He hurried back to his car. Windshield wipers slapping rain off his windshield, Todd made a U-turn and headed back in the direction he’d come from.
After two attempts, the Model T coughed and sputtered to life. I pulled away from the curb and turned the windshield wiper switch. Nothing. I slapped the dash, trying to peer through the rain-swept glass.
“Careful, darling, I think she responds to soft, gentle words.” She patted the dash. “Don’t you, dear?”
The white handkerchief slapped against my neck as I drove. I couldn’t help but appreciate its resemblance to a flag of surrender. Was it too late to trade in the Model T for something better?
By the time we caught up to Todd’s car, the rain had slowed. When he turned on Vine Street, it stopped completely, leaving reflective puddles on the pavement. He pulled into the parking lot of the Hollywood Brown Derby.
I pulled to the side of the curb as Todd tossed the keys to the valet and went inside. “Should we go in?”
“Are you kidding? You can stay, but I’m starving.”
I pulled into the parking lot, climbed out, and yanked open the squeaky passenger door for Laura. In spite of her hunger, she appeared embarrassed to be seen at the Brown Derby in such a heap. I tossed the keys to the valet,who dropped them. He appeared surprised someone driving an old clunker would be dining at the Brown Derby.
I held Laura’s hand as we headed for the entrance. Nearly three dozen people packed the lobby.
Laura’s face dropped. “I’ll settle for any old hash house. We’ll never get a table here.”
“Baloney. You’re a movie star.” I left Laura by the front door, intending to borrow Blackie Doyle’s slick moves. While making my way through a crowd waiting to be seated, I pulled a couple of sawbucks from my wallet.
The host in a tuxedo, starched shirt, and red bow tie gazed up from a podium like I’d just interrupted his relaxing day. “May I help you?”
I set the two bills beside his hand. “Table for two, please.”
Without glancing at the dough, he covered the money with his palm. “Do you have reservations?”
“No, but I’m with”—Todd Carville slipped into a booth, joining a thick-necked man with black piercing eyes and a mustache who looked like a casting call for a mob thug—“Laura Wilson.”
“Perhaps you could try the other Brown Derby on Wilshire Boulevard.”
I reached for my wallet for more money.
“Jake Donovan?” Louella Parsons tugged on my arm. “I thought it was you.”
“Miss Parsons.”
“Louella.” She introduced a distinguished-looking man who wore a tailored pin-striped suit and had thick silver hair. “This is my husband, Dr. Harry Martin.”
I shook her husband’s hand.
The tuxedoed host’s eyes lit up. “Your table is ready, Miss Parsons.”
“Jake, would you like to join us?”
“I’m with Laura Wilson. We’d be delighted to join you, if you let me pick up the check.”
“Wonderful,” her husband replied.
I snatched the two bills from beneath the host’s hand, made my way through the lobby, returned with Laura, and introduced her.
A waiter led us to a booth on the opposite side of the restaurant from Todd and his dinner guest. Laura slid beside Dr. Martin in the middle. Louella and I sat on the aisle, no doubt so celebrities trying to curry favor could greet her. I took a deep breath, hoping I wouldn’t say anything that might incriminate Laura or me.
Dozens of caricatures decorated the Brown Derby walls. An exaggerated Mae West hung between Laura and Dr. Martin. While a portly man in a brown suit stopped to chat with Louella, my eyes followed the frames of the Hollywood stars.
Across the restaurant, Todd Carville was ordering a meal along with the man he’d joined. Did Todd’s three stops mean anything—an after-work drink, a quick smooch with a secret girlfriend, and dinner at a very public restaurant?
When the brown-suited man left, Louella shook her head. “He was a decent director in his day, but that was before sound.”
Louella and Laura chatted about Midnight Wedding, while two more men stopped by Todd’s booth and sat beside him. One hefted a briefcase onto their table, a business meeting over a pleasant dinner, nothing more.
“Did you two meet in Hollywood?” Louella asked Laura.
“Jake and I’ve known each other since we were kids, but last night we got engaged.” She wiggled the fingers on her left hand, flashing the engagement ring.
“Engaged! I love this kind of scoop.” She pulled a notepad from her purse and jotted a few notes. “How did he propose?”
Laura chuckled. “I asked him.”
“Marvelous!” She wrote down more notes.
The two women talked wedding, honeymoon, and other girl stuff while Dr. Martin munched on breadsticks.
Dozens of dinner guests stared toward a familiar-looking man in a gray pin-striped suit and deep blue eyes signing an autograph at a table. Accompanied by a woman wearing a diamond necklace, he greeted guests and signed more autographs on his way out.
When they reached our table, the man stopped beside Louella. “Dr. Martin, Louella.”
“Jack, Sadie.” Louella offered the side of her face for the man to kiss.
He kissed her cheek. “When are you coming on my radio show?”
“I’d better appear soon since it sounds like you’re going to be busy making movies.” She held her palm open to Laura. “Laura Wilson, Jake Donovan, meet Jack Benny and his wife, Sadie. Jake and Laura arrived from New York a few days ago.”
Of course, Jack Benny, a comedian who never failed to make me laugh. I’d first seen him when he and Pat O’Brien put on a terrific show for the troops. Benny starred in vaudeville, and millions looked forward to his weekly radio program, but I hadn’t realized he acted in movies. “You’re making a movie?”
Louella answered for him. “Transatlantic Merry-Go-Round with Nancy Carroll. Everyone says you both do terrific. I’ll have to mention it in my column.”
“Well, if you must.” Benny pretended to blush.
His wife squeezed his arm. “He’s sore the studio won’t shoot the picture in color. Black-and-white doesn’t show his blue eyes.”
Benny studied Laura’s face. “I thought you looked familiar. I was fortunate enough to catch you in The Lady Takes a Champ on Broadway a few years ago. You were marvelous. You’re appearing in a new movie for Carville Studios, aren’t you?”
Laura flashed her most charming smile. “I’m flattered you’ve even heard of me.”
“I haven’t seen you and Miss Wilson here before,” Jack said to me. “Are you old friends of Louella and Dr. Martin?”
“We just met.”
Louella’s husband beamed. “Jake offered to buy us dinner.”
Benny stared at Dr. Martin a moment before his steely blue eyes returned to me. “You just met…and you offered to buy them dinner.”
I tried not to laugh at what seemed to be a classic Benny routine about him being Hollywood’s biggest skinflint.
“At the Brown Derby.”
I nodded.
For a moment, he placed his fingertips at the edge of his mouth, a classic Benny pose. “We just met,” he deadpanned.
“Jack.” Sadie tugged on his arm.
“Oh, all right.” He squeezed Louella’s hand. “By the way, Louella, when you write that column, it’s B-E-N-N-Y.”
“Of course, Jack.”
He smiled at Laura. “Last time she spelled it with an E-Y.” He tossed his head to one side. “Sheesh.”
When they walked away, Laura chuckled. “He’s as funny in person as he is on the radio.”
“He’s one of the nicest men in Hollywood, though what he sees in Sadie…” Louella stared across the restaurant toward Todd’s booth. “Doesn’t seem like Todd Carville’s grieving over his brother’s death.”
I knew Louella had met practically everyone in Hollywood. “Who’s he dining
with?”
“That’s David West, a top executive for MGM, and a couple of junior assistants.”
“Maybe they’re comparing notes about their studios,” her husband said.
Louella wrinkled her brow. She didn’t appear convinced. “Maybe so, Docky, but I’ve never seen them together before.”
When the food arrived, Laura devoured her Cobb salad in minutes while Louella ignored the meal and talked about weddings. The gossip columnist offered plenty of experienced advice. Her wedding to Dr. Martin was her third.
Halfway through the meal, Louella rested her chin on her hand and stared at me. “Since you’re consulting on the murder investigation, who killed Eric Carville?”
“I’m hardly consulting. I briefly studied the crime scene and offered a few ideas.”
“You’re talking to Louella Parsons, Jake. You proved to the detectives Eric didn’t commit suicide. Speaking of detectives, it’s a small world. A source told me the lead detective is Annabelle Church, a dame you had a fling with several years back.”
Laura raised an eyebrow. “Annabelle Church?”
Louella patted her hand. “Don’t worry, dear. Men sow wild oats, hopefully before they get married. Isn’t that right, Docky?”
Her husband set down his fork and gazed at the ceiling, clearly revisiting the past. “There was a cruise I took to Cuba before we met.”
I tried to control my anger, but it wasn’t working well. “I didn’t sow wild oats…not with Annabelle.”
Louella burst out laughing.
Laura’s face softened. “A man waits until he’s thirty-two to marry for the first time, he’s bound to have a past, though usually not with a homicide detective.”
“Annabelle wasn’t a homicide detective in those days…and I told you about her. We were merely drinking buddies, nothing more.” Why didn’t anyone believe me?
“It’s good to talk about these things before the wedding.” Louella seemed to enjoy my discomfort, but thankfully, she changed the subject. “You’re a busy man, Jake Donovan, working on a novel and investigating a murder.”
Laura patted my hand. “Jake’s extremely busy. He’s also punching up the Midnight Wedding screenplay.”
Louella raised an eyebrow. “At the party you told me you had no interest in writing screenplays.”
“I didn’t then, but with Eric’s death, Norman Carville asked for my assistance. He’s a hard man to say no to.”
“Jake.” Todd Carville appeared beside our booth. His booth was empty. His dinner guests had vanished. “Laura, Dr. Martin, Louella.”
Louella squeezed his hand like a long-lost relative. “I was so sorry to hear of the loss of your brother.”
“You’re very kind. Jake, may I see you in the lobby for just a moment?”
“Of course.” I pressed the napkin to the corners of my mouth and followed him out of the dining room. Why did he want to see me?
He led me beside an empty phone booth and lowered his voice. “Be careful with Louella Parsons. Just because someone acts like a friend when you first meet doesn’t mean she is your friend.”
“I’m used to dealing with the press. Is that what you wanted to talk about?”
He shook his head. “I had a meeting tonight, merely exploratory discussions, with some business associates. My father doesn’t know about it. With him directing Midnight Wedding, he’s got enough on his plate.”
“I won’t say a word.”
“Make sure you don’t.” Todd set his hat on his head and left the restaurant.
I didn’t like being ordered around. Before I could speculate on his secret meeting in a very public place, someone behind me cleared her throat.
Louella stood less than ten feet away, a pen and notepad in one hand. She winked, flashed a satisfied smile, and went back into the dining room.
Chapter 13
Wish upon a Shooting Star
I struggled to sleep as I lay beside Laura. Being a suspect in Eric’s murder was a temporary inconvenience, for sure, but lingering suspicions would surely jeopardize Laura’s career with Carville Studios. I had to discover the killer’s identity, and soon.
In the past twenty-four hours, I’d learned a great deal about several possible suspects. Few shed tears over Eric’s death, but I’d yet to wrap my mind around a motive for the killing.
Giving up on sleep, I walked to the bedroom window and peered into the early-morning darkness. The moon peeked from behind passing clouds, and a siren disturbed the quiet of the night.
Laura slept on her back, moonlight bathing her soft features. The image reminded me of another night of interrupted sleep years earlier.
—
Early spring of her sophomore year, on the way home from school, Laura chatted excitedly about her science class. Her teacher had explained about an impending meteor shower. The first ones weren’t expected until midnight.
Around eleven thirty, a blanket in one arm, I climbed out my window. Laura stood in my backyard, smiling. She helped me spread the blanket on the ground.
We lay on our backs, staring up at the black, cloudless sky, waiting for the streaks of light. To the chirps of crickets and an occasional barking dog or police siren, we talked of growing up in Queens, life, and the mother she barely knew. We recalled seeing shooting stars as kids and making wishes about our future. We talked about everything, everything except her father.
Six months earlier, she and her old man had moved into the mostly run-down house at the end of our street. When we appeared in the play Tom Sawyer, we came to trust and care about each other. It didn’t surprise me when she shared her dream of becoming a singer, something she’d never admitted to anyone.
Two hours went by without seeing any shooting stars. We fell asleep.
With Laura’s head in the crook of my arm, I awoke from the sound of a barking dog in the distance. A soft violet glow of dawn spread over the eastern sky. I shook Laura awake. “You need to hurry home before your old man wakes up.”
She scrambled to her feet and helped me fold the blanket. I left it on the deck and walked her home. We stood beside the open window of her bedroom. From somewhere inside the house came the rattle of her old man snoring.
“I’m sorry we fell asleep,” I whispered.
Laura gasped and pointed to the north. “A shooting star!”
The tiny light arced across the sky and disappeared. Laura threw her arms around my neck and pressed her lips against mine. We shared our first real kiss.
When the kiss ended, I said, “You forgot to make a wish.”
A bright smile crossed her face, much like the shooting star. “I made my wish.”
She parted the curtain, and I helped her climb into her window. I returned home and grabbed the blanket as darkness gave way to dawn. I climbed into my bedroom.
My father stood in the doorway in his boxers holding a cup of coffee.
I was in for it now. “It was a meteor shower.”
He wasn’t angry. His voice didn’t sound judgmental at all, just serious. “You’re just kids, Son.”
I didn’t know what to say. Even back then, to me, Laura was more than a kid, but I wasn’t in a position to beef about it. “I love her, Pop.”
—
After a hot shower, I quietly dressed in my best business suit, a three-piece charcoal gray. I’d barely cinched my blue striped tie when the phone rang. I dashed into the next room and snatched up the receiver before it rang a second time.
I checked my watch: five forty-five. “Do you know what time it is?”
“Jake, it’s Mildred. It’s eight forty-five.”
“In New York!” I braced myself and dropped to the desk chair. “What is it?”
Her voice sounded atypically calm. “You need to sit down.”
“I am sitting.”
“I spent the past hour on the top floor trying to explain something I had no idea about. Why didn’t you tell me you’re a suspect in a murder case?”
Being a sus
pect wasn’t the kind of thing a person liked to talk about. “It’s a big misunderstanding.”
“This is serious, Jake. They could arrest you—”
“I’m not going to get arrested.” I laughed to reassure her. “I have an airtight alibi, and I wasn’t anywhere near—”
“Listen, damn it! This comes from the man himself.” She sucked in a ragged breath. “If the police arrest you for murder, Empire Press won’t release Blackie Doyle’s Revenge and will sever its relationship with you.”
“Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?”
“That doesn’t apply to business. Empire slapped a temporary hold on your books. The next won’t be released in October as planned.”
“Damn.” My publisher was overreacting. The world was closing in, threatening Laura’s career and mine.
“They insist I to come to California and find out how serious this is.”
The last thing I needed was Mildred underfoot. She’d find out I hadn’t written anything new. “Mildred, this whole thing is a joke. The two detectives on the case are former drinking buddies. I’m going to go to the police station and give a statement later today.”
“I hope you hired a good attorney. I could make some calls—”
“I don’t have a lawyer.”
Her shriek over the phone threatened to wake Laura. “You’re going to submit to an interrogation without benefit of a lawyer? Are you crazy?”
“It’s not an interrogation. I’m giving a statement.”
“You need a lawyer.”
“I don’t need a mouthpiece, and I don’t like lawyers.”
“I don’t like dentists or lady doctors either, but I see one when I need to.” She sighed. “I’ll be there in two days.”
I massaged my temples. “This whole misunderstanding will be resolved in a few days.”
“Then we’ll go to the beach and laugh about it.”
“Did you say two days? You’re flying?”
“That’s how serious the board is taking this.”
Could things get any worse? “You’ve never flown before.”
“Don’t remind me. I’m looking forward to good news when I arrive. Meet me at the airport and book me a room at your hotel.” The line went dead.
All That Glitters Page 15
