by P. J. Conn
The case had disturbing elements of his own situation, and Joe hesitated to take it. "I may find Stephen spends his time reading in the library, or playing golf with friends. If there are no other women, will you stay out of your daughter's life and let her romance follow its natural course?"
Nathan drew in a breath and puffed his cheeks while he pondered the question. "I suppose I'll have to, but I sure won't like it."
"Your daughter is a grown woman, and it might be time to trust her to make her own decisions."
Nathan responded with a disparaging grunt, but he agreed to Joe's retainer and usual fees and paid with cash. "Don't plan to spend more than a week on this, Mr. Ezell. If Stephen is straying, you'll discover it soon enough."
"Yes, I expect so too." He opened the door for his client, and tried to be grateful for the job. He supposed no father ever thought any young man was good enough for his daughter, but he still had a very bad feeling about the case.
CC came by moments later. "New client, Mr. Ezell?"
"Yes, but I'm not certain I should have taken the case. Did you ever have a bad feeling about something, and find out later you were right?"
"Yes, I have, sir, but I didn't realize it soon enough with my first wife."
Joe had also discovered a lot about women the hard way, and laughed with him. "You're happy with wife number three, and my fiancée is a peach, so we shouldn't have to face another unfortunate situation with the ladies."
"Amen to that. Have a good afternoon now."
* * *
Joe parked across the street from the Nathan Skidmore's building and waited for the office to close for the day. Several nice looking young men exited, and one drove away in Stephen's car. Joe followed him to a market, where he bought a bag of groceries, and trailed him home to his apartment building.
If Stephen were seeing someone, he would probably leave by eight o’clock. Of course, he could be seeing a woman who lived in his building. Joe left his car and went to study the names on the apartment's mailboxes. There were only four units, two upstairs and two down. A couple rented number one. Stephen had number two, a Mr. Jackson lived in number three. The woman in apartment number four, Hazel Morgenstern had written her name with a flowery cursive that reminded him of his mother's beautiful handwriting. He bet Hazel was old enough to be Stephen's mother rather than his love interest.
With nothing to see, he went home and called Mary Margaret. "I hope you had a good day," he began. Fortunately, she had. They'd had a birthday party for a patient that included the whole ward, and it had done wonders for everyone's morale.
"His mother brought cake and ice cream, and we sang songs everyone knew and could join in on. We need to have more parties here. Not all our patients have relatives living nearby, but it won't cost us much if we provide an occasional cake or two. We agreed we ought to celebrate more and create a joyful mood. Luke Hatcher agreed. He has a wonderful tenor singing voice and added a lot to the party."
Joe bit his lip rather than make some stupid, jealous remark. "I'm glad you had some fun to make up for the days you don't." He glossed over his day, and wished her good night. He went into his kitchen to find something for dinner, and realized he should have gone into the grocery store while Stephen Hartfield shopped.
* * *
Joe had not asked Lilly Montell about receiving roses from Matteo da Milano, and Thursday morning, he gave her a call before leaving his office to follow Stephen Hartfield during his lunch hour.
"Hi, Lily, I wondered if you ever received a bouquet of roses from Matteo."
"No, was that his usual routine? Not that I'd be insulted to be neglected, mind you."
"He did send bouquets from the Wonder of Roses on Wilshire to several women. I'm curious as to whether he patronized any other florist. How are you getting along?"
"Truthfully, I'm growing dreadfully tired of performing at Sherry's. Do you suppose it's too late to consider going to college?"
"Not at all. What are you thinking of studying?"
"I haven't gotten that far." She laughed. "I suppose teaching is out, because no one would want their child taught by a former stripper."
"Use your own name, Bernice, and they'll never discover you've been an exotic dancer."
"With my luck, the father of one of my students would be a regular at Sherry's and recognize me at Back to School Night. I'm thinking business might be the best option. After all, a lot of businessmen lack a sterling reputation."
"That's certainly true. I need to go out on a job, Lily, but let's keep in touch."
"Sure, Joe. Good luck with your case."
* * *
Joe arrived at Nathan Skidmore's engineering firm at eleven-thirty, and parked where he'd have a good view of the front door. Thirty minutes later, Stephen Hartfield came out with two other men. The trio walked down the sidewalk, laughing about something they all found funny. Joe left his car and followed them to a nearby café. They went in and were shown to a table right away.
It was doubtful Stephen could work in a romantic rendezvous after lunch with co-workers. With no reason to stay, Joe drove to Sears and bought a small radio for his office. He plugged it in, but left it on the floor rather than add it to the philodendron and coffee pot atop the file cabinet. It struck him as unprofessional to place it on his desk next to the typewriter.
When CC came by, he noted the new radio. "What you need is a table. There's one in the storage closet downstairs that you might like. Want to see it?"
"Sure." Joe followed the custodian to the first floor and stood back as he opened a door at the end of the hallway.
CC leaned in to turn on the light. "I've got a box of light bulbs on it, but it's a good little oak table that will match your desk."
"Whose is it?" Joe asked.
"It's been here for years, and no one has claimed it. Want me to bring it upstairs so you can give it a try?" He moved the box of light bulbs, and dusted off the table.
It was a small sturdy table, just what Joe would have bought if he'd gone shopping. "If it's not too much trouble."
"I work here to keep the tenants happy. Let's go."
They placed the table against the wall beside the bulletin board. Joe could easily turn the new radio on and off while seated at his desk. "Thanks CC. Now I have everything I need."
The telephone rang, and CC left before Joe answered. "Discreet Investigations."
"I have what will probably be an unusual request," the woman began.
There was little he hadn't heard or seen since becoming a detective, so he doubted it. "Why don't you tell me what the problem is, and then I'll decide."
"All right, I suppose that will work. I'm a secretary in an insurance office, but the boss comes by my desk several times a day to chat, and he prevents me from getting my work done. Several times, he's asked me out to dinner, but I've told him I have a jealous boyfriend and don't date anyone else.
"The problem is, I don't actually have a boyfriend, and I wondered if you could play the part this evening. You could just come in and say you'll wait out front for me to get off work. I'll introduce you to my boss, and it should prompt him to turn his affections elsewhere."
Joe glanced toward his painting and wished he were standing in the tranquil desert setting. He couldn't claim he wasn't an actor now that he'd appeared in a movie, but he doubted it would be wise to accept the job. "That's not the type of case I generally take."
"Would you make an exception just this once? It will only take you a few minutes, and I'll be happy to pay whatever your hourly fee is. Please? My only other choice is to quit and find a job elsewhere, but I like working with everyone else here. Please?"
It was the last frantic please that got him. "All right. Give me your name and the address of your office. I'll come and go within minutes. How will I recognize you?"
"My name is Bobbie Beasley." She quickly provided the office address. "I'm wearing a dark green dress, and have curly black hair. My desk is to the right of the
office manager, Miss Newton's, so I'll see you when you come in. How will I recognize you, Mr. Ezell?"
"I'm six feet tall, and I'll wear a trench coat and gray fedora. I'll give Miss Newton your name."
"Can you be here a few minutes before five today?"
Nathan Skidmore's engineering firm closed at six. It would be tight, but he thought he could do both jobs if there weren't a problem. That was his first mistake.
* * *
The insurance firm where Bobbie Beasley worked was located near Joe's office. He walked in with a confident stride, and asked for Miss Beasley. Miss Newton, a prim, gray-haired woman, swept him with a critical glance. Clearly she did not condone boyfriends visiting during business hours. After a brief frown, she appeared puzzled.
"Weren't you in Arizona Sunrise?"
Bobbie approached on his left. She was wearing green, but she'd not confided with her ample figure, she'd resemble a Christmas tree in motion. He turned to smile at her before answering, "My part was so small, I'm surprised you recognized me."
"Why didn’t you tell us you were dating a movie star, Bobbie?" Miss Newton handed Joe a piece of company stationery and a pen. "Would you please give me your autograph? I collect as many as I can, but you're the first star to come through our front door. Do you need any insurance?"
"No, I'm fine, thank you." Joe wrote his name with an impressive flourish, and handed the stationery and pen to Miss Newton. Drawn by the receptionist's comments, several secretaries left their desks to see who'd come in. They expected to find someone famous, and appeared confused when they didn't recognize Joe. He just nodded and smiled. "I came in to let Bobbie know I'm here to take her home. I'll wait out front."
"Oh, wait," Bobbie asked. "I want Mr. Wilson to meet you. Will you call him, Miss Newton?"
"Certainly. It's not every day a movie star comes through our door." She reached for the intercom.
Mr. Wilson proved to be a round little fellow with slicked back hair. Joe couldn't even imagine him romancing Bobbie Beasley when he'd have to leap into the air to gain sufficient height to kiss her. He extended his hand. "Good afternoon, Mr. Wilson. I didn't mean to interrupt your work day, I just stopped by to take Bobbie home."
Wilson gave his hand an enthusiastic shake. "Happy to meet you. Weren't you in Arizona Sunrise?"
"For a few seconds only," he replied. It had not even occurred to him that he might be recognized. Bobbie Beasley stepped closer, peering up to get a better look at him. Apparently she hadn't seen the film, yet. "I'll wait for you," he promised, and left before he could get himself into further trouble.
It was only a few minutes to five o'clock, and Bobbie soon followed. She took his arm. "Where's your car?"
"It's the Chevy sedan parked at the curb just ahead. How do you usually get home?"
"I ride the bus, but I live only a few blocks away. It won't take you a minute to drop me off. How much do I owe you?"
Joe hadn't considered the distance she might live from her office, another error. "This didn't go the way I expected, so there's no charge, but I won't play your boyfriend again. Just don't make up any wild tales about a boyfriend from now on, until you meet a nice man."
"Okay, but why didn't you tell me you'd been in the movies?"
He hadn't even thought of it. "It was related to a case, and I didn't realize it would be pertinent." He followed her directions and walked her up to the door of her apartment.
"I really appreciate what you did," she said. "Do you want to come in for a drink?" she asked.
He checked his watch, and was grateful he had a ready excuse. "I've another job scheduled, so I'll tell you good-bye here." He walked out to his car, and made what he regarded as a quick get-away.
* * *
After work, Stephen Hartfield stopped by a drycleaner to pick up a suit, and several dress shirts on hangers, before driving home. Joe parked and waited until eight o'clock. With no sign of Stephen, he left, and stopped by Mary Margaret's cottage on the way home.
She drew him in and kissed him soundly. "I ate leftovers for dinner and don't have a thing to fix for you unless you'd like a sandwich."
"I didn't come by looking for supper, but I wouldn't turn down a sandwich now that you've mentioned it."
He tossed his coat and hat on the sofa, and followed her into the kitchen. "I took an absolutely silly job this afternoon that isn't worth describing, but people recognized me from Arizona Sunrise. I didn't expect it, and it didn't interfere with the job, but I have to be as close to invisible as I can be when I work, not some two-bit celebrity."
"No one would refer to you as a 'two-bit' anything, but I understand being recognized is a problem."
He stood by the stove as she made him a grilled cheese sandwich. "Maybe I should grow a mustache."
Her glance turned decidedly skeptical. "I doubt it would be becoming, but why don't you get one from a costume shop? You could just slap it on as a disguise when you needed it."
"Great idea, maybe I'll pick up an eye patch too. I can keep them in my glove compartment with my flashlight."
"I'm being serious, Joe."
"So am I," he swore, but he wasn't really.
"You could get a pair of glasses with clear lenses like Clark Kent," she added. She flipped the sandwich over, and waited a minute before placing it on a plate.
She sat with him at the dining table, and sipped coffee. "Maybe you ought to wear a big bushy mustache when you make the Roy Rogers film. Use a disguise for it, and go out on jobs clean shaven as you always have."
"Another great idea. Dare I ask if your mother has called?"
"No, but I promised to call her again, and I'll wait until the weekend. Do you have any ideas on anything new I could say?"
"No, but it's important for parents to step back and let their adult children make their own decisions. Most of the time, they'll make the right choices."
"That's what I love about you, Joe. You're always so optimistic. It's a joy being with you."
"That's what you ought to tell your mother," he replied between bites.
Mary Margaret left him to make a note of his comment before she forgot. He hoped that wasn't a bad sign.
Chapter 11
Friday at noon, Stephen Hartfield waved to the men he'd had lunch with yesterday, and crossed the street to his car. Joe followed him to the nearby Mountain View Motel. Stephen parked in front of bungalow six, and a pretty blonde opened the door and welcomed him in with an enthusiastic kiss. Joe barely had time to raise his camera, but he caught the photo he needed.
The blonde couldn't have been the dewy-eyed Jocelyn, but a woman in her thirties who knew precisely what she wanted and Stephen Hartfield was the special of the day. He'd wait to see if they parted with the same lavish affection, and their lingering farewell kiss provided plenty of time for more photos. The woman drove away in a gray Packard, and Joe took a photo of the license plate, but he wasn't being paid to follow her, and didn't.
Before returning to his office, he stopped by Pete's Cameras. "If you could have this film developed by Monday morning, I'd be enormously grateful."
"You got it," Pete replied. "Happy to help you wrap up a case."
Joe leaned against the counter. "Let's hope this one doesn't end in chaos."
"Is that a possibility?"
"The man paying for the investigation swears it isn't, but I'm not sure he can be trusted."
"Can you ever be sure of a client's intentions?"
Joe straightened up. "Unfortunately, no, but thanks for your help." He was still worried as he unlocked his office door. Maybe he'd delay calling Nathan Skidmore an extra day or two next week. Putting off the meeting probably wouldn't change how Skidmore reacted, but it would give him time to craft a report that confirmed his client's worst suspicions without enraging him.
* * *
Saturday, Joe played golf with Hal and Gilbert, and that night took Mary Margaret to see Song of the Thin Man, staring William Powell and Myrna Loy. The comedy-l
aced crime film opened on board the gambling ship, Fortune, where a charity benefit is taking place. When the bandleader is shot, Nick and Nora Charles investigate the murder. With the series’ usual convoluted plot, it ends with Nick gathering all the suspects together to solve the crime.
"Maybe that's what you ought to do, Joe. Invite the suspects in Matteo da Milano's death to an informal memorial, and shake the truth out of them."
"Nick Charles is a movie character, love. He's read the script and knows who the murderer is."
"That's true, but it doesn't mean it won't work. Promise me you'll think about it."
"I will definitely give the idea the thought it deserves. How is that?"
"Oh, Joe. Let's go to Aunt Lucy's for ice cream and argue there."
"We never argue, my dearest. We merely pose differing views." He intended to keep it that way. She looked skeptical, but responded to his ready grin with the kiss he'd always prefer to a silly argument neither would be able to recall the following day.
* * *
Monday morning, Joe picked up the photos from Pete's Cameras. He laid them on his desk, and was pleased they were as clear as he'd hoped. He certainly wasn't a gifted photographer by any stretch, but when he pointed his camera at someone he'd followed, the results were uniformly good. He hoped the thought wouldn't jinx his next case, and slipped the photos into a folder for Nathan Skidmore.
Deciding it was cowardly to postpone calling him, he dialed Skidmore Engineering. "Good morning, Mr. Skidmore, I have photos for you. Would you like to pick them up today?"
"May I assume you've found the evidence I was seeking?"
"You may."
"I'll be right there."
Joe hung up and stood to stretch. He made the first pot of coffee for the day, and hadn't finished a cup when Nathan Skidmore arrived. Once his client was seated, Joe spoke in his most serious tone, "While I can never be certain how a case will end, I do hope you'll stick to your original plan, and send Stephen Hartfield on his way with a reference."
"Why wouldn't I?" Nathan responded. "Let's have the photos." He opened the folder Joe slid across the desk, and gasped sharply. "Is this some kind of a joke?"
