I called the front desk. When a bellhop arrived, I handed him the package and slapped a fin in his hand, after he assured me he’d deliver the package to the studio right away.
With the screenplay taken care of, I plucked the folded list of guests from my tuxedo jacket and scanned the names.
I covered the dining table with sixteen sheets of typing paper and taped them together. In the center, I made a circle and wrote Eric’s name inside. Like spokes of a wheel, I drew lines away from Eric’s name, ending each with someone at the party, and what I knew about that person. Those closest to Eric had shorter spokes.
I’d nearly finished when Laura let out a loud yawn in the bedroom. She entered and stood beside me, wearing a white hotel robe and fuzzy pink slippers. She stared at the diagram taped to the table. “What’s this?”
“Something I used in my detective business. I’m trying to understand the relationships between Eric and those who might have wanted him dead.”
Laura read the names of those with the shortest spokes. “Norman Carville, Todd Carville, Christine Brody, Sonny Burkheart…he’s a kid, Jake…Sonny’s mother, and James the butler. Only a mystery writer would suspect a butler of murder.” She cocked her head. “You actually think Eric’s father or brother could have killed him?”
“When I know for certain they didn’t, I’ll cross their names off.”
“Then you’ll be interested in the detective work I did over breakfast with Todd this morning.” She dropped to the couch. “Todd’s mother died during childbirth. Norman never recovered and apparently avoided relationships with women until five years later, when he began an affair with Todd’s nanny.”
“The nanny is Eric’s mother?”
“Bingo! An exotic beauty from Colombia, which is where Eric got his handsome looks.”
My lasting impression of Eric wasn’t his dead body but the blubbering bully who’d cut his ear after Christine and I arrived at the party. “You thought Eric was attractive?”
She ran a hand over my face. “Not as fetching as you, darling.”
“Did the old man marry the nanny?”
Laura rolled her eyes. “Life isn’t a Hollywood movie, Jake. After Eric was born, Norman bought her off with cash and a plane ticket home. Ironically, neither son grew up knowing his mother. The boys lived separate lives growing up. The past several years they barely spoke.”
“Doesn’t sound like Eric and Todd were close.”
“Norman was lying, or he’s living in a fantasy world.”
“Well, we are in Hollywood.”
“Touché,” Laura said. “That’s all I learned about Todd and Eric.”
Laura had learned not only that Eric and Todd weren’t close but that their father had lied about their relationship. “Why doesn’t Todd like people from Oklahoma?”
“Ever heard of the Bum Blockade?”
I shook my head.
“The movers and shakers in the city organized a blockade of sixteen state border crossings, staffed by LAPD officers ordered to turn back anyone without obvious financial support. Todd’s part of a committee to preserve the culture of the city, but he didn’t seem to want to talk about it.”
“And it’s called the City of Angels.” I suspected the committee was more interested in preserving their financial control of L.A. than the city’s culture. “Do they wear white hoods?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Does he like girls?”
Laura smiled. “He mentioned he’s seeing someone, but I got the impression she was someone’s wife or a dame his father or the press wouldn’t approve of.”
“Maybe she’s from Oklahoma.”
Laura smiled again.
“Todd didn’t make a pass at you, did he?”
Laura snickered. “Darling, men make passes at women all the time, but I doubt whether anyone ever has in a diner. I tried to get him to reveal more—”
“You mean you flirted with him?” Laura had worked on plenty of cases with me. She was skilled at getting men to talk.
“There was no flirting or passes. He did steer the conversation around to how beautiful he thinks I am and how wonderful I’m going to be in the picture. Am I blushing?”
It sounded like Todd had set aside his grief over his brother’s death fairly quick. “That sounds suspiciously like a pass.”
“Darling, did you manage to work on the shooting schedule?”
“I cut out all your kissing scenes and replaced them with prudish hugs.” I told her about the envelope I’d sent to the studio.
“Let’s get to work on your diagram.”
We spent the rest of the afternoon making notes on those who had attended the party. When we finished, we had eliminated only one name, Louella Parsons, tough as anyone there, but hardly homicidal. More than four dozen names remained.
My stomach rumbled, and I covered my mouth.
“You haven’t eaten all day, and I only had breakfast. Why don’t we go to the Brown Derby? Everyone says the food’s wonderful, and a lot of stars hang out there.”
I had a better place in mind, the restaurant where I’d planned to propose the night we arrived. “I know a place you’d like, Manuel’s. Terrific Mexican food, dancing, and it’s within walking distance.”
“I’ve never tried Mexican food.”
“Then you’re in for a treat.”
“I’m sold.” Laura jumped to her feet, kissed me, and hurried into the bedroom.
An hour later, Laura looked like a million bucks in a dress the color of a robin’s egg. She wore a white hat that covered her black curls, and I’d changed into a charcoal-gray pin-striped suit.
Laura straightened my tie. “I see you’ve decided to wear a shirt.”
“Well, it is evening wear.”
Outside the hotel, Laura and I held hands. The walk felt like the strolls we’d taken when we shared an apartment in Queens a few years earlier.
The neighborhood had changed. The Depression was taking its toll on L.A. like everywhere else. Guilt over my success returned.
We passed a kid selling apples on the corner. Laura paused and bought one.
The boy handed her a medium-sized apple. His eyes glistened when Laura slipped him a buck.
A half block later, she handed the apple to a man seated in the doorway of a boarded-up warehouse.
We rounded the corner and the tall white letters of the Hollywood sign came into view. Her eyes misted, and I knew she was thinking about Peg Entwistle. She set her head against my shoulder.
I wrapped my arms around her as we resumed our walk. “You’ve come a long way since we appeared in Tom Sawyer together in high school.”
Laura displayed incredible courage leaving her career as one of Broadway’s biggest stars. In Hollywood, she was one of many trying to fill the vacuum created by talking pictures. I’d met enough of her acting friends to know the profession was rife with insecurities.
I’d never doubted Laura would make it big, but she hadn’t ever really left the small house in our neighborhood where she grew up without a mother and with an abusive father. “They’re going to love you…maybe not as much as I do, but I’ve seen Broadway audiences reduced to tears and then, in the next act, laugh out loud.”
“Acting in movies is different from acting onstage, where movements and one’s voice are sometimes overly dramatic. With close-ups, actors can convey emotion with their expressions and gestures, though they need to be more subtle than in silent films. Jake…”
Laura wrapped her arms around me and squeezed tight. Facing the plate-glass window of a hardware store, she whispered, “There’s a man in a tan coat following us. I spotted him earlier. He’s a half block back, pretending to look in a flower shop.”
“That’s Gus Connolly, the detective I told you about.” I reached for her hand and we resumed our walk. “The fact that he’s following is a good sign.”
She cocked her head. “That makes no sense.”
“He’s hoping I’ll
make a mistake and incriminate myself. If the cops thought they had enough evidence for an arrest, they wouldn’t need to follow me.”
With schoolgirl glee, she grabbed my arm. “Let’s make him work for his dough.” We took off running, skipping over the cracked sidewalk. Half a block later, she pulled me into an apartment building. We rushed past the stairs and threw open a door leading to an alley strewn with foul-smelling garbage.
Dodging puddles, we ran to the end of the alley. Barely pausing, we dodged traffic and honking horns and disappeared into a jewelry store, ringing the bell over the door.
With a suspicious jeweler keeping an eye on us, we pretended to shop for engagement rings. Gus dashed by the window, his tan coat flapping. We hurried to the window and watched him huff and struggle down the block.
Outside we both chuckled. I pointed away from where the detective had run. A block later, we arrived at Manuel’s. “We’re here.” I opened the door for her, and the familiar aroma of Mexican food greeted us.
The waiting area was devoid of customers. The owner stood behind a lectern. He gave Laura an admiring once-over then studied my face. Manuel welcomed me as if I’d never left. “Jake Donovan, you look like a million bucks.” He clapped me on the back. “But you always were a regular Joe.”
I introduced Laura.
Manuel’s eyes widened. “The Laura Wilson, from Queens, you always talked about?”
Laura beamed.
He kissed her hand. “He brought plenty of dames to Manuel’s, but Jake here carried a torch for you even back then. I’m glad you’re together. You are together, no?”
“I asked Jake to marry me.” Laura grinned. “With everything that’s gone on since, I realize he never provided me with an answer.”
“Well?” Manuel asked.
I couldn’t hold back a laugh. I pulled a ring box from my pocket. I knelt on one knee, opened the box, and offered the ring to Laura.
One trembling hand flew to her mouth. “How…when did…you’ve been carrying this diamond around?”
I rose, plucked the ring from the box, and slipped it on the third finger of her left hand. “My plan all along was to take you here and ask you to marry me, but like most of my Hollywood plans, this didn’t work out…until now.”
Laura threw both arms around my neck and kissed me. She flashed the finger in front of her.
Manuel clapped his hands and kissed us each on the cheek. “This calls for a celebration.” He led us through the half-filled restaurant. Red flickering candles sat in the center of two dozen tables with white tablecloths. He showed us to a corner table. “Don’t bother to order, old friend. I’ll personally select for you my favorite Mexican meal, for old time’s sake, and it’s on the house. Congratulations to you both.”
Laura’s beauty grew by candlelight. While she admired the ring on her hand, Manuel disappeared through the swinging doors of the kitchen. He returned with a large bowl of fried tortilla chips and a hot red dipping sauce. “I’m preparing an assortment of tacos—pork, beef, and chicken.”
“What’s a taco?” Laura asked Manuel.
He described how the dish was prepared, and Laura looked anxious to try it.
I couldn’t help notice the half-filled restaurant. “How’s business?”
Manuel shrugged. “It’s tough all over, you know?”
I glanced toward the entrance. “One more thing, Manuel. A broad-shouldered man just came in, tan coat, sitting alone, trying not to let us know he’s here. Bring him a couple of tacos, on me, and tell him they’re from Jake Donovan.”
Manuel nodded. “Once a gumshoe, always a gumshoe.”
When Manuel pushed through the kitchen doors, I reached for Laura’s hand and led her to the dance floor, where two couples moved to the soft sounds of a three-piece band. She felt just right in my arms.
Laura moved with the grace of the professional dancer she was. “You dance divinely for a man who was shot in the leg a couple of weeks ago.”
“I only notice it when trying to elude slow, heavy detectives.”
She cocked her head. “How do you move when pursued by a female detective?”
I didn’t want to talk about Annabelle’s behavior or a past brief relationship.
She brushed a shock of hair from my eyes. “Sounds like you were quite the hound as a Pinkerton, Jake Donovan.”
“I was nothing of the sort. Like Manuel said, I was always talking about the girl I left behind.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Sure you were.”
The song ended, and we returned to the table.
Manuel returned with two wineglasses and a paper sack. He removed a bottle of red wine. “The end of Prohibition can’t come too soon.” He filled my glass and let me taste it. “A fabulous California wine from just up the coast.”
I nodded approval, and he filled Laura’s glass. “Enjoy.” He left the bottle.
I raised my glass in a toast. “To living happily ever after.”
“Oh, we will, Jake.” She squeezed my hand. “Won’t we?”
“Of course we will.” We clinked glasses.
Laura sipped the drink then leaned over the table and kissed me.
I glanced toward the far corner as Gus hid behind a menu, about as inconspicuous as a snake at a garden party.
“Jake, how are you going to go about finding Eric’s killer? There are so many possibilities.”
“The diagram lists those with possible motives and the opportunity to shoot Eric. So far, everyone who might have a motive appears connected to the studio. Under the guise of wanting to talk about revising the screenplay, I’ll get them to talk.”
“Jake, that’s…that’s brilliant.” She finished her glass.
Manuel carried a steaming plate of tacos to Gus.
“We’ll get them to talk.”
“We?”
“Don’t tell me it could be dangerous. We’re engaged now. We’re a team. Besides, every day I’ll talk to the same people you’ll be talking to. In the evening, we’ll share what we learned. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”
I never considered investigating a murder to be fun. “It depends what you’re wearing, or not wearing.”
“I’m serious. Don’t forget I grew up in Queens.” She pulled a compact from her purse, glanced at the small mirror, and patted her hair. “Snooping’s in my nature.”
I didn’t like her involvement, but she’d talk to her coworkers whether I offered my okay or not. “Promise you’ll be careful.”
“I promise.” Laura stuffed her compact in her purse.
I rose with her as she headed for the restroom.
When I sat down again, a man came from behind and slipped into Laura’s chair—my old pal Pat Lonigan, the Times crime reporter. He tossed his straw hat at a chair beside me. “I don’t want to interrupt your quiet night out, but I bumped into Annabelle Church this morning and found out she’s the lead homicide detective on what everyone says is an open-and-shut suicide.”
“Small world.”
“Only it’s not so open-and-shut. She says you’re helping to find out who bumped off Eric Carville. Thought your gumshoe days were over.”
“And I thought you didn’t like working Hollywood cases.”
“This has potential.” Pat drummed his fingers on the table. “Come on, Jake, what gives?”
“This is a high-profile case. I’d hate to see Annabelle and Gus fall on their faces.”
He rolled his eyes. “What’s it to you?”
“I don’t want an incompetent murder investigation to throw a curveball into Laura’s picture.”
He picked up Laura’s wineglass, inhaling the aroma. “Laura Wilson, she your latest squeeze?”
“My fiancée.”
“Congratulations.” He shook his head. “She’s a fabulous-looking dame.”
“She’s no dame.”
He lit a cigarette with the candle and blew smoke away from the table. “Then don’t risk losing what you have.”
�
�I’m touched.”
If I wanted Pat on my side, I had to give him something. “The police have ruled out suicide. They suspect someone at the party shot Eric.”
“Were you there when a bullet entered his skull?”
I blew out a deep breath. Pat was my friend, but a reporter first. “The Hollywood Hotel. Before you ask, Laura and I left the party a little after eleven.”
Pat let out a hearty laugh. “You wouldn’t have left so early in the old days.” He popped an olive into his mouth. “Fun bash?”
“Not for everyone.” Eric’s blank eyes staring at the ceiling came to mind.
Pat dipped a chip into the hot red sauce. “A source told me they grilled you about a fight with Eric that night. What was that about?”
“Eric was sore because his old man wanted me to rewrite his screenplay.”
“Why does the law think you might’ve wanted to shoot him?”
“You remember Gus Connolly.” I thumbed toward Gus attacking his plate of tacos. “He’s working the case.”
Pat let out a low whistle. “He’ll pin it on you if he can.”
“The time frame proves I couldn’t have murdered Eric.”
“There’s time frames, then there’s time frames.” Pat leaned forward, his elbows on the table, and spoke in a quiet voice. “How does this story sound? ‘Mystery writer grilled in death of Hollywood executive.’ ”
“Like a story.”
“Yeah, but it would sell papers.” He leaned back. “I’m just saying. I wouldn’t write it, not now, but that doesn’t mean some other hack won’t splash it on page one.”
He pulled a pad from his pocket and glanced at his notes. “I’ve been nosing around. The old man hired you to flesh out the screenplay Eric wrote, one Eric didn’t think needed fleshing out. You got into a fistfight with him the night he was found with a bullet in the side of his head.”
I sipped the wine. “When you put it like that…”
“This ain’t funny, Jake. I’ll sugarcoat your involvement for now, because you and I go way back.”
“You’re a real pal.”
All That Glitters Page 10
