Vamps, Villains and Vaudeville

by Ellen Mansoor Collier

  “Me?” I gulped. “When? Now?”

  “The sooner, the better. I can’t very well waltz in there myself to deliver the cash. To be safe, I’ll drop you off a block away.”

  “Does Sammy know I’m coming?”

  “Not yet. I’m afraid you’ll have to break the news about Mrs. Maceo’s ring, too. But I’m positive Musey prefers dough over diamonds,” Burton reassured me. “He’s supposed to call Sammy right before the meet. Naturally he wants control over the time and place.”

  “So how will you find them?”

  Burton gave me a sly smile. “We have our ways. Ever hear of wire-tapping?”

  “Sure,” I nodded, surprised that they’d go to such lengths. “Whose phone did they tap?”

  “Both. That’s all I can say. I’ll wait for you at the end of Market, and give you a ride back to the Gazette.”

  “Too risky. I’ll walk back to work and grab a bite on the way, pretend I went to lunch.”

  “Thanks, Jazz.” Burton handed me an envelope filled with cash, his hand lingering on mine. “Feel free to back out now if you think it’s too dangerous.”

  “What do you take me for—a coward?” I forced a smile to cover my nerves. “You know I’d do anything to help Sammy.”

  Heart pounding, I stuffed the envelope into my leather handbag, straining at the seams. Ironic that Sammy was about to hand over Rose Maceo’s money to the Beach Gang’s biggest rival.

  ******

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  At the Oasis, Dino swung open the door with a frown. “Jazz, what are you doing here now?”

  “Good day to you, too.” I began to panic. “Where’s Sammy? He’s still here, isn’t he?”

  “Downstairs.” He pointed with his stubby thumb like a hitchhiker. “Make it snappy. He’s got some place to go.”

  Where? I wanted to ask, but stayed mum.

  Sammy sat at the bar with Frank, counting cash, both men clamming up when I approached.

  “Jazz? Is anything wrong?” Sammy glanced at his watch. “I’m waiting for a call.”

  After I told him about the diamond ring, he looked stricken. “So what am I supposed to tell Musey? That some fairy actor stole the ring and stuck it in his bra? He’ll get a big laugh before he puts a gun to my head.”

  “Tell him you found an out-of-town buyer right here. Give him the cash to prove it.” I opened my purse and his eyes bulged at the bundle of bills.

  “Jazz, where in hell did you get that jack? Put it away before anyone sees you.”

  “Here, take it all. Burton gave it to me in good faith. Call it reward money from the Maceos. Rose Maceo and his wife.”

  “The ring belonged to his wife? No shit?” Sammy rubbed his chin. “I wonder if Musey was behind this robbery. Most of the jewels are supposed to be from out of town, not locals.”

  “Good question. Aren’t the Maceos sworn enemies with Musey and Nounes?”

  “I’ll say.” Sammy nodded. “You get those hot-headed gangsters in a room and I swear it could start another Great War. No wonder they wanted me to hock the jewels in Houston.”

  “Then he’ll be glad it’s gone.” I patted his back. “Be careful, Sammy. Just do your part and you’ll be fine.” Who was I trying to convince?

  “Thanks, Jazz.” Sammy faked a smile as he looked up at his favorite figurehead. “Hope Doria will be watching over me...”

  After I left the Oasis, I kept looking over my shoulder, shivering as I rushed back to the Gazette. Was I being followed? Every time a car honked or slowed down, I stopped to stare, afraid they were chasing me. After a few recent close calls, I had the heebie jeebies—and how!

  I stopped at a sandwich vendor and bought my ham and cheese on wheat to go with a bottle of frosty Dr. Pepper, gulping it down while I walked. Outside the Gazette building, I winked at Finn, who belted out today’s headlines: “Charles Lindbergh back from U.S. Tour! Plans to visit Latin America!” I suspected he’d been coached. If so, I’d make it my mission to teach him to read.

  Entering the newsroom, I noticed how quiet it seemed. The smart-aleck reporters had left and only a handful of staff remained.

  Great—that gave me time to read about our newest American hero, Charles Lindbergh, who made headlines wherever he went. After I finished, I spotted Nathan rushing out of the dark room, his camera equipment hanging off his shoulder.

  “Where is everyone?” I asked. “Where’s the fire?”

  “Haven’t you heard the latest?” He stopped, breathing hard under the weight of his equipment. “They found another dead body down by the Martini Theatre.”

  My heart skipped a beat. Surely it wasn’t Derek... I’d just had lunch with him yesterday. “Who was it? When did this happen?”

  “We don’t know all the details yet. Mack and the fellas are already down there, waiting for me.”

  “Let me give you a hand.” I grabbed onto his tripod, as if holding it for ransom. “I’m coming with you.”

  “Be my guest.” Nathan gave me a grin. “Seems you’re getting used to the routine by now.”

  While he drove in his crazy, bat-out-of-hell way, I peppered him with questions: “Tell me everything. Is it a performer or musician? Who found the body? When? How was he or she killed?”

  “All I know is Mack got a call about half an hour ago. Someone found the body behind the Martini Theatre this morning,” Nathan said. “Seems he’d been there since last night but no one spotted him because he’d been hidden under some old stage sets.”

  “You don’t say. They’re positive he’s a performer? A member of the vaudeville troupe?”

  “Probably. Why else leave the body behind the theatre—and pretend to cover it up?”

  “Someone must be giving the troupe a warning. Or deliberately trying to jinx the show.”

  “Jinx it?” He raised his brows. “Seems to me the killer wants to drive them out of town.”

  “Do they think it’s the same killer?” I wondered.

  Nathan shrugged. “Looks that way. We’ll see for ourselves soon enough.”

  At the crime scene, we pushed past the crowd of reporters, performers and cops encircling the body. I held my breath, hoping that Derek was OK, that his prediction hadn’t come true. Thank goodness I spotted him in the crowd, next to the saddest-looking harlequin I’d ever seen. The sword swallower paced around the perimeter, followed by the farmer in overalls and a straw hat. Were they friends of the victim or just curious troupe members?

  Gingerly I eased into the tight band of onlookers and spied the victim in the alley behind the theatre—the same spot Sammy had left Patrick. Merely a coincidence or purposely planned?

  The coroner knelt by the man’s side, examining the victim—who was dressed like a genie straight out of Arabian Nights. He wore a sparkling vest and harem pants, his face made up with brown paint and kohl-rimmed eyes—even a moustache with a fake beard.

  I didn’t remember him from the opening night performance—was he a new act and recent hire as Derek mentioned? Or was he in hiding, wearing an outlandish disguise, like Patrick?

  Nathan sprung into action, taking pictures of the corpse from different angles, puffs of smoke appearing from his flash.

  A couple of cops grabbed his arms and shoved him out of the way, but Nathan managed to wriggle out of their grasp, wily as usual.

  The M.E. studied the victim’s neck and jotted down a few notes. Moving closer, I noticed the man had several lacerations on his throat, similar to the red marks on Patrick’s neck. Was it the same killer, or perhaps a copycat? Were they trying to frame the viola player? I spied Mack across the parking lot with his cronies, busy taking notes. Of course, I was tempted to find out what he knew, but wasn’t in any mood for his arrogant attitude.

  Instead, I circled the area and entered the alley from the opposite side, away from the crowd. A few set displays leaned against the building, rotting away, and I noticed an object tucked behind a cut-out tree display.

  That’s when
I spotted the open viola case, its lining ripped out, the interior sliced to shreds.

  ******

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Looking over my shoulder, I squatted down by the viola case, using a hanky to hold it by the neck, careful not to touch the worn leather or damaged interior. Seems someone was searching for the jewels when they sliced out the lining. Who had abandoned the case—the victim or the killer—and when?

  The genie didn’t look familiar to me, but then again he’d be hard to recognize with all that grease paint on his face. There had to be a connection between Patrick and the victim, especially since it appeared they were both strangled with a viola string, probably by the same killer.

  Glancing around, I didn’t see any cops nearby so decided to leave the case alone for now. I wanted to talk to Derek, find out what he knew. For once, he was wearing street clothes, not in costume or stage make-up, looking like a clean-cut College Joe—reminding me of the old Derek.

  I rushed over to him, placing my hand on his arm. “So glad to see you, Derek. When I heard the news...I thought the worst.”

  He smiled and gave me a quick squeeze, seemingly touched. “Thanks, Jazz. I appreciate your concern.”

  Face flushed, I pulled away, trying to act nonchalant. “So who is the victim? Any idea what happened?”

  “I don’t recognize him, but his costume looks familiar. He must be a new act, a snake charmer or Oriental mystic? Maybe he’s an unfortunate fortune teller.”

  How could he joke? “You’ve never seen him? Has the troupe used the costume before?”

  “For a few months, we featured a scene from The Sheik, but that was canceled after Valentino died. Too many weeping women. Guess who played the sheik?” Derek struck a dashing pose.

  “What a heartbreaker,” I teased. “Does the troupe often share costumes?”

  “Sure, if it’s not already used in another skit or act.” He gave the victim the once-over. “I bet this guy was hired to replace the pig routine. Their act only went over well in farm towns.”

  “Too bad. I enjoyed the talking pig. Say, Derek, I’ve got something to show you.” I led him toward the back alley, away from the crowd, and pointed to the battered viola case. “Could this be the viola case Patrick had mentioned? Looks empty, but we’d better not touch it.”

  Derek’s dark eyes widened as he bent down to examine the case. “I heard Milo carried the jewels in a viola case to avoid suspicion. Then Patrick must have hidden the jewelry and handed the fence an empty case.”

  “Makes sense. No wonder poor Patrick got stabbed.”

  I paused, wondering how much to say. Sure, I trusted Derek, but would he accidentally spill the beans to the wrong person?

  We walked back toward the crime scene, still talking, observing the crowd. “By the way, I wanted you to know we found the jewelry—Patrick hid the bag at the Oasis.”

  Derek’s olive skin turned pale. “What? How’d you find them? Where are they now?”

  “Let’s just say they’re in safe hands.” For all I knew, they could be in Musey’s hands by now. “I’m sure there’s a connection between Patrick and this victim.”

  “Probably.” He shrugged. “We’ll wait to see what the cops and your boyfriend dig up.”

  His sarcastic tone made me mad. “Burton’s a Prohibition agent, not a cop,” I huffed. “He helps out on various cases when he has time. “Say, do me a favor and don’t tell anyone we found the jewelry. Between us, we have a plan to recover the jewels and catch the thieves.”

  “That’s swell.” His face brightened. “You have no idea what it’s like to sit by and watch my friends rob innocent people blind and not be able to do anything. All I can do is bide my time and keep my mouth shut.”

  “I’m sure they’ll catch them before the troupe leaves town.” For now, I had to find out: “What do you plan to do then?”

  Derek gave me a sheepish look. “Who knows? I might decide to stick around Galveston for a while.”

  “How nice.” I forced a smile, wondering how his presence would affect my life, his life, if he remained in town. Would things change between me and Agent Burton? As if on cue, Burton walked up then and glared at Derek, meaning: “Leave her alone.”

  He took my arm, a bit too possessive for my taste. Derek’s dark eyes flashed and he backed away, melting into the crowd. There went my chance to ask him more questions. “Thought I’d find you here. What were you and Derek talking about?” Burton raised his brows.

  “The victim. Turns out he was strangled the same way as Patrick, with a viola string.”

  Burton nodded. “That narrows it down. Seems likely it was a musician or a performer.”

  “Would they be that obvious, using instrument strings? I wonder if it’s a copycat or a frame-up.”

  “Killers aren’t always the brightest bulbs,” Burton pointed out. “Lucky for us.”

  “You said it. Do the cops know the victim’s name yet?”

  “Until we get him out of his costume and face paint, we can’t properly ID him. I’ll wait for the coroner’s report. Wonder if we’ll find any more surprises under that get-up?”

  “Hope not.” I made a face. “Say, I’ve got good news. Guess what I found? A viola case with its lining ripped out in the alley. Want to see it?” I failed to mention that I’d just shown it to Derek.

  “The viola case? Sure—it might be the evidence we need. Forensics can try to dust it for fingerprints. Did you touch it?”

  “I know better than that.” Once out of earshot, I asked him, “What’s happening with Sammy? Is everything OK?”

  “Our men are on their way. Musey wanted to meet at our old spot, Mario’s restaurant. No doubt he’ll be surrounded by his Downtown Gang goons.”

  “So he’ll be covered while Sammy will be left alone to fend for himself.”

  “Don’t forget, our men will be in hiding nearby.”

  “How close—a hundred yards away?” I sighed. “Sammy will be a sitting duck.”

  ******

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Luckily, the viola case remained half-hidden behind the set in the alley. “Good eye, Jazz.” Burton pulled out a linen handkerchief and picked up the case by the neck. “Sure there aren’t any gems tucked away?”

  “I was afraid to touch it. Be careful—you don’t want to drop the Crown jewels,” I cracked. “ On second thought, it might be nice to own a diamond tiara or two...”

  “Just a tiara? Not a ring?”

  “Who said anything about a diamond ring?” I rolled my eyes, annoyed. Why did men assume that all women wanted to do was get married—right away?

  Frowning, he shook the case and found a small brooch stuck inside. “Take a look.”

  I studied the brass pin—a sunflower with a few paste stones forming the petals. “Looks like the cheap costume jewelry you’d find at Woolworth’s, no better than a Cracker Jack charm.” I mulled it over. “What if Patrick stuffed the viola case with a bunch of junk and tried to pass the fakes off as real gems? I doubt these trinkets fooled anyone, not even a two-bit thug.”

  “At least these fakes weighed down the case, making the killer think it was loaded with loot,” Burton said. “Maybe the middleman didn’t notice the difference in the dark at first. After he realized he’d been conned, he demanded Patrick turn over the real jewels or else.”

  I nodded, adding, “When Patrick refused, he got so mad that he stabbed him in the gut—not enough to kill him, but to show he meant business. Seems Patrick planned to retrieve the jewels later since he returned to the Oasis in disguise. Too bad he didn’t fool anyone for long.”

  “Notice he only kept the diamond ring—the most valuable item in the bunch,” Burton pointed out. “What if the fence found out it belonged to Rose Maceo’s wife and wanted to blackmail her? Or tried to frame Patrick? Until we find the killer, we may never know the truth.”

  After discussing all these theories and scenarios, I felt as dizzy as a bobble-headed doll. By now,
the crowd seemed to be dispersing, and I scanned the area, wondering if Nathan had already left.

  “Say, I’d better take the case to forensics now,” Burton said. “Need a lift back to work?”

  “I think I’ll stick around here, ask a few more questions. Keep me posted on Sammy.” I took a deep breath. “Fingers crossed everything turns out OK.”

  “Don’t worry. Just be prepared for the aftermath. Remember, we need to arrest them both for the sting to look convincing.”

  How could I forget? “Good luck.” I sighed and gave Burton’s arm a slight squeeze. Naturally I wanted to nose around and find out more about the murder, but I couldn’t stop worrying about Sammy’s meeting with Musey.

  My mind raced: What if he got suspicious and turned on Sammy? Worse, what if the cops started shooting?

  A trolley jostled by, interrupting my train of thought, the clanging noise matching the ringing in my head.

  Making my way through the crowd, I stopped a few performers still in costume—a fire-eater, a juggler, and a hoofer—and asked routine questions about the victim’s murder. After a series of “Who are you?” reactions, they told me the same static I’d heard from Derek—nothing. Was this a conspiracy? Did the guy appear out of thin air? Were they all told to keep quiet?

  I wanted to ask the director a few questions, but he was being interviewed by the police. Draper seemed to be an average Joe, the kind you wouldn’t look at twice, a mild-mannered milquetoast with balding hair and glasses.

  Hard to believe he was a devious mastermind controlling a band of thieves. Edging closer, I stood by, trying to eavesdrop.

  “I recently got rid of an act and needed some new talent,” Draper was saying, “and this guy showed up just in time. He was supposed to be a mystic, a mind-reader. We were in a jam so I hired him on the spot. I figured I’d try him out and get the troupe’s reaction during rehearsals. When he never showed, we got worried. Later we found the body behind the alley.”