of the Hollywood people up and about. Archie Clarke sat with a younger man I didn’t recognize. The two male dancers Eulahbelle had pointed out last night were there. So were the Averys, and Veronica. Added to the hotel guests who came and went, it made for the busiest breakfast setting I’d seen.
“Now follow that waiter when he starts back,” I extemporized. I took out a stopwatch.
Ione spread her feet for steadiness and hefted the camera. I heard a faint whirling which I guessed was the key-wind mechanism Jenkins had chattered about.
Shamus in a Skirt Page 7
