Vamps, Villains and Vaudeville

by Ellen Mansoor Collier

  “I’ll do what I can, but I’m not exactly rich.” Burton looked upset as he turned the corner toward the Gazette.

  “I didn’t mean for you to loan him money. Can you find a reason to lock up Musey?”

  “Again? Musey’s got a lot of pull with the cops. I can’t make any promises.”

  Burton parked in front of the Gazette building. “Jazz, your left eye is twitching again. Is that all? Anything else you want to tell me?”

  I tried to act nonchalant, but guilt overpowered my resolve. Not to mention my left eye gave me away.

  “Please don’t say anything to the cops yet.” I paused. “I may have found the murder weapon that killed the victim. The M.E. was right—it’s an instrument string. That’s what Patrick meant when he whispered, Viola.”

  “You don’t say.” Burton looked surprised. “Where was it—at the Martini Theatre?”

  “No...” I had second thoughts: Was I incriminating Sammy if I told Burton the truth? “If I tell you, I’d be putting you in an awkward position.”

  Burton gave me a wry smile. “I put myself at risk when I got involved with you.”

  “Gee, thanks.” I took a deep breath. “I found it in the alley behind the Oasis, near the victim. The same spot we saw him before.”

  Burton stared at me without speaking. Finally he said, “That’s odd. Why was the victim first stabbed, then killed at the Oasis? How in hell did he end up at the Martini Theatre?” His eyes widened. “Are you saying Sammy dumped him off? But why there?”

  “Amanda saw his outfit and make-up, and guessed he was a performer—she probably gave Sammy the idea. He wanted a neutral place that wouldn’t start a gang war.”

  “Sure that’s the whole story?”

  “I know it may sound like a cover-up, but you know Sammy is honest. He only wants to protect his place and his staff. Can you blame him?”

  Burton scratched his chin. “Doesn’t it seem rather coincidental that Sammy showed up the same weekend that this actor was murdered? Then he moved the body away from his bar to avert suspicion, and perhaps point fingers at the vaudeville troupe?” He avoided my eyes. “I hate to even bring it up, Jazz, but...what if Sammy is involved?”

  ******

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “Sammy just panicked, that’s all.” I tried to convince Agent Burton. “See, that’s why I didn’t tell you earlier. I knew you’d assume the worst.” Annoyed, I almost bolted out of the car, but he gripped my wrist, tight.

  “Jazz, bear with me. I can’t figure out why the victim was stabbed, then later killed, at the Oasis. Like you said, it may have nothing to do with Sammy. Do you have the violin string with you?”

  “No, it’s at home.” I bit my lip, wishing I’d kept my mouth shut.

  “You know we should turn it over to Homicide. Want to swing by the station later, and show it to them?”

  “Not now. Give me time to think it over.” I let out a sigh. “I’m so worried about Sammy. How can I keep his name out of this murder investigation?”

  “What difference does it make if he’s innocent?”

  “If he’s innocent? Of course he’s innocent! I know he may seem guilty...”

  “Calm down, Jazz. We’ll figure it out.” Burton held open my door, giving me the eye. “How about a ride home after work? Then you can turn over the wire to the cops.”

  I stalled, debating what to say—definitely a “damned if I do or don’t” dilemma.

  Finally I nodded, giving in. Wouldn’t it be worse for everyone if I withheld potential evidence?

  “OK, see you around five o’clock. Say, can you do me a favor? Tell me what the cops and the M.E. find out.”

  “Same goes for your reporters,” he said, driving away.

  When I entered the newsroom, I heard a chorus of voices—naturally Hank’s jeer was the loudest: “I heard your new beau is in the slammer. Too bad your Fed friend can’t bail him out.”

  “Sorry you fell for a lady killer,” Chuck cracked. The guys burst into laughter.

  “You slay me.” I held my tongue, wishing I could tell them what I really thought.

  Bracing myself, I made a beeline for Mrs. Harper’s desk. “Did you hear the news? Derek got arrested for the murder of Patrick Mulligan, a vaudeville troupe actor.”

  “Murder? Derek?” Mrs. Harper blanched. “Why in the world would they arrest poor Derek?”

  “I heard he and Patrick were rivals in the troupe, and competed for the best parts.”

  She looked wary. “But Derek is such a fine actor. No need to kill a rival for attention.”

  My boss gave me just the cue I needed. “Say, do you know who wrote those glowing reports on Derek? I was shocked when I saw them, right next to my review.”

  Flustered, Mrs. Harper raised her chin. “Why, I did, of course. You see, I’m old friends with his mother. We were classmates in school, and both of us served on the Ball High student newspaper.” She shrugged, as if the matter seemed irrelevant. “I was only trying to give his acting career a little boost.”

  Clearly she didn’t care about boosting my career.

  “What about the other performers and musicians in the troupe? People will accuse me of playing favorites, singling him out for praise.”

  “I didn’t think you’d mind, given your history...” She bristled, acting offended.

  “Our history?” So Derek’s mother squealed about our past romance. “Sure, we dated while in high school, but that’s old news.” I motioned to the bullpen. “Now the fellas think I’m sweet on him.”

  “Oh, is that what all the noise was about?” This time my boss looked genuinely perplexed. “I’m sure a handsome young actor like Derek has lots of admirers.”

  She refused to see the point. “Isn’t the purpose of a review to give your unbiased, critical opinion?” I argued. “Aren’t newspapers supposed to be fair and objective?”

  “Why would they assume you wrote the other articles? They’re not even by-lined.” Mrs. Harper dismissed me with a flippant wave. “Well, no harm done.”

  No harm done? Only my reputation was at stake. “What about the rave review of Derek’s performance under my name? I may lose my credibility as a journalist.”

  “Who will notice or even care about those articles besides the vaudeville troupe?” Mrs. Harper huffed. “After all, this is only entertainment. Not life and death.”

  “Since Derek was accused of murder, it is a matter of life and death.” Exasperated, I turned to go, knowing she’d never understand.

  “Wait, Jasmine, you gave me an idea,” my boss called out. “Why don’t you pay Derek a visit in jail? Interview him, get his side of the story. Was there any evidence that puts him at the crime scene? A motive? He may not talk to Mack or the boys, but I know he’ll open up to you.”

  What? Was this an actual assignment or another favor for her friend? Or just a sneaky publicity stunt?

  I could see the headlines now: HOMETOWN HERO WRONGLY ACCUSED OF MURDER. With a subhead: BETRAYED ACTOR BEATS THE RAP AND PROVES JUSTICE PREVAILS!

  “As far as I know, he’s still down at the police station. Is this for the news department or the society section?”

  “Depends on what you dig up.” Mrs. Harper gave me an encouraging smile. “Good luck.”

  I was wary. “What if it hurts Derek’s reputation?”

  “Even bad publicity is good for an actor’s career. Especially for a villain. After all, I doubt he really is the killer. You can help prove his innocence.”

  I knew it—she admitted it was a PR ploy. “Can I get off early? I’ll try to interview him behind bars.”

  She nodded her approval. Was she trying to pacify me or hoping I’d get a scoop for her society pages—or both? In any case, now I had two solid reasons to visit the police station today. If she only knew why.

  ******

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  After work, Agent Burton picked me up as planned, noticing my mood had changed from sour to sunny. “Why are yo
u suddenly so eager to talk to the cops?”

  “Not the cops—Derek.”

  “Trying to spring your fella from jail?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Mrs. Harper asked me to interview Derek for a story. Is he still in custody?”

  “They’re holding him indefinitely,” Burton told me, “hoping the real killer will trip up.”

  “The cops should be investigating the orchestra musicians, not poor Derek. What if it’s a frame-up? The whole troupe had access to the instruments,” I pointed out.

  “If we knew the real motive, we might make more progress,” Burton admitted.

  Briefly we stopped by the boarding house, and I told Eva I was dining out with James that evening—easier than explaining the whole Derek-is-in-jail fiasco. I tiptoed upstairs and took out the hanky holding the wire, stuffing the bundle inside my leather clutch bag.

  Inside the car, I showed the steel wire to Burton, hoping it might clear both Derek and Sammy.

  “Looks like it came from a string instrument, all right.”

  With a sigh, I handed him the bunched-up hanky containing the wire. “Can you give it to the cops while I interview Derek? Then will they let him go?”

  “This isn’t definitive proof,” Burton said. “We can’t rely on circumstantial evidence and speculation.”

  “I found it at the crime scene, by the body. What more proof do you need?” I softened my tone. “Please don’t mention Sammy or the Oasis, OK?”

  “I’ll do my best. Thanks for giving me the wire.”

  Did I have a choice?

  At the police station, all heads turned as Burton and I walked in. My heart sank when I spied Derek sitting in the jail cell behind bars, slumped over against the dirty, stained brick walls. Derek perked up when he saw me, and waved for me to come over. A few cops sat huddled together in a corner, smoking cigarettes, and a joker wolf-whistled at me, calling out, “Over here, doll. Come sit on my lap.”

  Of all the nerve! “No, thanks,” I snapped at the sap.

  Burton approached the cops, eyes blazing, and they dried up, fast. The police chief gestured for Burton to come into his office, craning his neck to stare. Did he think I was a new suspect? Without waiting for an invite, I made my way to Derek’s cell, ignoring the chorus of catcalls. Guess they didn’t get a lot of ladies inside the station—at least not nice gals.

  Though he’d only been in custody a few hours, Derek already had that washed-out, sickly pallor of a convicted criminal—like the jailbirds I’d seen in the papers and news reels. I felt a stab of sympathy seeing him look so desperate, clinging to the bars, pacing his eight-by-eight jail cell like an inmate on Death Row. Then again, he tended to be melodramatic even in real life.

  “What are you doing here, Jazz? I hate for you to see me this way.” His face fell, then instantly brightened, reminding me of the happy/sad drama masks on theatre programs. “Say, thanks for the great write-up. You made my day! I didn’t know you still felt that way about me, considering you have a new beau and all.” Derek pressed himself against the bars, his voice soft.

  “You’re all wet!” My cheeks flamed beet-red. “Don’t flatter yourself. I only wrote the actual review. Those puff pieces were my boss’s bird-brained idea.”

  Derek’s sad drama face fell into place. “OK, I got the telegram. Frankly, I was surprised. Figured you were still mad at me for taking off that way. Now I feel like a fool.”

  “Blame my boss, Mrs. Harper. Remember her? She’s friends with your mother.”

  Derek made a face. “That old blue-nose? They used to gossip like two clucking hens.”

  “No wonder she became a society editor. In fact, she suggested I do a story on your arrest. She said any publicity is good publicity.”

  “Yeah? What if some so-called critic says our show stinks?” He raised his brows. “Gotta admit, the troupe wasn’t thrilled with your lukewarm review, or the spotlight on my budding career.”

  “Mrs. Harper never breathed a word to me about those stupid stories,” I said, feeling guilty for no reason. “I only said some acts seemed old hat—I didn’t say they were terrible. Say, do you want me to help you or not?”

  “I’m the one stuck behind bars. What do you think?”

  “OK, first I need to ask you one question.” I studied him, watching his reaction. “Did you kill Patrick?”

  “Of course not!” He drew back, looking betrayed. “Now why would I go and do a fool thing like that, and possibly close down the show? It’s the first good gig I’ve had in months.”

  I crossed my arms, wondering how much to trust him. After all, he did make his living as an actor, pretending to be other people.

  “As I recall, you don’t like playing second fiddle. Speaking of, do you play any string instruments? A viola, perhaps?”

  Derek seemed crestfallen. “Have you already forgotten? I only play saxophone.”

  That let him off the hook, for now. “So why did they arrest you? They don’t really think you did it, do they?”

  He looked around the station. “Who knows? Someone must have fed the cops a bunch of hooey. They’re spreading lies, rumors, saying Patrick and I were big rivals, that I had an ax to grind. What bullshit! Patrick and I were friends, good friends.”

  “Friends?” I was taken aback. “That’s not what I heard. You think you’re being framed?”

  He nodded. “I think the troupe ganged up on me, set me up as revenge.”

  “Because they’re jealous?”

  “Actors can be extremely competitive, especially for star roles,” Derek said. “Reviews can make or break a career—and a show.”

  Sure, I knew about the power of the pen, but I had no idea Derek might land in jail due to some positive press. Clearly Mrs. Harper’s good intentions had backfired.

  “I suppose you’re right. Any idea who may be behind this scheme?” I asked.

  Before he could reply, Burton returned and gave Derek the once-over. Then he motioned for me to follow him to a back office.

  “The captain wants to see you, Jasmine. Now.”

  ******

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “Me? Now? Why?” I played dumb. Hadn’t Burton taken care of the instrument string?

  Burton firmly gripped my elbow, guiding me down a long, dimly-lit hall, as if I were a ward of the state. “He just wants to ask you a few questions.”

  Yikes! I glanced back at Derek, afraid I might be in the jail cell next to him soon. “What did you tell him?”

  “I only said you uncovered some evidence at the crime scene.” His tone softened. “Don’t worry, I’ll be in the room with you.”

  Small comfort. Burton led me into a large, orderly office where the captain sat behind a long mahogany table that doubled as a desk. Was this his headquarters or the interrogation room?

  A few framed certificates and awards covered the walls, including a college diploma from Sam Houston State University in Huntsville. So he wasn’t just some local yokel who’d done well, he was a degreed professional who could easily outsmart a society reporter into spilling her guts—if I had any left after this fiasco.

  I’d never formally met Captain Johnson before, much less been grilled by him. Tall and thin, with spectacles and balding hair, he reminded me more of a mild-mannered accountant than a police captain. How should I behave? Shy and meek, like a shrinking violet, or as my usual Nosy Nellie self? My hands started to shake and I took a few deep breaths to calm down.

  Great—now I really looked guilty.

  Captain Johnson stood and smiled, followed by a firm handshake. “Nice to meet you, Miss Cross. Agent Burton here speaks highly of you.”

  “He does?” I shot Burton a wary look. “So why am I here?” What a tactful opening line.

  The captain’s face broke into a grin. “You have the wrong idea, Miss Cross. You’re not here as a suspect. Agent Burton tells me you have some information in this case that might prove useful.” He sat down behind his desk and indicated the banker’s
chairs across the table.

  “First, I’d like to know your relationship with the suspect, Derek Hammond. After reading your glowing Gazette report, I take it you two are close friends?”

  My face flushed and Burton turned toward me, waiting for my reply. Oh, boy, was I going to wring Mrs. Harper’s honking goose neck when I got to the office—after I broke out of jail!

  “I only wrote the review. I didn’t write the glowing part.” Johnson seemed confused, so I started blabbering: “Yes, we were good friends in high school, but that was a long time ago. I mean, it wasn’t that long ago, I’m only twenty-one...” I took a breath. “We simply lost touch.”

  “Obviously you’ve renewed your friendship since then?”

  Was it so obvious? “No, I wouldn’t call it that...I mean, we’re friendly, but I’ve hardly seen him.” I cleared my throat. “Ask Agent Burton. I didn’t even recognize him at the vaudeville show.”

  “I understand Hammond is an actor and from all accounts, he plays a believable villain. Does he have a hot temper? Is he hostile or violent, capable of killing someone? Could he be guilty of...murder?”

  “Of course not.” I shook my head. “The Derek I knew isn’t a killer. He claims he’s being framed.”

  “Is that so? Did you consider the fact he might be lying? Perhaps he was in character, as they say, and got carried away?” Johnson’s brown eyes glinted. “I hear he and the victim were rivals?”

  “Not at all. Derek isn’t a vindictive or vicious person. He’s as decent as they come.”

  “I know you want to help your friend, but so far he seems to be our main suspect.” The captain’s eyes drilled through mine. “Any other information you can provide?”

  “Derek told me he and Patrick were good friends, not enemies. He thinks the troupe may be jealous about my...the stories in the paper. The Gazette.”

  Burton shifted in his chair, signaling an end to this line of questioning. Thank goodness. “Jasmine found some evidence at the crime scene,” he spoke up, nudging my arm. He placed my wadded-up hanky on the captain’s desk, and revealed the steel wire.