Murder among the Stars

by Adam Shankman

  Ginnie thought for a while. “They both sounded like you,” she said at last. “Like everyone in the movies.”

  Lulu rolled her eyes again. Since sound had come to Hollywood, authentic regional accents had disappeared. Everyone studied with the same core group of voice coaches, who all had the same idea about what America wanted to hear. It was an accent that no one had ever spoken naturally before: an acquired mix of New England and Britain that stopped just short of being too posh for public consumption. By now it wasn’t just the actors who spoke in that affected voice. Nearly everyone—from directors to writers to secretaries and waitresses hoping for a big break—used some variation of it.

  “Will you excuse us for a minute, please?” Lulu said, pulling Freddie away far enough so that Ginnie wouldn’t hear.

  “Of course, ma’am,” the girl demurred.

  “Ma’am. Terrific. I sound like an old maid. In any case, that hardly narrows things down,” Lulu said, aware that she was equally guilty of taking on the strange fictitious accent. “It could be absolutely anyone here.”

  “It actually helps a little,” Freddie said. “We can be reasonably sure it isn’t one of the staff members. Or Hearst himself.” Hearst’s voice had no pretension in it whatsoever.

  “Or Paul,” Lulu added, not noticing Freddie’s faint look of annoyance. “Or that French painter, I suppose.”

  “That’s good,” Freddie considered. “It narrows the suspect pool. I’m guessing there are maybe ten other male guests who talk like that.”

  “Let’s see,” Lulu said. “That nice Cary Grant who all the girls like is English, but he’s using his American accent most of the time, which is very distinct. There’s Franchot Tone, whom I wouldn’t put it past; Fredric March, who’s an absolute dear; William Powell . . . I don’t remember whether any of them were missing from the Assembly Room when Juliette was strangled. I honestly can’t imagine any of them could have actually done it. They could all play very convincing murderers in movies, but actually killing? Not a chance. Most actors are way too fussy for that sort of thing.”

  “Anyone can do something irrational in a moment of passion,” Freddie said.

  “Do you really think so?” Lulu asked, reflecting on her own situation. “Do you really believe that someone could be good and moral all of their lives, and then do one terrible thing?”

  “I think most people don’t really know what they’re capable of,” Freddie said. “Who else?”

  “Well, Sal doesn’t have that accent, so he’s in the clear.” Lulu sounded a little disappointed. Pinning the murder on Sal would have solved a host of problems. Some part of her also felt relieved, though. Sal might shoot rival thugs, but she didn’t want to think he was the kind of man who would murder a woman in cold blood. “What about Docky Martin? He’s blotto half the time and he was pretty peeved at Juliette after that egg stunt. . . .”

  “I’d forgotten about that! And he left with Lolly, right?” He wiggled his eyebrows again.

  “I don’t think I want to know what you’re implying, and stop doing that with your eyebrows. It’s very unsettling,” Lulu said.

  “What? You mean like this?” He did it again.

  “I’m ignoring you now, and yes, he was out of the room when Juliette was murdered. And wait, there’s your boss, Mr. Waters. Was he out of your sight while you were gone?”

  Freddie frowned as he tried to recall. “He said he had to go back to his room for something. Probably a swig of a potion stronger than what Hearst was serving. So, excellent! Now we have two ill-humored alcoholics on the list. Anyone else?”

  “Wait!” Lulu said. “Anita Loos’s husband talks like that. What’s his name again? Emerson. John Emerson! He seems the least trustworthy of all. When he looked at me, I felt like I immediately needed a shower. Something’s definitely off there. Anyway, we have a decent list of suspects, so we’ll have to . . .”

  “Did you say John Emerson?” Ginnie asked suddenly.

  Lulu and Freddie looked at each other and reddened. Apparently they weren’t as quiet as they had thought. Lulu felt a surge of excitement. Did the name ring a bell to Ginnie? Did it tie him to the overheard argument?

  “I forgot. I have to return his suit jacket to him! I don’t suppose you happen to know what room he’s staying in?”

  “I’m not sure,” Lulu said lightly, trying to cover her irritation. “Isn’t there a master list?”

  “His name’s not on it. But did you say he’s Miss Loos’s husband? Well, that explains it. The room is under her name. I mean, everyone knows her, but who’s ever heard of John Emerson?” Ginnie got a bundle from a shelf. “I hope he’s not mad. Lord knows I did my best, but I couldn’t get her lipstick stain off the collar. I had to spot clean it, of course. If I washed the whole suit, it would have shrunk.” She looked at the stain admiringly. “Gosh, that Miss Loos sure has some elegant taste. It’s a beautiful shade of lipstick. Very fancy.”

  She held it out so Lulu could see the smear of fuchsia high on the lapel. It was faded from Ginnie’s attempt to clean it, but from what remained Lulu could tell that the original color had been garishly bright. That’s not Anita’s lipstick, Lulu thought as she took the shirt, studying it more closely. The writer had worn a delicate shell-pink shade. That’s the color Juliette was wearing last night.

  They saved the rest of their conversation until they were away from Ginnie in light of her apparently extraordinary auditory skills. They’d already given her enough to gossip about.

  “I vaguely remember now,” Lulu said. “Emerson was talking with Juliette in a corner of the Assembly Room before all the practical jokes started. Whatever they were talking about, it seemed like it was for their ears only.”

  “Scandalous,” Freddie said acerbically.

  “They’re obviously not happy,” Lulu said. “Anita said something about him having a day off.”

  “From what?”

  “I actually think she meant from their marriage. She implied openly he was with another woman. When he came back in, I thought it might be Honey, because she looked disheveled and came in at the same time he did. But I think I know what she was up to. Emerson must have been with Juliette.”

  “But why would he kill her?” Freddie asked. “Didn’t they just meet for the first time here at the Ranch?”

  “Maybe not. How would we know?”

  “We ask him,” Freddie suggested.

  “Or we ask Anita,” Lulu said. “Not that I look forward to asking a wife if her husband might be a murderer. I can’t really imagine that going well.”

  “What if Anita is the murderer?” Freddie asked. “Maybe her husband has cheated one too many times, and this time she snapped.”

  “Are you kidding? Anita is so tiny. She’d have to borrow a couple of inches just to make five feet. I don’t think it’s physically possible. But I like the way you think.” She winked at him. “I told you, women are capable of anything.”

  “Darn right,” he agreed, perhaps hoping for a kiss. It worked.

  The two of them marched into the Assembly Room, but before they could track down Anita, the actresses were all rounded up for the big activity of the day: a scavenger hunt.

  Veronica cornered Lulu before it began. “Remember, nothing you see is real,” she whispered. “It’s all a setup to test you. Go get ’em, tiger!”

  Eleven

  To her delight, Lulu was grouped on the hunt with Boots and Eleanor, though she wished Toshia were with them instead of with Jean Harlow and Ginger Rogers. Toshia cast a wistful glance over her shoulder as she left her friends, but it wasn’t long before the ebullient Jean had her arm around Toshia’s waist as Ginger cranked up the Victrola and tried to teach them a somewhat overcomplicated new dance step she had learned for an upcoming film.

  “No fair!” Joan Crawford called out. “We only have two in our team. Where is that Dolores, anyway?”

  No one could find Dolores. Household staff members were sent to search, but none of
the other guests had seen her that day. Lulu knew that if Dolores had foolishly become involved with Sal, no good would come of it. That was simply thinking about Dolores’s best interests, wasn’t it? Or was there an irrational overtone of jealousy to her thinking? Lulu shuddered with annoyance and turned her attention back to her teammates.

  “We’ll give you a head start,” Marion said, and handed Joan her team’s envelope. Five minutes later the other girls got theirs.

  Boots tore open the envelope and pulled out the first clue, embossed in gold on heavy cream-colored card stock. Charlie, bouncing at their feet, yipped excitedly. She read the clue aloud to the other girls.

  Crawl ahead and ditch your fella

  In this modern Caracalla.

  Among the goddesses, heroes, and gods

  Gather your wits to beat the odds.

  “I have absolutely no clue where it might be,” Eleanor said right away and so loudly that Charlie’s head tilted.

  “Do you think it might . . . ,” Lulu began, but Eleanor hushed her and hurried her team out of the Assembly Room.

  “I know exactly what the clue means,” Eleanor said, hustling them along. “I did a photo shoot at the ruins of the Caracalla baths once. I just don’t want those other doxies following us. Let them wander around the grounds while we get three clues ahead. Now, step on it.”

  She briskly led them along a route they’d taken for the tour. Charlie’s toenails clattered on the floor. Lulu considered filling them in on everything she’d learned, but she knew she couldn’t betray Honey’s secret. She could, however, tell them about what Ginnie overheard and about Juliette’s lipstick on Emerson’s suit jacket.

  “I’ve heard Emerson and Anita have some sort of understanding. Not that she’s happy about it, but apparently he didn’t give her much of a choice, and for some reason she looks past it all,” Boots whispered as they made their way down the narrow stairs. “He and Juliette were chatting away like old pals that first night. I bet they’ve known each other for a while.”

  “Well, that seals it, and how!” Eleanor said. “I wanted to bludgeon Juliette after I’d known her for ten minutes. If Emerson was having an understanding with her, I’d say he had plenty of motive.”

  “And no jury on earth would convict him.” Boots snickered.

  “Come on, girls,” Lulu said. “Juliette wasn’t nice, but she was a person. A living person, who, by the way, isn’t living anymore.”

  “I know,” Boots said contritely. “I’d like to waste whoever did that to Juliette.” She balled her fists, and despite her slender wood-nymph form, she looked almost as if she could do it. “Not just for Juliette’s sake, but for every girl’s sake.”

  “What do we do now?” Eleanor asked.

  “We talk to Anita Loos,” Lulu said as they walked. “And we watch Emerson like a hawk. Maybe we search his room.”

  “And you’re so sure that the man they arrested didn’t do it?” Eleanor asked.

  “Abso-tutely one hundred percent sure,” Lulu assured them. “It isn’t just a hunch. I know. I just can’t tell you how. You have to trust me.”

  Boots slugged her lightly on the shoulder. “Didn’t anyone teach you that when you hear ‘trust me,’ you should run the other way, fast as you can?”

  Lulu grinned at her. “So run.”

  “Nothing doing,” Boots said. “I bet you any money that if you solve a murder Hearst and Marion will just hand you the part. You’ll definitely be the most interesting person here this weekend!”

  “Except for maybe the murderer,” Eleanor chimed in.

  Lulu hadn’t thought of her obstinate curiosity and covert sleuthing as interesting fodder for a character before.

  “But first,” Eleanor said, “let’s win this contest. Here we are! Girls, I give you—the Roman Pool.”

  Lulu had seen it briefly during the tour, but then she’d been in a gaggle of distracting girls, pressed to the back of the crowd. She hadn’t been able to appreciate the indoor pool’s full majesty. Now it struck her like an overwhelming dream of reflecting water and light. The cavernous T-shaped structure was somehow dark and bright at the same time. The massive pool was the dark blue of a calm sea and was connected in the center by a floating bridge bookended by two massive stone staircases. But what was most astonishing was that from pool bottom to ceiling, the entire expanse glinted with millions of reflecting tiles in deep blue and aqua, gold and orange. It was all the more disconcerting because the still water mirrored the glittering, elaborately surfaced walls, ceiling, and statuary, making a double world seem to float below the real one. For a moment Lulu didn’t know which way was up.

  “It sure is something,” Boots whispered. “Can you imagine having this kind of dough?”

  “Kind of makes me wish I could swim,” Lulu murmured, overwhelmed. There hadn’t been many opportunities to learn in a New York tenement, and though her publicist had it on her list, they hadn’t gotten to it yet.

  Even Charlie seemed speechless. Gingerly he walked to the edge of the pool and sniffed the water.

  “Well, I’ve spent most of my life in pools, but I’ve never seen anything like this,” Eleanor said. “In any case, before we find ourselves underwater, you girls look for the next clue. I need to duck into the changing area for a moment. I had one too many iced teas this morning!”

  There was a worker sweeping the bridge that arched over the pool. All at once he gave a cry and tumbled headlong into the pool. The three girls started yelling, their cries echoing uncontrollably around the massive tiled enclosure. He thrashed wildly, screaming for help each time he came up for air, clearly unable to swim.

  Charlie barked frantically. Without thinking, Lulu surged to the pool’s edge, but the man was too far away to reach. “Eleanor! Eleanor! Help!” Lulu cried out for the Olympic gold medalist.

  “Stay calm! Help is coming!” Lulu looked around desperately for something to throw the man whose frenzied gasps were becoming fewer as each submersion became terrifyingly longer, but there weren’t any life rings.

  Eleanor burst into the room and kicked her shoes off. She lurched forward to dive into the pool when, to Lulu’s confusion, she stopped and gazed at the drowning, gasping man with a strange look.

  “What are you doing, Eleanor? You’ve got to save him!” Lulu cried. Charlie began barking at the champion swimmer.

  Eleanor merely propped herself against the golden tiles and lazily examined her nails. She glanced briefly at the drowning man. “Nah,” she said. “I don’t want to get all wet. I just set my hair.”

  Lulu gasped. “Eleanor, how could you?”

  But there wasn’t time for any more condemnation. Help would never arrive in time. The worker’s head was slipping beneath the clear water.

  There was nothing she could throw to him, nothing that would reach or float. Could she tie anything on to the long cleaning pole? No. There was nothing else in the almost bare room, except . . .

  And then, with no trace of hesitation, she unbuttoned her blouse.

  “Lulu, what are you doing?” Eleanor asked. “You don’t have to bother. He’s just . . .”

  She’d already tied one sleeve of her blouse on to the scrubber and hoisted it over the water. The man reached out and just barely grasped the sleeve. The overweight, seriously weakened man almost pulled Lulu in, but she set her heels against the slippery tile and pulled with all her might. At that moment a very distraught Boots raced back into the pool area with several members of Hearst’s staff, and they took over, pulling the exhausted man to safety.

  Lulu collapsed against the knees of a marble Roman athlete with a strategically placed fig leaf. A servant politely handed her the sopping-wet blouse—which had been a rather nice seashell-pink silk not three minutes ago—and hustled the victim away. The three girls were alone.

  Lulu looked up at Eleanor, her blue eyes steely. “Why didn’t you help him?” she demanded.

  “Because he wasn’t really drowning,” she answered flatl
y. Lulu gaped at her, and Eleanor gave a little shrug. “Real drowning is quiet and fast. Fake drowning is loud and splashy. Remember, I’ve shot reels upon reels of film where I pretend to save someone from drowning, and he looked just like someone pretending to drown.”

  “You can’t be serious! I almost had a heart attack!” Boots said.

  Of course, Lulu thought, feeling profoundly foolish. This was just another one of Hearst’s tests. She knew full well that he’d be planning something, and yet she’d fallen for it hook, line, and sinker.

  “What if you were wrong?” Boots challenged.

  “I wasn’t. The man was a terrible actor. No one actually drowning can sustain that many minutes of screaming and shouting. I could see his legs treading water in between bouts of hysteria, for crying out loud! He was fine. Now, why he would make all of that fuss and ruckus, I have no idea.”

  “More to the point,” Lulu said dryly, “why didn’t you tell me he was faking before I stripped naked?”

  Eleanor giggled. “You looked like you really wanted to expose your true character! Who was I to stop you?” And with that the three of them burst into fits of laughter.

  Lulu found she couldn’t be mad. Her only real concern was that Hearst had been looking through one of his spy holes and caught her impromptu, manic striptease.

  “I have a confession,” Lulu said, making up her mind to reveal the truth to her new friends. She told them about the peephole, the setup of the diamond watch, and the theatrically fake raid. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

  She thought they’d be mad at her, but they seemed understanding. “So Hearst and Marion have just set up all these things to test us?” Boots asked. “They’ve got some nerve! What if I’d jumped in to save old what’s-his-name and got knocked on the head and drowned? What if someone pulled a gun out of their handbag and put some lead in one of those imaginary agents? Hearst is asking for trouble.”

  “Should we tell the rest of the girls?” Lulu wondered. She knew Veronica would be dead against it. She’d be miffed Lulu had even told her friends.