Murder at the Flamingo

by Rachel McMillan

  “Sorry about Vaughan,” she said as they approached the concierge, sidestepping a bellboy rolling a cart full of luggage across a floor she could see her reflection in.

  “He’s just being protective.” Hamish smiled. “You want someone who will look out for you.”

  Reggie shrugged. “I suppose. I sometimes wonder if I wouldn’t rather have someone who appreciated how I could look after myself.” Reggie leaned on the concierge’s desk and pulled out her perfectly clipped New England charm. A voice so crystal glass it summoned ghosts of the glorious revolutionary dead.

  “Mr. Foster would be delighted to see you in the lobby bar, miss,” she heard a moment later after a quick telephone call.

  “Thank you.”

  Hamish and Reggie sat at the bar, Reggie ordering lemonade for both of them. A moment later, Dirk appeared in a white suit, a fedora dangling near the pleat of his impeccably pressed pants. The dark blue of his tie sparked his eyes. “Regina!” She rose and he pecked her on each cheek. Hamish rose as well and accepted Dirk’s handshake with a smile that tugged wide enough to present his solitary dimple.

  “A shame you missed Vaughan.” Dirk raised his hand and snapped until an attendant arrived to take his drink order.

  “We passed him. He told us about your meeting on Monday. That’s wonderful.”

  “You’re not the only one relocating here.” Dirk turned his attention to Hamish. “And who are you? I remember your face from the club the other night.”

  “Hamish DeLuca.”

  “Funny name. But that’s what I am learning here in Boston—always a new set. Your voice is different though. I don’t recognize it.”

  “Hamish is from Toronto,” Reggie said, swallowing a sip of lemonade as the waiter presented Dirk with a fizzy beverage adorned with a lime wedge.

  “That explains it. I suspect, then, that this isn’t a social call, Regina. Unless your Canadian friend is here to play chaperone.”

  “Actually, Hamish and I have a few questions about Mary Finn.”

  “What?”

  “We think the police may have dismissed the case too quickly,” Hamish said softly, tripping a little on the d.

  “You’ve a stutter,” Dirk said brashly. “My brother had one of those. My mom was always trying to shove marbles in his mouth and all the latest treatments. Have you?”

  “Have I what?”

  “Ever shoved marbles in your mouth?”

  “Honestly, Dirk!” Reggie snapped. “We are not here to talk about Hamish. Mary Finn was most likely pushed to her death. She can’t have fallen. Both Hamish and I saw the corpse, and it was too unnatural to have been an accident. We just wondered if you could tell us anything about your acquaintance.”

  “I was hardly acquainted with her. I just knew her from when I came to the city on weekends. She was a laugh and good for a spin. I didn’t want to kill her, for heaven’s sake.”

  “You weren’t jealous?” Hamish asked, his voice calm.

  “Why would I be jealous of some cigarette girl?”

  “Because you weren’t her only dance partner.”

  “I never wanted to marry her. You have rather old-fashioned notions. Is that the Canadian talking?”

  “You’re being awfully rude, Dirk,” Reggie said. “No need to take that tone with us.”

  “Forgive me if I don’t enjoy Sam Spade here and my best friend’s girl interrogating me. A girl died. The police had several questions, and I was cleared.”

  “We’re not saying you’re guilty of anything,” Hamish said. Reggie watched him closely. Dirk was getting to him. Under his skin, reflected in his big blue eyes. But he was composed nonetheless. She straightened her shoulders.

  “I just wonder if anything seemed strange about Mary the night of the opening. Was she flustered or upset? We believe she had quarreled with another young man, Johnny Wade.”

  “That slick bartender?”

  “Yes.”

  Dirk was still testy, but he exhaled a little, loosened his tie, sipped at his drink. Exhaled again.

  “I didn’t really notice anything different about Mary.” He closed his eyes a moment. When he opened them again, they were filmed with something. Sadness? Confusion? Reggie leaned closer to him. “Except I sensed something was going to change.”

  “How?” wondered Hamish.

  “If Vaughan and I move here and she was going to be easily accessible, it ruined some of the . . .” He shrugged. “I don’t know. Allure? Mystery? I guess I have been feeling guilty about that. I didn’t know I would never see her again.”

  “Did you tell her that you were considering moving to Boston?” Hamish stirred his lemonade with his straw.

  “I didn’t get a chance. We had one dance and then that Schultze fellow needed her for something. And her break was over and Luca Valari was sniffing around.” Dirk combed his fingers through his hair. “Come to think of it, she did seem a little distracted. I mean more than usual. She was never the sharpest knife in the drawer. But Schultze had a woman who said something that seemed to upset her.” He snapped his fingers. “Lily something. Because he was making up some rather ridiculous compliments on her name.” He took a moment to slug the rest of his drink. “Gardner, I think. Geez, don’t know why I remember that.”

  Dirk raised his empty glass, rattling with the dregs of ice, in a salute. “You seem to be having a bit of a lark, Reggie. But knowing Vaughan, he’ll want you to consider how your name has already ended up in the Tribune and the Times. Be careful.” Dirk excused himself without bidding Hamish good-bye.

  “Friendly set we have back home,” Reggie said sourly while Hamish insisted on settling the bill.

  “Dirk didn’t have anything to do with it,” Hamish said as they collected his bicycle and he rolled it in the direction of Tremont Street. “He just didn’t.”

  “I know. Did you see Tom Schultze with another girl?”

  Hamish thought back. “There were so many people. The whole night is a bit of a blur.”

  Reggie nodded. “All until it came crashing down.” She yawned. “Let’s go to the Flamingo tonight. No! Don’t give me that wounded bird look. That’s where we’re likely to learn something. I just need a few hours of sleep.” She looked him over. “So do you.”

  CHAPTER 23

  There were worse ways to spend an evening even in the pursuit of a killer than listening to Roy Holliday’s swing band. The selection became more and more playful each night since the opening. The nightly crowds were steady, and any air of scandal following Mary’s death didn’t seep through the front door or across the dance floor latticed with careful light.

  Reggie was happy she’d had the foresight to bring several dresses with her the night that she shoved half her closet into an open suitcase and scrambled down the tree to her freedom. She thought she looked pretty in a green number that now stretched a little tightly across the bust and in the waist on account of too many cannoli. But rather than worry, she accepted that her new curves lent something to her figure she hadn’t seen before. Probably because her mother was always reminding her to be careful, that her figure was one that could easily be on the other side of fashionable, especially with the year’s penchant for backless dresses and bare arms. Hamish looked at her a moment, and when she caught his gaze, he turned away.

  Bill was minding the bar at the moment, as Johnny had a gig with his band at another club. Hamish and Reggie made their way in his direction.

  “Your fellow was here last night,” Bill said, sliding two Coca-Colas across the bar.

  “Vaughan?”

  “He was quite protective of you. Some fellow was going on about seeing you in the paper and said a few . . . untoward things. Vanderlaan would hear nothing of it. Stood his ground.”

  “How heroic!” Reggie said, suddenly uncomfortable and exposed.

  “Haven’t seen your cousin tonight.” He turned to Hamish.

  “I’m not his keeper,” Hamish said, and Reggie sensed a bit of bitterness
in his tone. He was probably just tired and sick of the crowd. It was the sweet spot—or at least that was what Luca called it—the moment around ten o’clock when those leaving late suppers were eager to dance off their indulgences and loosen their ties and their inhibitions with a few drinks.

  “Have you seen a Lily Gardner here tonight? Sometimes shows up with Schultze.”

  “Yes. She’s been in and out. I can flag her down if you two kids want to take a spin. Or have a slightly stronger drink.”

  “We’re fine here, thanks,” Hamish said.

  “You know the drinks are on the house. Luca Valari’s standing order for his favorite cousin. There’s a note pinned over there by the brandy glasses in case we have someone fill in.”

  “That’s sweet,” Reggie said, playing with a peanut she had snapped from a dish of nuts on the counter.

  “There’s Lil now,” Bill said, wiping the inside of a highball glass with a rag. “Hey, Lily, Valari’s cousin wants to talk to you.”

  Reggie and Hamish exchanged a look. Lily looked a little like Jean Harlow, with thin, painted lines for eyebrows and exaggerated lips. Her dress dipped dangerously low and a fur in direct combat with the heat outside draped low on her arms.

  “Well, aren’t you a sweetie pie.” One end of the fur caressed Hamish’s cheek, just below his ear.

  “Hamish DeLuca. This is Regina Van Buren.”

  “Oooo! Fancy.” She looked up at Regina after hearing her name.

  “Isn’t it just.”

  “G and T, Lil?” Bill asked and on her assent turned to fixing it.

  “Lily.” Reggie edged closer to her and pulled Hamish in. “We had a few questions about the opening night. When Mary Finn died.”

  “That poor girl.” Lily clicked her tongue. “So young. Don’t go thinking it was me. Just because I sometimes let Schultzie take me out. There’s no crime in that and I’m not the jealous type.”

  “We’re not accusing you of anything,” Hamish said, softening her eyes with his gentle tone. “Were you with Schultze the whole night? Even when Mary disappeared?”

  Lily Gardner’s nasal laugh rippled. “Schultzie was with me. Of course he was with me. I asked about her. He told me she was done. Told me she was stupid enough to call ’round his place and say that she was going to take her chances with this bartender. I bet they fought about it. She had a rep for being a bit of a snitch. Working these clubs, sidling up to the businessmen peddling her cigarettes and knowing what we girls aren’t supposed to know.”

  “What do you mean by that?” asked Reggie.

  “A bit of a spiderweb. Who is connected with who. Who knows who and who is straight.”

  Lily wrinkled her nose. “I’m bored with all that. I don’t pay attention. I just want to dance.” She stretched her arms out to the dance floor. “But there’s this Suave fellow. Isn’t that the funniest name? Schultze talks about him. About Suave also talking about how he wants this Fulham guy, Frankie. He was talking about it that night. Suave was around with his friend Arthur. Boring old name. I tried to call him Arty. It didn’t stick. Not like how I stick on Schultze.” Hamish and Reggie looked to each other and then to her.

  “And the night of the opening?” Reggie wanted to bring her back on track. Schultze.

  “He bought me a drink and then we slow-danced for hours before he took me outside for a little tête-à-tête. But he limped a little. He can dance when holding on to someone without that stick of his, but he isn’t always right as rain without it. Topples a little. He said that I knocked him off his feet.”

  “And he didn’t go back to the bar to retrieve his stick?” Hamish asked.

  “He was too excited to steal a moment alone with me. That’s what he said. When we came back to the club, the police were there and all hades had broken loose.”

  “And what about Fulham?”

  “I hear some of Schultzie’s conversations, but I never really listen. You know? You can hear and not listen. They’re two different things.”

  “Hey, doll, take a spin?” A man with slicked-back silver hair and an expensive suit approached.

  “Sure, baby.” Lily wriggled out of her wrap and passed it behind the bar to Bill.

  “We have coat check for this,” Bill said.

  “You’re my coat check. Stan, give Bill a bill for his coat check.” She laughed.

  Stan reached into his pocket and produced a twenty. These men peeled off paper like it grew on trees. But why wouldn’t they? Her father did too. Vaughan, though slightly more responsible, was known to splurge too.

  “We’ll cross Schultze and Lily off the list,” Reggie said, looking to Hamish to match her enthusiasm.

  Her eyes flitted down to his right hand, clutching and unclutching his knuckles. Then he seemed to abandon the effort. His fingers trembled.

  She looked up again, her eyes helpless when they met his. His breath picked up. She could see the incline of his chest. In and out . . . He placed his slightly shaking hand over his heart, mumbling something under his breath. It took her a moment to decipher he was counting. All the while, a sheen of perspiration coated his face, which was paling under the dazzling prisms of the chandelier light.

  He nodded, but his short gulps of breath told a different story. “Just . . . a . . .” He didn’t finish. His breathing was becoming more irregular, and Reggie was starting to worry.

  “Hamish . . .”

  He didn’t see her anymore. He focused on counting his breath. Failing that, he bent over and lowered his head between his knees. Then he straightened and pushed past her, past them all in the direction of the door.

  Reggie dashed after him, finding him finally in the nearby alley, the light catching his blue-black hair.

  His shoulders shuddering a little, he rose up a bit. “S-some detective I make.” His voice was low.

  “Hamish . . .”

  His eyes were glazed and his face was white. “As if you hadn’t noticed.”

  “I was so worried that you were having a heart attack. But—”

  “Regina . . .” He blinked and looked away. “Sorry. I know I should control and count my heartbeat and . . .”

  She thought of things he probably recalled and repeated to help him when he was trapped in whatever cavern seemed to be holding him now. He was only just beginning to show signs of life! His hand was still shaking until he sensed her eyes on it and folded his fingers into his palm. “It sometimes just creeps up.” His voice hiccupped.

  “Your heartbeat?”

  “‘Heartbeat, Hamish’—it was all my father told me when I was growing up so I could monitor and keep myself in check.”

  “I understand.” Truth was, she was unsure how she had made it through so much of her suffocating life without some resemblance of the condition now washing over her friend. So many times at her parents’ garden parties or shoved into white-gloved high society, she had swallowed down feelings that very well could have reared themselves in a similar fashion. She was just lucky. And the same loyalty that bound him to Luca, bound her to him. They were linked, and it felt wonderful. She stole out her hand and placed it at the back of his neck a moment, whispering just over his hairline. The sensation surprised her, made her fingertips tingle a little. She bit her lip. It’s all right, she thought, I’m just trying to help. Then she tried to blink away the lie. It was more than that, wasn’t it? She stepped back. “Do you want me to go into the club and get Phil?” she asked after taking several beats. Hamish seemed calmer now, though he averted his eyes, staring straight at the brick wedging them between the two buildings. The tarmac was slick from an earlier rainfall and caught the shimmer of the streetlights and fluorescent signs in dozens of diamonds.

  “No.” It took so long for Hamish to answer, she was surprised when his voice cut through the dark. “I’ll walk. Good—” He gulped a breath. “Good night, Reg.”

  Reggie knew he was addled or he would have had the foresight to see her home. He was always concerned. Heavens, he put
her on the front of his bike!

  She watched his black head disappear into the bustle of the street, then started back toward the Flamingo. On either side of the red ribbon of carpet streaming out to the street from the Flamingo’s grand doorway, she saw people step out for air, pull long drags on cigarettes, laugh into the night, trading one club for another, disappear into shiny cabs. Reggie wrapped her arms around her torso. It was starting to get colder. Just a hint of a nip warning that fall was hovering.

  “Oh, it’s you. Miss Van Buren.” Mark Suave was at her elbow; Reggie prickled. “Tell me, when you’re playing secretary for Luca’s little enterprise here, do you ever hear from a poorly patched number?”

  “If you hate Luca so much, just confront him,” Reggie said, though goose bumps appeared on her arms.

  “I never take a step unless I am absolutely certain of the outcome,” Suave said. His features were clear under the tantalizing lights luring guests into Luca’s club. “But you are a mystery. A good girl. Good name. Involved in a shady scheme.”

  “I needed a job and now I have one.” She took a deep breath, still ashamed of the way he had cornered her at the office. She wanted to scream and stomp and reclaim her weakness in that previous moment. “Now I want to find out who killed Mary Finn.”

  “Killed?”

  “You were there. Downstairs. Meeting with Luca.”

  “I don’t have time for cigarette girls,” he said. “But keep playing Sherlock Holmes.”

  There was something about him that reminded her of the entitled men at her parents’ parties. Something that cloaked him in such arrogance, she was sure anything would roll off him like water from a duck’s back. It was only after he left her with a sneer of a smile that ten different retorts pinged through her brain.