Angels of Mercy

by Duncan, Alice

  “Don’t say that word!” I said.

  “Why not? That’s what you look like. What’s more, it’s what you wanted to look like. Cripes, Mercy, I don’t know how the hell you get into the scrapes you get in to. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you wanted to get arrested.”

  “Darn you, Ernie—”

  Lulu finally unzipped her lips, probably in order to prevent an all-out war. “It’s my fault, Ernie. I thought we should look as though we belonged in that neighborhood.”

  Ernie stared at Lulu for so long, he nearly stumbled over a curb. “You?”

  Lulu nodded. When I glanced at her, I saw her eyes glittering strangely, and I hoped she wasn’t going to start crying. I knew from experience that Ernie didn’t care for women weeping at him.

  “She’s not to blame,” I said in staunch defense of my friend. “She just thought we’d stick out like sore thumbs if we went to Anthony’s Palaise de Danse dressed in our regular daytime clothes.”

  “I see. That’s why you painted yourselves up like red Indians instead, is it?”

  “We didn’t—”

  “Yes,” said Lulu, interrupting another hot rejoinder on my part. “I figured we’d fit in better in that area if we both wore lots of makeup. Shoot, Ernie, you know what dance halls are like.”

  “Yeah, I do. I didn’t know you did.”

  “I read the papers,” Lulu said.

  Curious, I said, “I thought you only read movie magazines.”

  “Well, those too. But the papers have some pretty juicy tidbits in them if you look for them. I knew we wouldn’t get any information from anybody at that joint unless we looked the part.”

  “God save me,” muttered Ernie. It sounded more like a profanity than a prayer to me, but who am I to judge?

  Speaking of judges . . . “Does this mean we won’t have to appear in court before a judge?”

  “No. I mean yes, it means you won’t have to appear before a judge. Christ Almighty, it would serve you right if you did have to spend a day in court. Or a night in jail.”

  “We were only trying to find Peggy, Ernie! It’s not our fault Officer Pete is stupid!”

  “It’s not his fault you look like a couple of—”

  “All right! You’ve already said that. I’m sorry we had to get you out of bed at this hour.” I looked around. The street was totally deserted. Ernie’s Studebaker was the only one parked there, and it reminded me that I’d left my Roadster at the public library. “Um, can you take us to the library?”

  Ernie stopped dead in his tracks and stared at me. “The library? Why in the name of holy hell do you—”

  “Stop swearing at me! My Roadster is parked there! That’s why we need to go there.”

  “You parked your car at the library? Why, for God’s sake?”

  “So no one would steal it. Lulu and I thought the Palaise de Danse wasn’t in a very good neighborhood, so we parked it at the library and walked.”

  I couldn’t see his face, but I knew Ernie was rolling his eyes.

  “First of all, you’re not driving you and Lulu home. I’m taking you home after we stop for a bite at the Pantry. I’m hungry. Second of all, I’ll take you to the library tomorrow, in the daylight, and you can pick up your Roadster then.”

  “But—”

  “God damn it, Mercy Allcutt, don’t argue with me! You woke me up out of a sound sleep, it’s damned near three o’clock in the morning, and I’m hungry. The Pantry is the only place I know of that’s open all night long and has decent food. So just shut your trap, will you?”

  He sounded so angry and determined, I decided I’d better agree. However, I did say, “I’ll buy your breakfast.”

  “To hell with that.”

  We’d reached his Studebaker, and he opened the door. Lulu and I couldn’t both sit in the front seat, so I stepped back and let Lulu get in first. Ernie gave me an evil smile when he opened the back door for me. I could see that smile because he’d parked under one of the sparsely spaced street lamps. I didn’t respond, but only climbed into the back seat of Ernie’s automobile feeling meek and sad and sorry. Which, all things considered, was no more than I deserved, even though Lulu’s and my motives had been well intended.

  It didn’t take long for Ernie to drive us to the restaurant called the Pantry on Ninth and Figueroa. It was a brightly lighted place, and I was surprised to see so many people seated at its counter. I said so.

  “People gotta eat,” said Ernie. “Not everyone has a cook at home.”

  “I know that,” I grumbled. “I’m only surprised to see so many people dining at this hour.

  “People work all hours, Mercy. It’s not a nine-to-five world anymore.”

  I hadn’t known it ever was, although I sensed it would be better not to say so.

  Ernie opened the Pantry’s front door, and Lulu and I trooped in, Ernie scowling at us. When I scowled back at him, he said, “I should have made you wipe that junk off your faces. You look like a couple of circus clowns who fell off the train.”

  Better a clown than a whore, I thought bitterly.

  Ernie found three seats together at the counter. The waiter who came to take our orders looked at Lulu and me rather oddly, however, and I decided to take steps. Smiling at the waiter, I said, “May I please have a glass of water and a napkin?”

  “You’ll get a napkin with your silverware,” muttered Ernie.

  “I’d like a second napkin, please,” I said.

  “Yes, ma’am,” said the waiter, who looked as if he’d seen worse than me walk through the doors of the Pantry, although not very often. Hmph. I thought he should expect anything at all, if the place stayed open all day and all night. It was a small restaurant. In fact, it was hardly a restaurant at all, but really only a hole in the wall with the counter and some stools. It looked to me as if they made do with a grill and a hot plate to assuage their diners’ appetites.

  After we sat, no other seats were seats available, and I was surprised when I saw people begin lining up at the door. I pointed this out to Ernie and Lulu.

  “Good grub,” said Ernie, explaining the line outside in his own pithy way. “They’ll probably expand one of these days. I want breakfast. How about you two?”

  Lulu and I glanced at each other. My stomach took that moment to growl. It would. “Breakfast sounds good, although I won’t be able to eat Mrs. Buck’s breakfast if we dine here.”

  “We’re going to eat here, Mercy, not dine,” said Ernie.

  “Well, if you’re going to be picky—”

  Lulu interrupted what might have turned out to be another row, which was undoubtedly a good move on her part. “Anyhow, tomorrow’s Tuesday, and Caroline will still have to eat something.”

  That was a good point and not one I’d considered before.

  I was about to say so when Ernie spoke again. “Besides, I have to talk to you about Mr. and Mrs. Buck’s son.”

  “You do?” My heart started thumping again. I wasn’t sure it was going to survive until morning. Well, later in the morning, it being technically morning already.

  The waiter set a napkin and a glass of water in front of me, and I dipped the napkin in the water and began scrubbing at my face.

  “Jeez, Mercy, that face paint will ruin that napkin!” said Lulu. “I don’t think the management will be happy with you.”

  “I’ll pay for the stupid napkin,” I said. I wasn’t accustomed to wearing so much makeup, and I didn’t like the feel of it, especially the rouge, which, when I caught sight of myself in the shiny surface of a toaster, stood out starkly against my pallid face. Lord, Lord, what had I allowed Lulu to do to me? Well, it was too late by then.

  As I scrubbed, I asked, “What about Calvin Buck?”

  “The housekeeper at Gossett’s is sticking to her story. Only now she’s claiming she saw Calvin Buck at the Gossett place on the day of the murder.”

  “She didn’t mention that before,” I said. “Besides, he was studying at my hou
se at the time of the murder. And he was in jail at the time of the Preston murder.”

  “His parents say he was there. You didn’t see him, and neither did anyone else. The police don’t give a rat’s ass about his being in jail when Preston was murdered. They’ve got him for Gossett, and they aren’t going to let him go.”

  “That’s disgusting.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  Sometimes I hated the truth. “Maybe. But somebody must have seen someone else at the Gossett place! Calvin can’t have been the only person besides the cook to visit Mr. Gossett’s house that day.”

  “According to the cook, she thinks, but isn’t sure, that another man and a woman visited him.”

  “Who was the man?”

  Ernie shrugged.

  Therefore, I pursued the point. “And a woman? What woman?”

  “Who the hell knows? Gossett sure can’t tell us.”

  “Hmm,” I said, scrubbing. “A gentleman and a lady.”

  “Not a gentleman and a lady,” said Ernie, correcting me wryly. “The housekeeper said a man and a woman. Believe me, servants know the difference between ladies and women.”

  “Oh.”

  Lulu asked, “Didn’t somebody tell me that Johnny Autumn was involved in a bootleg operation and maybe a—” She stopped speaking suddenly and shot me a look.

  Ernie stepped in. “A prostitution ring. Right. Gossett might have been visited by a prostitute, and Johnny Autumn might have delivered her, but the cook didn’t get a good look at either of them.”

  I was so shocked, I stopped scouring my face for a moment. “A prostitute? On a Sunday? Good heavens.”

  Ernie and Lulu both rolled their eyes that time, and I felt foolish. But honestly. Hiring a prostitute on the Lord’s day? Doing such a thing at any time was reprehensible, but . . . Well, I got the distinct impression that neither Lulu nor Ernie shared my sentiments, so I went back to removing makeup and said not another word about it.

  “So,” Ernie continued, “yes. Johnny Autumn is known to run with bootleggers, and he’s suspected of having a string of girls, one of whom may well be Peggy Wickstrom.”

  My mouth dropped open and rougey water trickled into it. I snapped it shut instantly and wiped my lips with the dry end of the ruined napkin. “Peggy? Peggy? Do you really think she’s a . . . one of those? But she’s only—”

  “Eighteen,” Ernie said wearily. “Yeah, I know. And I don’t know if she’s one of those, but it’s a thought.”

  “Good Lord,” I murmured, stunned.

  “So it’s probably a good thing that you didn’t find her,” said Ernie. “Or God alone knows what she or her precious Johnny might have done to you.”

  “But . . .” However, I couldn’t think of anything to say.

  Fortunately, the waiter returned and took our orders. By that time I was famished. I guess being arrested, booked, fingerprinted, searched, photographed and left to languish in a police station’s squad room does that to a person. Speaking of fingerprints, I surveyed the tips of my fingers. “I wonder if this ink will ever come off.”

  “It will. Might take a day or two, but it will.” Naturally, it was Ernie who supplied this information, I presume because only he knew.

  I sighed. “If my mother ever finds out about this night’s work, she’ll kill me.”

  “She might have to line up for the privilege,” said Ernie before downing a gulp of the coffee the waiter had brought us.

  I decided not to respond to that sally.

  The Pantry served a delicious, very filling breakfast, and by the time Ernie finally dropped Lulu and me off at my house, I was nearly asleep on my feet. Ernie walked us to the door.

  “Sleep in tomorrow morning, both of you. Don’t bother coming to work. I’ll come over sometime during the day and drive you to the library to get your Roadster, Mercy.”

  “Thank you, Ernie,” I said, feeling quite humble by that time.

  Lulu and I mumbled our good-nights. After I jotted a little note to Mrs. Buck in order to spare her making us breakfast the next morning, we separated at the head of the staircase, me to go straight ahead into my own suite of rooms, and Lulu to turn right and go to the west wing to her own suite of rooms. I presume Caroline Terry was slumbering peacefully, not having done anything insane to interfere with a good night’s sleep.

  Buttercup woke me up before I was ready to arise, but since it wasn’t her fault I’d gone out the previous evening looking like a lady of the night, I didn’t scold her. Rather, I rose, yawned, noticed Buttercup fairly crossing her legs with discomfort, threw on a robe, and staggered downstairs, where I allowed my sweet doggie to go out into the yard and do her duty as a well-trained poodle. Because I was so exhausted, I sank onto the cement stairs leading from the back porch to the yard and waited for her to finish.

  I’d neglected to look at the clock as I’d passed through the kitchen with my pooch, although my eyes were so gummy I might not have seen it had I remembered. Squinting at the sunlight and thinking perhaps Los Angeles might actually receive some cooler weather as autumn progressed—mainly because I’d begun to shiver—I heard an automobile in the drive. I figured it was Mrs. Buck or a delivery wagon or something. Mr. Buck had certainly gone to work already, but I didn’t know what Mrs. Buck did during the day when I was supposed to be at my own job. The house always looked immaculate, so I presumed she was somewhere cleaning something. Or perhaps she’d gone to the Grand Central Market, which was just down the street after you got off Angels Flight. Even though I knew very little about running households, I knew groceries didn’t appear by magic.

  My state of exhaustion didn’t allow for enough curiosity to investigate the source of the noise. Whoever was in the automobile could jolly well go to the front door and ring. Either Mrs. Buck would answer the door or nobody would, and then whoever it was could go away again.

  Can you tell I wasn’t in a rosy mood that morning? At least I supposed it was still morning.

  My scheme for the person in the automobile didn’t come to fruition. All of a sudden Buttercup began to make ecstatic happy, yappy noises and danced to the gate separating the drive from the back yard. Oh, no. It must be someone I knew. And, of all the people I knew, my own personal bad luck assured me it was Ernie Templeton. And here I was: gummy-eyed, hair askew, and in my bathrobe. Shoot, I hadn’t even put my slippers on!

  Burying my head in my hands, I hoped against hope he’d just go away when no one but Buttercup greeted him.

  Naturally, he didn’t. I heard the gate open mere seconds after I heard him greet Buttercup. I sent up a prayer for help, but figured God had better things to do than save me from my own stupidity yet again. So, rather than slink back into the house and pray Ernie wouldn’t see me, I lifted my head from my hands and glared at him.

  “My, my, aren’t you bright and chipper this lovely Tuesday morning?” he said. With evil intent, I’m sure I need not say.

  “Go away,” I said.

  “Not on your life.” He plunked himself down on the steps next to me and petted Buttercup. “I’ve always wanted to see what your mistress looks like on an average morning, Buttercup,” he said to the dog. “I’m surprised you haven’t moved to another home.”

  I said, “Huh.”

  He passed a slitty-eyed glance at me. “Your face is all red where you scrubbed it at the Pantry last night. Did you know that?”

  Wonderful. Exactly what I wanted to hear. “You don’t have to look at me,” I snarled.

  Naturally, he laughed. “Aw, buck up, kiddo. You don’t look so bad. I thought you’d be up and at ’em this morning. Being that your Roadster is stuck at the library and all.”

  “What time is it?” My voice was as froggy as my face was red, I guess, and all I wanted to do was go back to bed.

  “It’s time for you to go upstairs, wash up, don some clothes, and come out with me. We might as well get in another driving lesson while we’re at it.”

  “I don’t want a drivi
ng lesson. I want to go back to sleep.”

  “Tsk, tsk. The intrepid private investigator never sleeps when he—or she—is on the job.”

  “Nuts. You were asleep until I woke you up last night.”

  “Indeed I was, which is exactly why I’m here at ten o’clock on this particular Tuesday morning. Never let it be said that Ernie Templeton doesn’t pay his debts.”

  I tilted my head and squinted at him. “You mean you came here early on purpose? To pay me back for waking you up and asking you to bail out Lulu and me?”

  “You got it in one,” said Ernie, grinning like the fiend he was.

  Burying my head in my hands once more, I said, “Uuuuhhhh. But I really don’t want a driving lesson today, Ernie.”

  Ernie slapped me on the back in a gesture that might have been considered comradely except he very nearly sent me sliding off the porch steps. “All right. You don’t have to have a driving lesson. But get a move on, kid. I don’t have all day.”

  But I did. I knew it would be senseless to say so. Ernie was here, he was determined upon a course of action, and I was too darned tired to oppose him in any meaningful way.

  Therefore, I rose creakily to my feet, turned around and trudged back up the steps to the kitchen door. Buttercup, who was delighted to have company on a bright Tuesday morning, dashed ahead of us into the house and danced around her food and water dishes. I said, “All right, all right. I’ll feed you.”

  “Why, thank you!” said Ernie.

  I turned upon him a scowl that had him clutching his chest in mock horror. “You mean you weren’t talking to me?”

  “Uh.”

  “That’s all right. I’ll martyr myself. I’ll make coffee. Then, after you feed the dog, go upstairs and get presentable. Then we’ll go fetch your Roadster.”

  I gave him another “Uh.”

  He only laughed at me.

  Chapter Seventeen

  By the time I’d bathed—taking exactly as long as I wanted to take, darn it—washed my hair, brushed it into a neat little cap on my head (I’d recently had my marcelled waves bobbed into a sleeker cut), and put on a plain brown skirt and white shirtwaist, I was almost awake.