by Mary Miley
‘Gosh, I never …’ Helen reached for the pad of paper and scribbled something. Kit scribbled back. I looked over at the results. She’d written ‘No school’.
I took up the pencil. ‘Kit, we are afraid you will be lonely tomorrow, all by yourself and nothing to do.’
She’d scrawled ‘Book.’
‘She likes to read?’ I asked Helen.
‘I guess so. I’m sorry, Jessie, I really don’t know what to do with her. Do you think it’s a problem having her here alone all day tomorrow?’
‘Certainly not for us, but I’m afraid she’ll be bored to death. How old did you say she is?’
‘Eleven. Gee, Jessie, what can I do? I need to go to work. You need to go to work. Everyone needs to go to work! Rose Ann should have known that I couldn’t stay home with her.’ She took the notepad and scribbled, ‘I’ll be home at 5:30. Will you be all right alone during the day?’
Kit gave the paper a contemptuous glance and, without picking up the pencil, gave a curt nod. Helen sighed. ‘I hope I’m not arrested for truancy or something like that.’
‘Don’t worry, Helen, it’s only a few days,’ I said, taking a spatula and pressing my sandwich into the frying pan before flipping it over. ‘There’s plenty of bread and cheese, if you need some supper …’
The telephone bell in the back hall gave a harsh ring. Helen was closest. She stepped out of the kitchen and lifted the receiver. ‘Jessie, it’s for you.’
My heart gave a leap. Maybe it was David’s lawyer with some good news.
No such luck. It was my Johnny-on-the-spot policeman.
‘I didn’t need to go by the Petrovitch home,’ Carl said, his voice crackling across the wires. ‘Detective Vogel had written out the translation Officer Marks provided. Unfortunately, there was no name for Joe Petrovitch’s cousin. He signed the letter “Rodjak” which isn’t his name. Turns out that means “cousin” in Serbian. He does tell the name of the cook who died – Jeton Ilitch, for what it’s worth.’ He spelled it for me. ‘I know that isn’t what you were looking for, but it’s the best I could do. Sorry, kid.’ I bristled. Only David could call me kid. My thank-you was frigid.
I finished the sandwich and milk, rinsed the bottle, and set it outside in the box for the milkman. Upstairs in Myrna’s room, we played penny poker for an hour. I lost forty-five cents. Tomorrow’s lunch would be a banana and coffee.
‘Geez Louise, Jessie, you’re miles away tonight,’ exclaimed Myrna as she scooped up my last seven pennies. ‘I know you’re worried about David. We all are, but you can’t let it consume you.’
Easy for her to say. But she was right.
For the remainder of the evening, I kept my thoughts busy trying to breach the barricades that blocked all progress on the Petrovitch case. It had been only one day, but I was stuck. The no-name cousin was the only link I had to Joe’s past, but if I couldn’t get to him directly, maybe the dead cook’s name would lead me there. Jeton Ilitch, the cook. One of the New York newspapers would surely have printed an obituary and the obituary would surely have listed his surviving relatives. If I could hunt up even one of those relatives, he might lead me to this Rodjak cousin who had sent the bad news to Joe.
I knew from playing New York during my vaudeville days that the city had more newspapers than any city in the world, dailies like Pulitzer’s World and Hearst’s Journal, plus dozens more in every foreign language under the sun, but there was no way to search them from the other side of the country. So I stretched back into my own past and pulled forward the name of someone who could.
Grabbing a scrap of paper and a pencil, I began composing a telegram I would send the following morning to the Liberty Theater in New York City to Miss Adele Astaire. She was a vaudeville kid I’d met when I was six and she was eight – I’d adored her ever since.
DEAREST ADELE WISH I COULD HAVE SEEN YOU AND FREDDIE IN LADY BE GOOD STOP EVERYONE SO PROUD OF YOUR SUCCESS I LEFT VAUDEVILLE LAST YEAR NOW WORK PICKFORD FAIRBANKS STUDIO HOLLYWOOD LOVE JOB FRIENDS & LIVING IN ONE PLACE STOP KNOW YOURE BUSY PREPARING UPCOMING LONDON TOUR BUT NEED HELP WITH MURDER INVESTIGATION PLEASE VISIT JOURNAL OR WORLD OFFICES FIND JETON ILITCH OBITUARY WAS COOK WHO DIED FIRST HALF SEPTEMBER ALL INFORMATION ABOUT HIM APPRECIATED ESPECIALLY NEXT OF KIN
LOVE TO YOUR MOTHER AND FREDDIE FROM BABY PS MY NAME IS JESSIE BECKETT NOW
I was busy scratching out as many unnecessary words as I could to keep the price down when a knock at the door turned my head.
‘Sorry to interrupt,’ said Helen. ‘I wonder if I might have that bedding? Or if you’re busy, I can come back later.’
‘No, no, I’m done. Just drafting a telegram to an old vaudeville friend.’ Dragging my chair to the closet, I reached up to the top shelf where I stored my extra blanket. It didn’t get much use in this climate.
‘I guess you’ve got a lot of vaudeville friends, traveling around like you did your whole life.’
‘I suppose I do, but this is one I haven’t seen in a dozen years. Not since my mother died. Fortunately vaudeville friends last forever. Here you go. And did you want my bedspread too?’
‘If you can spare it.’
‘Of course. It’ll make a thicker mattress. Trust me, I’m a pallet pro. I slept on the floor for much of my childhood. Have you heard of Adele Astaire?’
Helen shook her head.
‘She’s the toast of Broadway, but New York’s a long way from here, so I understand why her name isn’t familiar. Adele and her little brother Freddie played the Orpheum circuit when my mother and I did, and we shared a billing with them many times over the years. Back then, their name was Austerlitz, but when the Great War came, everything German sounded dangerously unpatriotic, so their mother changed it to Astaire. Our mothers were friends, although I was always proud that mine was a performer while Mrs Astaire was just her children’s manager.’
‘So what’s their talent? Do they sing and dance, like you?’
‘They sing and dance a whole lot better than me! Plus Adele is a fabulous comedienne. She’s always been the star of the act. They just wrapped up a long run of ‘Lady Be Good’, a Gershwin Brothers musical, and they’re taking it to London next year. Have you heard of the Gershwin boys?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
We girls liked to razz Helen that she was the only person in Hollywood who didn’t care a fig about the pictures. That wasn’t all – she wasn’t interested in vaudeville, legit, or musical entertainments either, or anything that happened indoors. She suffered through her department-store job to pay the bills, but every other minute was spent hiking in the desert or along the seashore, picking up curious bits of nature and pretty rocks and sketching unusual flowers. Blonde and wispy, she was serious about a young man who was keen on wilderness camping – which gave us girls another reason to tease her.
‘Well, I haven’t seen Adele for years, but I thought she might be able to help me with this Petrovitch murder. Unless she’s already left for London. I hope not. Here, this should give you enough to make a pallet for Kit. I think if you fold it this way …’
EIGHT
Monday evening, I left the studio through the front gate and climbed onto the Red Car toward downtown Los Angeles a scant five minutes after Director Parker dismissed us. Barbara had telephoned her brother, Simon, earlier in the day, explaining that she’d asked me for help and begging him to make time to answer my questions. He’d agreed, probably only to humor her.
I found the Wallace home with little effort. Simon was waiting on the front porch with his wife, Myrtle.
‘Can I get you some lemonade, Jessie?’ she asked. Her husband’s glass was full of an amber liquid that did not resemble lemonade, and when I noticed a bottle of what looked to be genuine Old Grand-Dad at his feet, I couldn’t help but wonder if it had come from one of David’s drug stores.
But only lemonade was on offer, so I replied, ‘I would love some, thank you.’ Removing my hat and gloves, I helped myself to a seat in the shade.<
br />
While Myrtle clattered about in the kitchen, Simon glared at the unruly rose bushes creeping up the side of the porch, waiting, it seemed, for his wife to return before he opened the conversation. As soon as she handed me my glass, he began.
‘Let me just start out honest, Miss Beckett, and say that I don’t hold with females poking their noses into things that don’t concern them. But I understand my sister asked you for your help, and I know you’re a friend of hers, so I’ll keep the rest of my opinions to myself. Why don’t you tell me what you want to know, so we can be done with this, and I won’t be late to my lodge meeting?’
‘Thank you, Mr Wallace. I’m here to learn anything I can about Joe: his background, his friends, his family. Anything that might help me understand why someone would want to kill him.’
‘Lotsa guys would want to kill him. Including me. But I didn’t. The police know where I was when Joe was gunned down.’
‘Do you know anything about his family or friends?’
‘I don’t know any more than Barbara when it comes to Joe’s family. Don’t think he had any in this country. He gave the impression that his family in the old country was dead or scattered in the war.’
‘What about his friends here in Los Angeles?’
‘You know what, it’s hard to believe now but me and Joe were friendly back when he was courting Barbara. I even asked if he wanted to join my lodge. He said he didn’t go in for that sorta thing. I didn’t know any of his friends.’
‘I understand you like going to the fights. Did you ever see Joe at the arena?’
He shook his head. ‘Ran into him once in a gin joint on a Saturday night. He was with some toughs. Nodded at me and kept going.’
‘Did he drink or gamble?’
‘No more or less than any man.’
‘Was he involved in anything illegal?’
‘Yeah, he drank and gambled. And years ago, right when Prohibition started, he worked someplace making bathtub gin. He gave us a bottle – remember, Myrtle?’
‘Awful stuff,’ she said. ‘We had to mix it with juice to drink it.’
‘His assistant at the theater said he’d leave the job for long periods. Any idea what he was doing?’
‘Nope.’
‘You stood beside your sister at the funeral, shaking hands with everyone who came. I know she appreciated that kindness. I wonder, though, did you meet anyone who said they were Joe’s friend?’
‘Yeah, a few.’
‘Did you know them?’
‘Never seen ’em before.’
‘Do you remember their names or anything about them?’
He gave this serious thought before answering. ‘Not really. I remember a coupla huskies who came in together. And another one who was a puny fella with an accent like Joe’s. A nancy-boy.’
‘Could you describe any of those men?’
‘Just did. And that’s all I can do for you, lady – I mean, Miss Beckett. You could help Barbara best by getting her to forget about that no-good bum and put all this behind her. She’s a good girl, our Barbara. She’ll have another chance, next time with a decent man, or I’ll know the reason why.’
He got to his feet, signaling the end of the interview, and walked me to the corner where we waited for our streetcars. His came first. I was headed in the opposite direction, back toward Hollywood, and as I waited for my ride, I realized I was holding only one glove. And wouldn’t you know, it was my nicest pair.
Vexed, I retraced my steps to the Wallace house, my eyes on the sidewalk. No glove. As I approached the house, there was Myrtle waiting on the porch, holding it up with a smile.
‘Looking for this?’ she called to me. ‘I just found it underneath the chair where you were sitting.’
‘What a relief! It’s my favorite pair.’
‘That’s always the one you lose, isn’t it?’ She’d said scarcely a word while her husband was there; suddenly she seemed downright gabby. I thought she might want a bit of company, what with her husband going off and leaving her alone like that. When she perched on the step, I took it as an invitation to linger.
‘I can see why you and your husband aren’t sorry Joe is gone.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t wish death on anybody, and I’m sorry for poor Barbara, but the world is better off without that one, if you want my opinion.’
I did, very much. ‘The police suspected Simon at first, didn’t they?’
‘Yes, and that was a little scary, I don’t mind saying. I knew he couldn’t have done it, but lots of people heard him threaten to kill Joe when he found out Joe was knocking Barbara around.’
‘And he’s a big, strong fella.’
She giggled. ‘He is that. He’s got a flash temper too, and he’s quick with his fists, but my Simon’s not a killer.’
‘I take it he did beat up Joe once.’
‘Twice.’ She nodded, reaching into the pocket of her housedress for a cigarette and matches. She lit her own, then held them out to me. I took one. It seemed the sociable thing to do.
‘He never hit you, did he?’
She looked shocked. ‘Heavens, no! Simon believes only scum would hit a woman. A real gentleman, Simon is.’
‘What did you think of Joe? Aside from his hitting your sister-in-law.’
‘To my way of thinking, Joe was a good example of why a girl shouldn’t marry a foreigner. They are just different. In a bad way.’
‘I see.’
‘But he was a good provider. He bought her that house.’
‘In the time you knew him, was he always a projectionist?’
‘That and making the gin Simon told you about. Whew! That stuff was rotgut. We never asked for another bottle, and he never offered.’
‘Did Barbara know about that? She never mentioned it.’
‘Barbara has a way of overlooking what she doesn’t want to know. She probably told you Joe didn’t drink, gamble, or hit her either.’
I admitted she had. My thoughts turned back to the Petrovitch house. Small but nice, and in a pretty neighborhood with shady trees and a riot of flowers. Of course, Barbara had a job too, and I guessed she made a bit more each week than my own $60, nonetheless, that house cost some money. Theater owners made a good living, but nobody working the operation did. I figured Joe was probably still working the gin job. Maybe that’s what he was doing when he left that teenage boy in charge in the projection booth.
‘I guess you don’t remember meeting any of Joe’s friends at the funeral?’
‘Just the ones Simon mentioned. And I don’t remember their names either. They weren’t from his theater. I do remember that nice theater man, the manager, Mr Thomas or Thompson, I think it was.’
‘Maybe that pair of toughs worked with Joe making gin.’
‘Could be. If they did, you wouldn’t want to go hunting them down, if you get my meaning.’
‘I’m sorry …?’
‘Just that I remember Joe saying, back when he and Barbara were newly married and he was still friendly with us, that the gin operation was run by the Ardizzone gang.’
‘The what?’
‘How long have you lived here?’
‘About a year.’
Evidently that explained my woeful ignorance.
‘Joseph Ardizzone is boss of those gangsters who do all the bootlegging in these parts. And most of the other crime that goes with it. You never heard of him?’
‘Nope.’
‘They call him “Iron Man” Ardizzone.’
That did ring a faint bell. I must have seen some reference to ‘Iron Man’ in the newspapers. Had Joe Petrovitch run afoul of the gangsters who paid him? Or had he siphoned off some of the profits and paid the price?
NINE
A Western Union boy delivered Adele Astaire’s reply on Wednesday, shortly after I arrived home from the studio. I tipped him a dime and ripped into it.
HOW WONDERFUL TO HEAR FROM YOU HOW EXCITING YOUR NEW LIFE IN HOLLYWOOD SOUNDS I DONT MISS VAUDEVIL
LES VAGABOND DAYS A BIT STOP MUCH NICER STAYING IN ONE PLACE FOR A WHILE STOP FREDDIE & I DELIGHTED TO HELP INVESTIGATE MURDER WE ARE AT LEISURE NOW PLANNING LONDON SEASON SO WENT AT ONCE TO NEWSPAPER OFFICE WHERE THEY HAVE PLACE CALLED MORGUE TO KEEP OLD NEWSPAPERS STOP ISNT THAT GRUESOME STOP NICE MAN RECOGNIZED US FROM SHOW & REMEMBERED DEATH OF COOK BUT HERES THE KICKER IT WASNT DEATH HIS WAS MURDER TOO STOP SMALL ARTICLE ON PAGE 3 SAID DINERS AT LA TERRASSE RESTAURANT SHOCKED WHEN GUNMAN SHOT COOK IN KITCHEN KILLER RAN OUT BACK DOOR GOT AWAY STOP
NEWSPAPERMAN SAID MURDERS LIKE THIS ARE COMMON STOP HAVE DOUBLED SINCE PROHIBITION BEGAN WITH GANGSTERS SHOOTING PEOPLE EVERY NIGHT STOP ARTICLE SAID POLICE ARE HELPLESS STOP NO NEXT OF KIN OR FUNERAL ARRANGEMENTS MENTIONED SORRY FOR DEAD END
WE ARE IN LONDON ALL NEXT YEAR WOULD LOVE TO HAVE YOU STAY WITH US IF YOU COME STOP MAYBE ONE DAY WE WILL COME TO HOLLYWOOD TO BE IN PICTURES STOP FREDDIE SAYS DONT MARRY ANYONE BUT HIM FONDLY ADELE
My delight at hearing from my old friend soured as I realized her reckoning was correct. A dead end. No next of kin to trace back to Joe’s cousin. The murder part came as a surprise, though. Until that moment, I’d assumed Jeton Ilitch had died of a fall down the steps or tuberculosis or perhaps been run over in the clogged streets of New York City where horse-drawn wagons jostled for space with gasoline-powered automobiles and trucks. But Jeton Ilitch had not ‘died’. He’d been murdered. Did two men murdered on opposite sides of the country merit the word coincidence? I figured it probably did. These days, anyway.
Gangster killings had become a daily occurrence, although most of them took place in big cities like New York, Detroit, or Chicago. The victims were usually other gangsters, except when the occasional bystander got in the way of the bullets. The killers never saw the inside of a courtroom. It seemed so unfair – David was in jail for far less.
I poured myself a glass of David’s ‘medicine’, picked up a sweater, and went to the patio to ponder my next move. The flagstones that had soaked up heat during the day were giving some of it back now that the sun had set, so it was pleasant even as twilight was fading. I was not alone. At the edge of the patio with her back against the house sat Kit, so still I almost didn’t notice her, her chin on her knees and her eyes locked on the pages of a book balanced on her bare feet. I would have acknowledged her with a smile but she never looked up, so engrossed was she in her reading. That kid must have cat’s eyes, I thought, to read in such dim light. Then I looked closer. I recognized the book. It was mine.
