Murder among the Stars

by Adam Shankman

  As soon as they were out of the room, a maid approached Lulu and Patricia. It was the one who had come with the housekeeper’s shoes a moment before.

  “Oh my! You are Miss Kelly, aren’t you? I’m Kitty. Oh, I cried my eyes out when you died in Six Sisters. The rest of the movie was trash, but you were just heavenly. I read all about you in the papers, when you shot that nasty Ruby Godfrey.”

  “I didn’t—” Lulu began, but Patricia shushed her. The maid was obviously on a roll.

  “I heard what the housekeeper told you Ginnie said. About the fight she overheard. Well, sure as I stand here, I heard it too, and it didn’t go anything like that. I heard the good part. It was a gentleman and a lady arguing. The man said ‘I’ll never let you go.’ And the lady said ‘Leave me alone; you’re killing me.’ He must have had her by the throat right then. I was going to run and get help, but it was surely none of my business, and if I didn’t finish my chores, Mrs. Mortimer would definitely give me the old heave-ho. It was a terrible row!”

  Lulu thanked her and made good her escape.

  “You look like you want to punch someone,” Patricia said. Lulu’s hands were clenched into tight fists.

  “I do, starting with the police. I don’t think they even investigated the murder with any seriousness. They didn’t talk to the servants. There are witnesses, for heaven’s sake! They might not have seen anything, but they certainly heard something. And the police didn’t question anyone about it at all. They just arrested someone who looked suspicious. I’m sure it didn’t help matters that he was black.” Lulu was fuming now. “They just assume he did it, without a shred of evidence.”

  “It does look awfully suspicious, him lurking on the grounds uninvited at the very moment someone is killed,” Patricia said.

  “True. But let’s not forget, it also looked a lot like I tried to kill Ruby Godfrey a few weeks ago. Everyone believed that, but there wasn’t a shred of truth in it. Lord knows I would have gone to prison if it were up to the police. Freddie and I had to investigate on our own to clear my name. I won’t let an innocent man take the blame.” She took a deep, steadying breath. “And if the killer is free, I won’t let him get away with it.”

  Lulu and Freddie met in the Assembly Room before dinner when everyone gathered for their two-drink limit. With great difficulty, Lulu managed not to tell Freddie what she’d learned about the scarf and the argument. There were just too many missing pieces, and she wanted to be sure before she made a fool of herself.

  “Just focus on the competition, my angel,” he said, sneaking a kiss on the soft curve of her cheek. “I can see those little detective wheels whirling in that beautiful head of yours. I wish I could show you a copy of the blackmail letter. It’s straight out of a gangster movie.”

  “I’m sure many criminals get their best ideas from the movies,” Lulu said.

  “I’ve heard criminals are running the whole town,” Freddie said as a joke. He sobered quickly when Lulu’s eyes slid to Sal, chatting with the curvy, sultry Dolores across the room. “To be clear, I was thinking about the studio heads and producers,” he said, sipping at what remained of his highball.

  “No, you’re right. Sal Benedetto is getting his mitts into this town. I don’t know how, but it worries me.”

  “Well, his background isn’t exactly a secret. Everyone knows what’s what with him, but everyone in the world seems to be fanatically obsessed with the crime syndicate. If the Hollywood big fish want to welcome him into the fold, that’s their lookout.”

  “I suppose,” Lulu said, still watching Sal out of the corner of her eye. “Why do you think he’s talking to Dolores?”

  “Call me crazy, but he’s a man, and she’s falling out of her dress,” Freddie guessed. “But more to the point, why do you care who he talks to? Should I be concerned?” he asked in as cheeky a manner as he could muster.

  Lulu dragged her eyes away from the couple. “Oh, don’t be silly. I’m only thinking of Dolores. He’s trouble, and she should know.”

  “She looks like more than a little trouble herself,” Freddie said. “I think she can handle him.” He snuck one more kiss and, seeing a freshly sobered up Waters beckoning to him from across the room, left to strategize their next moves with regard to the blackmail.

  Annoyed, Lulu settled down with a thick book she didn’t read and watched Sal over its cover. Why is he talking to her? she asked herself again and again—which she was vaguely aware translated to Why isn’t he talking to me? She was relieved to be free of Sal’s attentions, of course. But only a few weeks ago he’d bribed policemen and rather dramatically vowed to move heaven and earth to claim Lulu as his own, like some piece of art on an auction block. Now he was all but ignoring her.

  She couldn’t tell which was worse: being disregarded or being irked about it. Neither idea sat well with her.

  He caught her staring before she could look away, and his mouth twitched in a fleeting smile as he returned to lavishing attention on Dolores.

  To Lulu’s relief, Paul Raleigh found her and sat down on the sofa next to her. He perched a little closer than last time, she noticed, but that was probably so he could be better heard in the noisy room. And she thought she detected the faintest odor of gin about him, which likely accounted for his newfound confidence.

  “Do you remember your dreams, Lulu?” he asked quietly.

  “Oh, yes,” she said, trying to make herself sound as interesting as possible. “I feel like there’s a movie reel playing in my head every night. Such wonderful things! Why, do you?”

  He shook his head. “Far too rarely. There’s always a magical moment just when I wake up, when I feel like I can hold them in my hands. But they turn to dust and blow away. I’m left with ghosts of ideas. So I’m forced to resort to waking dreams.”

  “You mean like daydreams?”

  “No . . . actually, nothing like daydreams!” he said, his eyes full of passion and intensity. “My waking dreams are real. They’re . . . hard to explain.” He took her hand eagerly. “Please forgive my excitement, but it’s so rare I meet anyone who I think could possibly understand me. I could show you what I mean. Come with me. I know a place where I can show you exactly what I’m talking about.”

  He stood, drawing her up with him. His eyes blazed with unreadable complexity and emotion, and Lulu was caught up. She’d felt glimpses of this kind of passion in her acting class, and occasionally when she would lose herself in the scene and fantasy became real for just that brief time. But Paul was all profound conviction. The personification of creative inspiration, she thought, and she longed to know more about him and the deep well of his artistry.

  “Of course,” Lulu said breathlessly, and moved to follow him.

  But before they had gotten very far, the doors burst open and a dozen uniformed men stormed in.

  “Nobody move! You’re in violation of the National Prohibition Act. You’re all under arrest!”

  Women screamed and men shouted. Lulu turned to Paul to see what to do, but he gave one horror-struck look at the authorities and snuck out the back of the room at top speed, abandoning Lulu.

  She didn’t have a drink in her hand or alcohol on her breath, but that might not matter. She was in the midst of utter pandemonium in a place where prohibited alcohol was being served, and that could be enough to lead to her arrest. She looked frantically for Veronica, who she spotted across the room trying to hide behind a massive hanging tapestry. It might not be the end of Lulu’s career—a few actresses before her had been taken into custody for violating prohibition, and bootleg alcohol was served at every Hollywood party. But Lux Studios already had to deal with drama from Lulu. True, it hadn’t been her fault, and as Lolly so often said, there is no such thing as bad publicity, but still, they might decide she was more trouble than she was worth.

  She turned this way and that, seeing other actresses grabbed by the agents of the Bureau of Prohibition. Dolores slapped one of them across the face. Eleanor climbed u
p on a table and kicked at the one who came after her. Honey cowered in a corner, while Boots let loose a string of creative curses. Toshia, though, slipped out of a side door and disappeared. That looked like the best idea. Lulu started for the exit but was immediately blocked by a hulking agent who looked oddly familiar.

  “Hands behind your back,” he said gruffly.

  Suddenly Sal Benedetto was between her and the agent. He flashed her a smile and punched the agent in his solid jaw, sending the man reeling. Then he grabbed Lulu’s arm and dragged her out of the room. Once in the hallway, he hustled her up the stairs, into a closet, and closed the door.

  They were pressed together in the darkness. She could hear herself panting and could feel Sal’s warm almondy breath, calm and steady, against her forehead. He smelled of smoke and amber and starch and brilliantine. He felt uneasily safe and inviting. She shuddered.

  “I shouldn’t . . . ,” she began.

  “Hush,” Sal said. “They’ll clear out in a few minutes. We have to hide until then.”

  Lulu tried to inch away from him, but there was no place she could maneuver where she wasn’t touching him. Why would a castle ever have a closet this tiny? she wondered with irritation. Every time she tried to get away from him the movement only made her seem to wiggle against him. She heard him laugh softly in the darkness.

  “I’d pay good money for this, minus the cops,” he murmured into her ear.

  “I thought you said to be quiet,” she hissed at him. “I don’t hear them anymore. I think I can go out now.” She reached for the handle, but he took her shoulders.

  “Not just yet, dollface. Play it safe and stay a while.”

  “Those agents out there are a thousand times safer than you!”

  “Aw, I’m wounded, baby. What have I ever done but help you out?”

  Lulu stammered, momentarily speechless. Sal had killed a man before her eyes, threatened her life unless she lied to protect him, made his goons impersonate police to scare her into giving herself to him. . . .

  All at once she realized why that Bureau of Prohibition agent looked so familiar. He was the man who had impersonated the Los Angeles police detective! The one who had frightened her. Who had struck her and sent her running into the gangster’s arms. He was one of Sal Benedetto’s stooges.

  “You dirty rat!” she shouted, and stomped her heeled shoe onto his foot.

  Sal only laughed as she stormed out of the closet. “I’m a patient man, Lulu,” he said as she ran off. “That’s why I always win in the end.”

  “It’s a setup,” she fumed when she ran into Veronica, who had escaped the room. “Those aren’t real agents. They’re Sal’s men. I should have known no one would dare raid William Randolph Hearst’s castle. We’ve been had. But why?”

  The chaos had died down. The guests had either fled or had been arrested by the mock agents.

  Veronica caught her breath, looking immeasurably relieved. “Thank goodness. I could never be introduced to David’s mother as a felonious fiancée. Whew! Do you think that was supposed to be a test of character? Apparently I have the character of a rabbit. I hid at the first sign of a badge and then got the heck out of there.”

  “Would Hearst really do that? Stage a raid to see how the actresses reacted?”

  “Was he there? Or Marion? Probably laughing at us from behind their peepholes.” She chuckled. “What a madhouse.”

  “I’ll say this for certain: Paul Raleigh wasn’t in on it. He looked absolutely terrified when those men stormed in, like the whole squad had come specifically for him. Just wait until I tell the others,” Lulu said, her fist clenched. She didn’t know which had shaken her more—the fear of being in handcuffs again, or her brief imprisonment with Sal. She could still smell the spice of his cologne. It was reminiscent of her favorite scent, neroli, the essence of bitter orange blossoms. She felt a little dizzy.

  “Over my dead body will you tell the other actresses!” Veronica said. “You might think they’re all the cat’s pajamas, but they’re the competition, and you just got a leg up. If this is the game Hearst is going to play, all right, so long as you win it. I wonder what other kinds of setups he has in store for you.”

  Lulu thought she may have seen another one. She told Veronica about seeing the actress swipe the unattended watch.

  “Well, her character is established. Gosh, makes you paranoid. Just stay calm, and remember that whatever you see around here probably isn’t real. You can put on a real show, be brave in the face of anything because you know it’s all been staged. Oh! Do you think Juliette’s murder was fake?”

  “I touched her, Veronica. Even the best actress in the world couldn’t fake being dead that well.”

  “And Juliette, rest her soul, wasn’t that good an actress. Come on, let’s see how this plays out. And where is that good-for-nothing boyfriend of yours when we need him?”

  “Veronica! He’s working!” But Lulu couldn’t help feeling a sense of disappointment in his absence.

  The entire ruckus was soon cleared up. The actresses and guests were led to believe that Hearst had come to an arrangement with the agents that let everyone go free. None of them seemed suspicious that the raid hadn’t been real. Before dinner, they gathered for cocktails. The girls regaled Hearst and Marion with stories of what they had done when the agents burst in. Eleanor, Boots, and Dolores seemed to have won their approval by resisting the brutish officers. “I need some jazz!” Marion squealed, and turned on the Victrola. “None of that New York style. I need something dark and dirty, like some New Orleans jazz!”

  She put on a Jelly Roll Morton song called “The Black Bottom Stomp” and started dancing, urging the others to follow suit. Most of the guests did. Lulu swept the crowd to see how her friends were doing. Boots and Eleanor were dancing up a storm, and Toshia was lounging on a couch with a rather dull but moneyed-looking man in tweed. But Lulu, scanning the group, noticed that Honey was at the edge of the room, looking utterly distraught. Suddenly, Honey darted out the door, and Lulu was almost certain she saw a shiny trail of tears down her cheeks. She hadn’t spent much time talking to the petite, dark-haired actress, but she seemed to be a sweet girl. What could have upset her so much?

  Freddie caught her eye, beckoning her to join him in a dance. Lulu bit her lip. She felt like she’d hardly spent any time with Freddie and longed to be in his arms. Only that, she thought, would take away the memory of Sal’s touch in the darkness. She might not tell him about it—she didn’t want the two men to fight, or for Freddie to wonder why she stayed so close to Sal as long as she did—but she wanted the comfort of her boyfriend’s presence.

  Still, she gestured to Freddie with an apologetic look to wait a moment, and went after Honey.

  She found the girl upstairs alone in the library, weeping inconsolably and staring out of one of the great windows overlooking the estate. “He didn’t do it! He didn’t do it!” she moaned. “I can’t take it anymore. It’s all my fault!” With that she crumpled to the floor.

  Lulu cleared her throat, and Honey’s tear-streaked face jerked up as she realized she had an audience.

  “Who didn’t do what?” Lulu asked gently as she knelt beside the stricken girl.

  Honey looked up at her with wet, black-smudged eyes. “Zing Babineau. The man they arrested. He’s my boyfriend.”

  Nine

  Honey grabbed Lulu’s hands, clenching them so tightly she felt the small bones grind together. “You can’t tell anyone! Promise me!”

  “I promise! Of course I promise. Honey, you have to breathe or you’ll make yourself sick! Just take a second, and then tell me what you mean.”

  Honey took deep, gasping breaths, but her level of agitation didn’t seem to diminish. “He’s not a thief, and he’s not a murderer,” she said. “He’s a jazz musician!” She looked at Lulu with an imploring liquid gaze, as if she thought that would serve as explanation enough.

  Lulu paused. She admittedly thought that Zing was innocen
t but found herself playing devil’s advocate and said in a measured voice, “Honey, his profession isn’t an alibi. Things do not look good for Zing. He was trespassing. He was in possession of an expensive piece of jewelry, and there have been rooms broken into and ransacked. All arrows point to him as the prime suspect.”

  Under Honey’s searching stare, Lulu wondered if she was being evaluated for trustworthiness. But the girl looked so grief-stricken and overwhelmed Lulu thought she would confide her secret to anyone who offered even the slightest bit of sympathy.

  Honey sniffed and sat up straight. She looked ahead, as if she were staring into a vast emptiness that overwhelmed her in every way, and then, warm tears filling her eyes again, she whispered, “He came to ask me to marry him.”

  “Oh!” Lulu exhaled involuntarily. She considered herself completely open-minded, and was more than a little shocked, and frankly, dismayed, at her own reaction. In her heart she knew there was nothing inherently wrong with a white woman marrying a black man. Lulu was hardly in a position to judge anyone, given her precarious history; nor had bigotry been tolerated by her mother. Yet Lulu had been fully aware of the prejudices that surrounded her. No matter what, Italians married Italians, Irish married Irish, and blacks married blacks. Until this moment, the idea of a young white woman marrying a black man had been unimaginable to Lulu. As soon as she heard Honey’s admission, the part of her that had been schooled by society all her life told her that it was impossible. But why should it be?

  “Then he really is your boyfriend?”

  Honey nodded. “His name is really Alvin Babcock, but he changed it to something flashy that everyone would remember. We met in New Orleans before I came to Hollywood. I was just fifteen, and he was nineteen, but we fell completely in love. My family was terribly against it. My aunt, who I was living with, sent me out here to live with her sister, and Zing went on tour. I never thought I’d see him again.”