“Sorry you had to go through this ordeal,” I told Derek, my voice low. “I didn’t know they’d force you to strip off in jail.”
His face twisted. “Glad I’m out of that rat hole. How can I repay the favor?”
“Anything you can find out about this murder will be a big help. By the way, I’d like to do a proper interview with you, as soon as possible.”
“I’d be honored.” He bowed like a formal butler. “How about dinner, after the show?”
“Lunch tomorrow will be better. Then I can write my profile while it’s still fresh in my mind.” A good excuse, since I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea about a late-night rendezvous. “Say, before you go inside, can you tell me about those rumors?”
Derek raised his brows like an evil villain. “We’ll talk over lunch. See you tomorrow.”
“Don’t forget. Sammy and I are counting on you.”
“Did I hear someone say lunch?” Burton asked when I got back into the car.
“Why not? Where else can we talk privately? Certainly not at the theatre, with a potential killer lurking around.”
“As long as you don’t make it too private.” Burton winked at me. Was he really jealous or pretending? Hard to tell with Agent Burton. “So where to—the paper?”
I nodded. “Back to the grindstone for me.”
“Same here. But cheer up. Maybe one of the newsboys dug up some information?”
“Better than another dead body,” I cracked. When he stopped in front of the Gazette building, I lingered at the car window. “Please watch out for Sammy. I’d hate for the cops to charge him, especially without any proof.”
“So far, it’s purely circumstantial. Wrong place, wrong time, wrong suspect. Seems bad luck follows Sammy wherever he goes.”
“You said it,” I agreed. “He needs a break.”
Burton squeezed my hand. “By the way, I hear a band is playing jazz in the Hotel Galvez lobby tonight. Thought you’d like to relax, take your mind off...things.”
“Would I! That’s right up my alley...” I had a sudden vision of Patrick in a dress, lying in the alley, and cringed.
“How about I pick you up at Eva’s, around six?”
“Swell.” I nodded. “Say, I wonder if any violinists ever play jazz?”
******
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
After Burton dropped me off at the Gazette, I rushed to my desk, hoping to avoid any questions. How I wished I’d never found that stupid string and gotten Sammy in more hot water.
I sorted through the papers stacked on my desk, trying to focus, ignoring Mrs. Harper’s intense gaze. Still, she was relentless. “So tell me, Jasmine. How’s Derek? What scandal did you uncover down at the police station?”
Did she hear about his body search? Or the diamond ring in Patrick’s brassiere?
“Luckily they let him go, in time for his performance.” Why was she being such a Nosy Nellie? Even if I wrote it up, I knew both topics were too risqué for a family newspaper.
Her penciled brows arched higher. “A little birdie told me you helped set Derek free. Attagirl, Jazz! Did you get to ask him any questions?”
Gosh, she even had spies at the police station?
“Thanks. Fact is, they didn’t have any grounds to hold him.” I left out the stripping-off segment of his jail time. “I’ve set up an interview with him tomorrow over lunch.”
“Lunch?” Her thin lips curled into a coy smile. “Business or pleasure...or both?”
“Depends if the Gazette is picking up the tab,” I hinted, assuming Derek was broke.
“I suppose we could manage a couple of dollars from petty cash,” she sighed.
Mack bustled in wearing a camel hair coat, a brown wool scarf wrapped snugly over his neck, carrying a satchel. “I heard you managed to break your boyfriend out of jail. Or did your Fed Agent fella have a hand in his escape?”
“You’re daffy. The cops knew he was innocent so they released him.”
“Apparently they have a new suspect.” Mack pointed a finger at me. “Your old pal, Sammy Cook, is it?”
My heart stopped. “He’s not a suspect. They brought him in for questioning.”
“Sure looks mighty suspicious, when a body turns up behind your bar,” Mack taunted. “Or is he trying to pin the blame on his manager? What’s his name, Frank?”
“Says you.” I froze, wondering who was his source. “They question lots of people.”
“So why were they both handcuffed? They sure sound guilty to me.”
Jeepers, the police department certainly boasted some big blabbermouths.
“As a journalist, you know that’s pure speculation, Mack,” Mrs. Harper huffed. “I thought you newsboys dealt mainly in facts.”
For once, my boss stood up for me.
But Mack had to add, “That’s right. We leave the gossip to you girls.”
“Dry up, Mack,” Mrs. Harper replied as we exchanged annoyed looks. Good for her, not backing down.
I only hoped Mack wouldn’t turn Sammy or Frank into serious suspects on some trumped up charges—just to fill a few newspaper inches.
Flustered, I needed a break from the cigar smoke and hot air clouding the newsroom. With a smile, I sidled up to Mrs. Harper. “Mind if I take a lunch break now?”
She glanced at her watch, then at the mostly-male office, and nodded in understanding. “Go right ahead. You’ve earned your keep today.”
Freedom at last! I felt as relieved as Derek, released from my publishing prison. Elated, I made a beeline for Nathan’s, a chic new boutique on Post Office—the nice part of the street. Inside, the quaint shop retained its Art Nouveau influences with carved French walnut showcases, fresh flowers and flowing lace curtains.
A pretty young woman with long chestnut locks stood behind a carved walnut and glass counter. With her flowing wavy hair and floral velvet frock, she looked like an Alphonse Mucha painting—all she needed were a few flowers in her hair to complete the image. Did they hire help based on appearance or did she model herself to fit the shop’s style?
“Are you looking for anything special?” she asked.
And how! While the selection of compacts, purses and perfumes seemed smaller than Eiband’s, the quality was finer: exquisite French guilloche enameled vanity cases on chains lay next to colorful cut-steel beaded bags in geometric and figural designs with intricate long fringe.
The cut-crystal perfume bottles held jeweled and enameled stoppers, radiating mini-rainbows under the bright lights. Temptation beckoned me at every turn.
As I strolled through the store, I stopped to admire the beautiful German scenic seed beaded purses depicting castles and romantic scenes, Belgian beaded bags topped with figural celluloid frames of jesters and winged butterfly women, whimsical painted ceramic French perfume lamps shaped like harlequins and half-nude harem girls. Glittering enamel mesh bags by Mandalian and Whiting & Davis called to me like a siren’s song.
So many choices, so little cash!
Longingly I fingered the fine Italian beaded bags and enameled tango compacts with finger rings and lipsticks.
A small display of French Bakelite and celluloid vanity bags caught my eye, featuring a variety of shapes and sizes, most containing powder, rouge wells and lipsticks.
Finally I settled on a beauty that took my breath away: A stunning coral-pink celluloid vanity bag decorated with dripping icicles of rhinestones outlined in gold and black paint. Embedded inside was a removable watch with black ribbon straps, finished with a thin black cord and tassel decorated with rhinestone beads. What a stunner!
Thank goodness Nathan’s Boutique offered lay-away since I needed weeks to pay off this splurge. “Please take good care of my treasure.” I stroked the celluloid gem as if bidding it farewell. “I hope to pick it up by Christmas.” The Mucha model smiled at my delighted expression.
Afterwards, I felt giddy, refreshed and ready to go back to work. Even Mrs. Harper gave me a knowing smile when
I returned to my desk. When Nathan offered me a ride home later, I gladly accepted. Not even Mack could spoil my day or date that night with Agent Burton.
That evening, I slipped on a silk frock adorned with a red poppy print and handkerchief hem—a bit light for November, but I knew my new velvet coat with the embroidered gilt-thread collar would keep me warm.
Agent Burton arrived promptly at six, on time as usual.
“He’s always so punctual!” Eva smiled with approval.
“We’re going to the Hotel Galvez to hear a jazz band. Would you care to join us?” Burton asked Eva. Such a gentleman—one more reason he’d won over my aunt.
“No, you two young people go on without me. Have a good time!”
In the car, I asked Burton, “What happened with Sammy and Frank? Are they still holding them for questioning?”
Burton nodded, not meeting my gaze. “I think they want to keep them overnight.”
“In jail?” I grabbed his arm, causing him to veer left. “Why? They didn’t do anything!”
“Captain Johnson is sending two undercover cops to stake out the Oasis, in case the killer shows up. He may have left some evidence or an item behind at the Oasis, maybe in the alley.”
“You think they’re looking for the diamond ring?”
“I’d put money on it. From the size of that rock, I bet it belonged to some muckety-muck’s wife or daughter.”
“The killer probably wants to cash it in and leave town.” I let out a sigh. “Poor Sammy, stuck in a jail cell, again. Does he know the cops plan to watch his bar?”
Burton nodded. “I told him, but he didn’t believe me. He thinks we’re trying to set him up, plant evidence while they search the Oasis.”
“What if that’s the real plan? Maybe Musey made a deal with the cops.”
“Bunk.” Burton shook his head. “In any case, Sammy and Frank might be better off behind bars for the night.”
“I’m afraid of what might happen with Dino there alone,” I admitted.
“That muscle head can hold his own.”
“True. Dino doesn’t take gruff from anyone.” I smiled in the dark, imagining Dino single-handedly beating up any bullies. “Why don’t we check on him later?”
“May be too risky. And I don’t want to blow the cops’ cover. They’ll probably assume I’m interfering with their investigation.”
“I wouldn’t mind stopping by for a friendly drink.”
“Dino? Friendly?” Burton looked aghast.
After Burton pulled up at the Galvez, a valet rushed to open my door. Nice to feel like a princess for a change.
“Valet parking? You must have gotten a raise,” I joked.
“Only the best for you, doll. Plus it’s getting cold outside.” Practical as always.
Strains of jazz filtered through the plush lobby, arched windows providing a nice view of the beach. We found a small table near the band—no ordinary trio, but a full six-piece group of musicians. Sad to say, I didn’t spot a viola player or violinist in the mix, yet perked up to see a cute young fella playing an upright bass and an older cellist. String instruments! I pointed them out to Burton, but decided they looked too harmless to be murder suspects.
A perky blonde waitress with a short bob took our order, and bent over so low that we got a full view of her charms. I observed Burton’s reaction, grateful that his eyes never strayed from her painted-on face. I admit, I wanted to knock the cocktail tray right out of her manicured paws, but decided that wouldn’t be very ladylike in public.
Instead, I faked a smile and gave her the once-over, to let her know I was on to her games. “A hot tea for me, please. Preferably Jasmine.” I accented my name, in case she’d read about our romance in the society pages, despite my protests. Yet I doubted the dear ever read the papers.
Burton ordered a Coca-Cola and she flashed him a suggestive smile. “What’s the name? Want me to charge it to your room?” She acted like I was invisible. Did she want to hunt him down and wait for him upstairs?
Thank goodness he ignored her innuendo. “We’re not staying overnight. Just enjoying the music.”
“What a pity,” she purred, licking her chops.
After she left, I hissed, “What’s that floozy trying to do? Offer herself up on the menu?”
Burton grinned, obviously pleased by my jealous outburst. He drummed his knee while the band broke into two Gershwin numbers, Fascinating Rhythm and Rhapsody in Blue. The mellow jazz soothed me and I felt like drifting off, wishing I could take a nap.
Truth was, I hadn’t been sleeping well lately. An ex-beau and a dead body can keep you up at night.
When a new older waitress with deep bags under her eyes delivered our drinks, I gave Burton a smug smile. No more peep shows for him tonight.
I perked up when a young brunette flapper sang Ain’t We Got Fun and ‘S Wonderful, dancing the Charleston in a short fringed frock. Her animated performance fit the songs perfectly.
While the band played a few Cole Porter tunes, I got to study the crowd, mostly moneyed older couples, no doubt vacationers who’d escaped the cold northern climates.
Galveston never failed to attract a brisk tourist trade, even during off-season. Personally, I preferred the empty beaches and cool winter weather. To me, the gray skies and somber seascape seemed more mysterious, more romantic.
I snuggled next to Burton, enjoying the lively set. The musicians let loose, improvising on a few blues songs. The Negro saxophonist and trumpeter broke into Dixieland jazz, each playing solo for a few minutes. Burton gave me a satisfied smile, tapping his knee in time to the music. Interesting that a Yankee like Burton enjoyed Southern blues and jazz so much.
An hour later, the band leader announced a break and the musicians carefully placed their instruments in their cases. After they left, the band leader stood before the microphone and announced: “For your entertainment, ladies and gentleman, a magician will perform an array of tricks. Please stay seated and enjoy the show.”
I whispered to Burton, “I wonder if he’s the same magician from the vaudeville show?”
“Possible, since he’s only on stage for ten minutes or so at most. He could be moonlighting on the side.” He shrugged. “But these jokers all look alike to me.”
During the break, I headed to the ladies’ room, and made small talk with a few matrons washing their hands and powdering their noses. My silk frock paled next to their beaded gowns, glitzy jewelry and sterling mesh bags.
“I didn’t think I’d enjoy jazz so much!” I heard one elderly lady in a glittering gown and long string of pearls say to a friend wearing a diamond and sapphire choker. “The music makes me want to do the fox trot! And the Charleston!”
“Absolutely. I feel so young and alive!” her friend exclaimed. “Positively giddy!”
I smiled at their excited expressions and returned to watch the magic act. The magician did a few card tricks with audience volunteers, then performed some sleight-of-hand numbers: the usual coins behind the ears, scarves pulled from his hat. Nothing as death-defying or dramatic as slicing a woman in half or making her disappear—difficult to do in a hotel lobby. This time, his pretty young assistant appeared merely decorous, flitting about the lobby, delicate hands highlighting his tricks—not as dramatic as his usual act with secret escape boxes and elaborate props.
“Must be the same vaudeville magician,” I whispered to Burton, who also seemed unimpressed. “I wish the band would start playing again. I’m ready to shake a leg.”
“You said it.” He stood up. “In fact, I may stretch my legs a bit.”
Naturally he was too polite to admit he needed to visit the men’s room. I observed the crowd, who continued to chatter while the magician attempted to get their attention with more lackluster card tricks.
As the magician wove between the tables, I had a chance to study him more closely. He wore an elegant jacket and vest, and as he brushed by our table, I did a double-take: The jacket sported fancy enameled
and marcasite buttons—except for a solid black button that didn’t match the rest. Sure enough, he had to be Milo the magician from the vaudeville troupe—the “pansy” Frank described. So what was he doing with Patrick at the Oasis the night he got stabbed?
Heart pounding, I motioned for Burton to sit next to me on a loveseat closer to the front, and whispered in his ear: “Remember the marcasite button I found in the alley? Guess who’s missing a button on his jacket?” I cocked my head at Milo, who was preparing to leave with his assistant. “Was he the dandy fighting with Patrick? Think he stabbed him or were they up to something?”
“Good question,” Burton whispered back. “Still, that doesn’t make him guilty of anything. Let’s keep an eye on him tonight, and we’ll see what happens.”
“But he’s ready to leave! Can’t you do anything to stop him?” I began to panic as I watched Milo cross the lobby, no doubt to make his act in time.
“Unfortunately I don’t have any grounds to hold or question him. If I do, he may get suspicious and try to escape, even skip town.”
“You’re right.” I pretended to act nonchalant while Milo walked out the exit, but I was squirming in my seat, too rattled to concentrate. Leaning against the plush cushions, I tried to enjoy the lively jazz, to no avail. While the set wound down, a few couples began to head upstairs. By now, it was nine o’clock, probably past their bedtime.
After the performance, the audience gave the band a round of applause and some patrons added a few dollars to their tip jar. The musicians were packing up their instruments when the woman wearing the fancy choker burst into the lobby, her hands fluttering around her neck.
“Help! I’ve been robbed!” she screeched. “Where’s the hotel manager? Somebody stole my jewels—right out of my room!”
******
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The patrons gasped and immediately dispersed upstairs, no doubt to check on their own possessions. When a portly mustachioed man rushed to comfort the woman, Burton and I moved closer to listen.
Vamps, Villains and Vaudeville Page 11
