by P. J. Conn
"You've lost me. Do you recognize the woman?"
"Of course, I do. She's my wife." His face reddened, and he glared at Joe. "I don't know which is worse, that Stephen would betray Jocelyn so cruelly, or that Kate would betray both me and my daughter." He rose, pulled a hundred dollar bill from his wallet and tossed it on Joe's desk. "I'll not thank you for these photos when it's my own damn fault you took them." He grabbed them, and left in the same hurry he'd arrived.
"Good Lord." Joe couldn't have stopped Skidmore, but he could at least warn Stephen Hartfield before Nathan smeared him all over the company office. He dialed Skidmore Engineering for the second time that morning and asked for Stephan.
"Mr. Hartfield, this is Joe Ezell, a private detective. Nathan Skidmore hired me to confirm his suspicions on your commitment to his daughter. I just handed him photos of you and his wife, and you need to grab your coat and get out of the office before he comes back."
"Who is this?"
"My name doesn't matter. Weren't you at the Mountain View Motel with Kate Skidmore last Friday?"
After a long pause, Stephen reluctantly admitted it. "Yes, but..."
"If you value your life, get out now. Tell me the Skidmores’ home address, and I'll cut him off there." Or at least he'd try too. He hurriedly wrote the address, locked his office and ran down the stairs.
With any luck, Skidmore would have gone to his office to deal with Stephen first. The Skidmore home in Beverly Hills proved to be a sprawling one-story modern structure facing the street with more glass than solid walls. Only the verdant landscaping made it look like a home. The bright red front door stood open. Joe could hear hoarse shouts as he ran up the walk.
He'd had no speech ready to give Kate Skidmore other than to warn her get out, but clearly something more forceful was urgently needed. He followed Nathan's angry voice into the living room, and slid to an abrupt halt. Nathan was waving the incriminating photos in one hand, and brandishing a Luger someone must have brought home from the war in the other.
"Mr. Skidmore!" Joe ordered. "Put down the gun and let's behave as civilized adults."
Up close, Kate was even prettier than she'd looked in Joe's photos. Terrified, her blue eyes were open wide, and while her mouth moved up and down, only a tiny squeak came out. Her bright blush reached clear to her fingertips, and she gripped the wing-backed chair she'd taken refuge behind with a frantic clutch.
Joe took another step into the room. He pitched his voice low with a comforting edge. "Anyone would be furious, Mr. Skidmore, but no one will be better off if you're charged with murder."
"You think I care?" Nathan yelled.
"Yes, this isn't the man you'd want your daughter to see."
As if on cue, Jocelyn came through the front door dressed in tennis whites and carrying her racquet. Horrified by the unfolding scene, she halted and called to her father, "Should I call the police?"
"Go!" Joe shouted, but growing unsure of what she'd interrupted Jocelyn hesitated.
"Here!" Nathan hurled the shocking photos toward her.
Joe caught one, but the others landed at Jocelyn's feet, and she gathered them before he could. She shuffled them quickly, and looked up at her stepmother. "Kate, what were you doing with Stephen?"
"That's obvious, isn't it?" her father shouted. "They were sleeping together and laughing at both of us."
Devastated, Jocelyn crumpled like a rag doll, sat down hard, and cried in loud, gulping sobs.
"Put down the gun." Joe moved closer. "Your daughter is heartbroken and needs your loving attention."
When Nathan turned toward his sobbing child, Kate made a dash for the door. Nathan swung back and fired, and missing her, the shot splintered the wood on the bookcase. Greatly alarmed, Joe crossed the final distance between them and grabbed for the larger man's arm.
"Get off me!" Nathan broke away, but Joe caught another hold on his sleeve and held on.
"Drop the gun!" Joe shouted. Intent upon shaking free, Nathan spun in a circle. It was all Joe could do to hang on and remain on his feet.
Stephen Hartfield strode in and caught sight of his boss's Luger. He knelt beside Jocelyn. "We need to get you out of here." He slid his arms around her waist, but she remained limp, too miserable to respond.
The sight of Stephen hugging Jocelyn pushed Nathan beyond all reason. He caught Joe in the eye with a fierce elbow jab and fired. He'd meant to put a prompt end to his daughter's loathsome fiancé, but with an unsteady aim, he hit her instead.
Stunned, Nathan allowed Joe to take the gun from his hand. Joe pocketed it quickly, and rushed to Jocelyn's side. Stephen's white shirt was already covered in blood. Nathan followed. "Is she dead? Have I killed my baby?"
"You bastard," Stephen yelled.
"Hush," Joe ordered. He covered the wound with his handkerchief and pressed down. "The shot grazed her scalp, and head wounds bleed. Go get some towels from the bathroom." Stephen ran to do so. Sirens wailed in the distance, and Joe hoped Kate had called the police. Stephen returned and dropped a handful of snow-white towels.
Joe grabbed a bath towel. "Thanks. Call for an ambulance. All she needs is a few stitches, and she'll be fine."
No one in the room was going to be fine for a good long while, but Joe took care of Jocelyn, and left the others to fend for themselves.
* * *
Beverly Hills has its own police force, and the officers arriving promptly arrested Nathan. Joe handed them the Luger. "He meant to shoot his wife." He pointed out the bullet lodged in the bookcase. "I tried to take the gun away from him before he could fire twice, but I couldn't hold him. His second shot grazed his daughter."
The ambulance attendants were seeing to Jocelyn, while Stephen Hartfield hung back to stay out of their way. "He meant to kill me," he volunteered.
"You deserved it!" Nathan yelled as an officer marched him out to a black and white car.
Once Jocelyn had been taken to the awaiting ambulance, the sergeant in charge, a man named Simmons, drew out a notebook. "This has to be a good story. Who wants to tell it?"
Kate peered into the room to be certain she'd be safe before joining them. "My husband came home with photos of me with another man."
"His daughter's fiancé," Joe added.
"That's me," Stephen murmured.
"I doubt you're still engaged," Simmons observed.
"Probably not." Stephen reached for Kate's hand, but she recoiled, and moved closer to the sergeant.
"It was my fault," she insisted. "I should have left my husband before I began seeing Stephen. I meant to, but just hadn't gotten all my ducks in a row."
Joe bet those ducks wore dollar signs. "Mr. Skidmore doubted Stephen Hartfield's intentions where his daughter was concerned, and he hired me to follow him and take photos." He handed the officer one of his business cards.
"You're a private detective?" Simmons asked.
"Does that surprise you for some reason?"
"I suppose not." He picked up a blood-splattered photograph near his foot. "This is you, ma'am?"
Kate stepped close to see. "Yes, I'll not deny it. Stephen and I were lovers. I just never expected Nathan to find out."
"Were there others before him?" Simmons asked.
"That really isn't the issue, is it?" she answered.
Joe took that for a yes. Kate had an exquisite face and figure, but she was real short on morals. He bet Nathan Skidmore had married her for her looks and youth, without once considering her character. He almost felt sorry for him.
"May I leave?" Stephen asked. "I'd rather not stay here in this bloody shirt."
"First I'll need your full name and address."
Joe added a last thought. "Once you have fresh clothes, you might want to stop by your firm and clean-out your desk."
Stephen glared at Joe. "I've already thought of it, and then I'm going to the hospital to see Jocelyn. She didn't deserve to be hurt like this."
"Your concern for her is a tad late, Mr. Hartfield. You
may go." Simmons turned to Kate. "Has your husband been violent toward you before today?"
She shrugged slightly. "He was wonderfully sweet when we met, but once we were married, he began to criticize nearly everything I wore and did. We've only been married a little over two years, but our marriage is over now. I'll call a divorce attorney this afternoon."
Simmons nodded to Joe. "You're going to have a black eye for sure. Do you want assault added to the charges against Mr. Skidmore?"
Skidmore wasn't the first client to punch Joe. It was an unfortunate hazard of his profession. "No, he's in enough trouble as is."
After photos had been taken of the splintered bookcase, a policeman pried out the bullet, and retrieved the second bullet from the front door jamb. Simmons closed his notebook. "You need to take care, Mrs. Skidmore, and get as far away as you can before the afternoon is over."
"Yes, I will." Kate waited for Simmons to leave before she reached for Joe's sleeve. "You need some ice for your eye. Come into the kitchen."
The whole side of his face ached, and he followed her. The kitchen was filled with bright, shiny appliances, and he doubted Kate had ever used a single one. She wrapped ice cubes in a dishtowel and handed them to him.
"Thanks." He pulled up a stool and sat down. "Give me a minute, and I'll be out of here."
"There's no rush," she responded, her voice honey sweet.
He couldn't help but wonder if Stephen Hartfield was the only man she was currently seeing. "How do you usually spend your time?" he asked.
She leaned against the counter. "I have friends, and we go shopping, and to the movies. Sometimes, we try new restaurants for lunch. Nathan didn't want more children, and I didn't argue with him. I should have walked out when he went from adoring to critical. This was my first marriage though, and I wanted it to be a success. Kind of stupid of me, wasn't it?"
She focused on her brightly polished nails. She'd not bothered to mention the time she spent with her hairdresser and manicurist, but Joe bet it was considerable. "We all make mistakes," he offered.
"Well, marrying Nathan was a gigantic one, and it's not a mistake I'll repeat. Can you show yourself out? I need to decide where I'm going and get there before Nathan makes bail."
"Good plan. Where's the household help this morning?"
"The cook and I plan the menus, and she does the shopping Monday mornings. She should be here soon. The housekeeper was here, but when Nathan began shouting at me, I heard the backdoor slam, so she's gone."
Joe laid the wet towel in the sink to let the ice melt. His face felt marginally better, and he'd had a chance to study Kate. She had the most innocent expressions, and a heart-melting smile. He doubted she'd be alone for long. He couldn't help himself and handed her one of his cards.
"Keep this. You might need a detective yourself someday."
She studied the card. "Thanks, I'll do that."
Joe sat in his Chevy to collect himself before driving away. He'd known the job would go sideways when Nathan Skidmore had hired him, and he should have refused it right there. Still, he'd arrived in time to save Kate's life, and Stephen's as well. That was a fine day's work in his view. Jocelyn's life was now a sorry mess, however, and unable to cope with anything more, he called it a day and drove home.
* * *
Joe called Mary Margaret that night rather than pick her up at the hospital where she would have squealed when she saw his black eye. He ought to make a chart for his bulletin board to tally which eye gathered the most hideous bruises in a year. He listened as she described her day, and relaxed when she failed to mention Luke Hatcher.
"What about you?" she asked. "Anything eventful?"
"I'll say, but I'll wait to tell you in person."
"That bad, huh?"
He could imagine her curled up on her sofa with the telephone cord laced through her fingers. Once they were married, he wouldn't be able to hide the occasional battering he received on the job. She'd always been sympathetic, and had never asked him to look for less dangerous work. She might though. Maybe he could work the counter at Pete's Cameras. He covered the phone to muffle his laughter.
Chapter 12
Tuesday afternoon, Joe waited for Mary Margaret to end her shift. He knew how bad he looked, but raised his hands before she could fuss over him. "Ran into a flying elbow, and it's not as bad as it looks."
"Really? Because it looks awful. How about stopping at the market to get everything for spaghetti? It's wonderfully restorative."
"I agree." He would have agreed to liver and onions if she'd liked. He waited until they'd finished their dinner before he told her about Nathan Skidmore and what a disaster the job had proven to be.
"Wait a minute, Joe. Let me get a piece of paper so I can take notes." She was back at the table in an instant. "Don't you realize what you have?"
"Other than a black-eye, no."
"Well, you've got the makings for the a terrific noir film! There's the suspicious husband who hires a detective, the sweet daughter who doesn't question her wandering fiancé's affections, the beautiful stepmother who is definitely a femme fatale, and the young engineer who falls for the stepmother when he has to know he shouldn't. Mixed all together, it's a story literally dying to be a film."
Joe gave it some thought. "A femme fatale who betrays her husband isn't anything new."
"So what? With different actors playing the parts, no one will care. We ought to take notes on all your cases."
"I've kept records of them, but no one would come to me if they realized I was gathering ideas for movies, or novels."
"Novels! That's even better. Besides if you worked with a novelist or screenwriter, no one would know the detective involved is you."
"Don't forget my movie career, it has already cut into my detective work. Now what about you? Stories featuring doctors and nurses are popular. Have you considered writing a novel about your patients?"
"That wouldn't be ethical, Joe. They depend on me when they're at their worst. It just wouldn't be right."
"But my clients are easy game?"
She sat back in her chair. "I can see the difference even if you can't. You could mix up the details from one case with another, and no one would admit that they had inspired it. Just think about it, Joe. Maybe someday you'll want to write a novel, and you'll have plenty of material in your files."
"Did your mother call?"
"That's a swift change of subject, but yes she did. She's been talking to my sister, and Sharon is on our side, but Mom still has misgivings. If I sent her a photograph of the way you look tonight, she'd never agree to our wedding."
"I'm not having more photos taken, so there's no risk to that. Of course, we'll have to hope I don't run into any elbows before we catch the train for Seattle."
Her shoulders slumped. "Oh Joe, I hadn't thought of that. Can you be careful with the jobs you take in December?"
"I shall have to be. What I need to learn is how to refuse jobs that don't feel right. It might cut into my income, but it will be worth it in the long run."
She reached for his hand and gave his fingers a squeeze. "You could say you're up for a movie role, and that wouldn't insult the prospective client. After the Roy Rogers film, your agent said there's lots of work for you."
"He did, but I never intended to be an actor."
"That's why you look so natural," she exclaimed. "We should go see Arizona Sunrise again."
Somehow, the thought didn't appeal to him, but he kissed her anyway.
* * *
Once home, Joe turned in, but couldn't sleep. He got up, carried a pen and paper into the kitchen and sat down at the table. The police had made no progress on the Matteo da Milano murder, or Henry Hilburn would have called to let him know. Thwarted love, or jealousy was a powerful motive for murder, as Nathan Skidmore's rampage had shown so clearly. With Matteo sleeping with women from all over town, there had to be plenty of jealous women who'd wanted him dead. Their boyfriends or husbands could a
lso have wanted him gone.
Money was also a potent motive. As Matteo's sole heir, Veronica profited from his death. Sean Dermot's career received a boost as he replaced Matteo as the first chair cello at the Philharmonic. Was he talented enough to actually capitalize on the opportunity? The director would know, and he ought to speak to him. Believing Constance Remson's connections to the orchestra would be helpful, he ended his notes with a promise to call her in the morning.
* * *
Constance listened to Joe's questions about the Philharmonic director. "There's a guest conductor here now, Gunnar Ingvild from Norway. He'd certainly be the person to comment on Sean Dermot's talent, or lack thereof. Do you want me to see if he's free for lunch today?"
That was more than Joe had hoped. "Yes, but I'll be happy to buy him a drink after rehearsal if that's better for him."
"Let's shoot for lunch. I'll call you in a minute."
"Great." Joe was continually amazed by how easily Constance arranged whatever she desired. Would she have killed Matteo herself, or hired a hit woman, if there were such a person, to handle it? He couldn't imagine her stepping through the cellist's blood, so she'd have hired out the job for sure.
He was making notes when the custodian came by. "Oh no, Mr. Ezell, another black eye? Maybe you should be wearing a helmet when you go out on a job."
"It's not a bad idea, CC. Do you recall the job that worried me? Well, I may have saved a couple of lives, so that's a big plus, but next time I'll trust my instincts and not accept a job that doesn't feel right. Say, have you ever heard of a woman who worked as a hit man?"
"In mystery books you mean?"
"Wherever you might have come across such a person. The guilty party isn't caught for many of the murders in Los Angeles, but women aren't usually the suspects."
"No, they're better at driving a man to drink." He laughed at his own humor. "I can see you're busy. Have a nice day."
"Thanks, I intend to." He called Henry Hilburn to ask about women working as hit men.
"Doing contract killings you mean? I've never heard of one, but if one exists, she might be too good to be caught. Do you want me to check with my sources?"
