All That Glitters

by Michael Murphy

  I paced the room. The best lawyer in the world wouldn’t do me any good if an arrest came. With Gus determined to even a ten-year score and with an unstable lead detective in the mix, the time to prove I had nothing to do with Eric’s murder was drifting away. I could only imagine Carville Studios’s reaction if the cops arrested me for Eric’s murder.

  I stopped beside the suspects diagram. I needed answers.

  For the next hour, I studied the possible suspects. I’d grown more knowledgeable about several, but I wasn’t close to discovering the killer’s identity. I had to talk to Christine.

  I called the front desk and ordered a small pot of coffee and two cups. After a bellhop delivered it, I poured myself a cup and sat on the hotel balcony as the morning sun burned off the darkness.

  With little sleep and much to think about regarding the case, I couldn’t concentrate on any of it. My mind drifted to my future with Laura and the endless possibilities marriage might bring. We’d never have a future if I didn’t grab hold of the present.

  Laura’s soft hand caressed my shoulder. In a terry-cloth hotel robe, she massaged my neck then sat on my lap and kissed me. “You want to tell me why you’re so tense?”

  “I wish I didn’t have to.”

  “No more secrets, Jake.”

  “Promise you won’t blame me.”

  “Darling…”

  “Mildred’s coming.”

  Laura froze, the veins throbbing in her neck. Her hands slid down my face and below my chin. With barely a hint of a smile, she playfully shook my neck.

  Laura showered while I typed up a formal statement, from my arrival at the party with Christine to my departure with Laura. I read the document then folded the three pages in half and stuffed them inside my suit coat pocket.

  Fully dressed and smiling, Laura came from the bedroom, looking like a million. She appeared to have accepted Mildred’s impending arrival. Then again, she was a damn good actress.

  I wrapped my arms around her in a long-overdue hug. “After I give my statement, I need to stop by the studio and talk to Christine.”

  “I thought you knew. Christine’s not working today. Neither am I. You revised the shooting schedule, remember?”

  “I forgot.”

  “Why do you want to talk to her?”

  I pointed to the suspects list, silently checking off the names of women who might have climbed into Eric’s bed that night. I couldn’t help thinking whoever he slept with the night of the murder shot him or knew who did. “I’m certain Christine knows who Eric was sleeping with.”

  “Besides herself.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Laura grinned. “A woman knows.” She grabbed her purse, pulled out a slip of paper, and handed it to me. Christine’s phone number and address. “At the party she suggested we get together sometime.”

  Laura poured a cup of joe and carried it to the balcony. A second later she called, “Jake, do you have a moment?”

  I stepped over to the balcony.

  Laura pointed toward the three cigarette butts with Annabelle’s lipstick rings, and picked one up. “Darling, did you entertain another woman while I worked? These aren’t mine. This isn’t my shade of lipstick, and I don’t smoke Camels.”

  Laura dropped it on the floor and brushed her hands. “I don’t smoke at all.”

  “I returned from the studio yesterday to find Annabelle Church waiting.”

  “To talk.” She cocked her head with a slight smirk. “She’s still in love with you?”

  “It’s not love. It’s an obsession. Perhaps her climb up the ladder of success has taken its toll.”

  “Yet there’s much to admire. She’s accomplished a great deal in a man’s world. You must’ve done something to leave a scar.”

  I’d spent the past three days trying to remember anything, anything at all. “A couple of years after I left she married an attorney. That ended when she found out he cheated on her.”

  “Darling, you’re the cat’s meow as a detective. Your mysteries show incredible insight. When it comes to how women feel, however, you don’t know squat.”

  Maybe she was right.

  “Perhaps when you left, she felt cheated as well. Now she doesn’t trust men.” Laura’s eyes widened with concern as she grabbed my arm. “When you do give her the brush-off, she’s going to turn on you. We’d better find Eric’s killer before that happens.”

  “We?”

  I followed Laura inside, where she paced the room. “She hasn’t had a man in, what, years?”

  “She didn’t mention being in a relationship since her husband.” I chuckled. “Are you suggesting she hasn’t ‘gotten any’ in years?”

  Laura answered with a grin. “I haven’t heard that phrase since we lived in Queens. What about Gus?”

  “What about him?” I glanced at my watch. Almost time to go.

  She checked her appearance in the mirror. “They’ve worked together five years. He’s a decent-looking guy, in a rugged, two-fisted kind of way.”

  Gus? “You’re joking.” Decent looking? Had she missed him massaging his foot in our room?

  Laura smiled at me in the mirror. “They’ve both had failed marriages. They have plenty in common.”

  They were both obsessed with me. “What are you suggesting?”

  “Don’t worry about a thing. Leave everything to me.” She grabbed her purse.

  “Where are you going?”

  Laura gently patted my face. “Nice try, darling, but I’m going with you. We’ll both give statements this morning. Besides, you don’t think I’d let you drop by Christine’s house by yourself, do you?”

  —

  After an uneventful ride in our rented Model T, I waited with Laura in the lobby of the LAPD Homicide Division office, avoiding the temptation to pace the room. Would I leave the building without getting arrested?

  Annabelle, wearing her blue police uniform, came down a hallway, her shoes clicking on the hard tile. I suspected in the next few hours she wouldn’t be my former drinking buddy. She’d be Detective Sergeant Annabelle Church.

  She slowed as she approached, eyeing Laura. Before I could introduce them, Laura flashed Annabelle her warm, practiced Broadway smile. “You must be Annabelle. Jake’s told me all about you.”

  Annabelle’s jaw dropped. “He has?”

  “He prattles on about his good ol’ Pinkerton days when you and Gus, Pat Lonigan, and others would go out drinking after work at your favorite speakeasy. Should I call you Detective, Sergeant…”

  “Annabelle will be fine.” The detective’s face relaxed. “I was just about to get on the horn and call your studio to set up an interview. You didn’t have to come here. Didn’t Jake tell you?”

  “He did, but we both want to make this easy on you so Eric Carville’s killer can be brought to justice as quickly as possible.”

  Annabelle appeared uneasy with Laura’s presence. She gestured toward the corridor. “This way then.”

  Laura walked beside her, and chatted like they were old buddies. “You don’t know how much I admire you, Detective Church.”

  “Me?” She stopped outside an unmarked door. “You’re a famous actress, you’re gorgeous, and you’ve dated movie stars.”

  Dated movie stars? Was Annabelle referring to William Powell? Were there others?

  Laura flashed a delighted smile. “You’re a woman who made a career in a man’s world, yet you’re attractive and refined. I wish I had the courage to pursue my dreams as successfully as you have.”

  I wasn’t sure where Laura’s act was going, but I felt it had something to do with our earlier discussion about Annabelle and Gus.

  Annabelle led us to a spacious room with two desks. To my dismay, Gus was at one of them, and was as pompous as I remembered. He sat cleaning his fingernails with a switchblade knife. He snapped forward in his chair and stood when Laura entered the room.

  She hugged him like they were old pals. “Detective Connolly, wh
at a wonderful surprise.”

  He gestured to a chair beside his desk and slipped the knife into the drawer.

  After Laura took a seat, Annabelle stood behind the other desk. “May I get you two anything?”

  We both shook our heads. I wanted to get this over with. I reached into my suit coat pocket and handed Annabelle the statement I’d prepared.

  She finished reading and handed the pages to Gus.

  Gus scanned the statement and turned the pages over on his desk. “It’s not going to be so simple, Jake.”

  I pulled a chair from the corner and sat. “You have my complete cooperation. Do you want Laura to wait in another room?”

  Annabelle sat and held up one hand. “This isn’t an interrogation. We’re just gathering information.”

  Of course they were. For the next hour, both detectives asked questions I had already addressed in the typed statement, but I understood how the game was played. They probed for inconsistencies. Meanwhile, Laura ignored me and mostly observed Gus and Annabelle. The questions finally ended. Annabelle asked Laura if she had anything to add.

  Laura described arriving with Eric Carville and how she’d spent most of her time getting to know the Carville brothers. She confirmed we left around eleven fifteen. She finished then politely added, “Perhaps I’m out of line, but I’m curious: If the cabdriver confirmed the time we left and the time he dropped us back at the hotel, and the hotel staff backs him up, Jake’s in the clear, right?”

  Annabelle glanced at her notes without replying.

  Gus cleared his throat. “Miss Wilson—”

  “Laura.”

  “Unfortunately, the cabdriver’s log was not up to date. The times he gave us were…vague. He’s no longer certain of the times. Without a written log, there’s no clear evidence showing when you and Jake left the Carville Estate and returned to the hotel.”

  “But the hotel staff…”

  Gus glanced at Annabelle. “The staff confirmed you both returned together, but none of them were able to agree on the exact time.”

  Here it was. Gus, as I expected he might, had succeeded in stretching the timeline. My neck was still on the line.

  Laura appeared calm and composed, not a hint of worry on her face. “Well, I’m sure you two will get to the bottom of this soon. Detective, would you mind showing me to the ladies’ room?”

  Gus glanced at Annabelle as if that might be her job. She didn’t respond, so he rose and straightened his tie. “Certainly.”

  He opened the door for Laura, and they disappeared into the corridor.

  Annabelle’s professional demeanor vanished. She brushed her bangs from her eyes. “Jake, you’ve got to help me. You’re the one person we can even remotely call a suspect.”

  “Eric had plenty of enemies.”

  “That’s the problem. Two dozen people at the party probably wanted him dead, but the only physical evidence is linked to you.”

  “There’s the second glass on the nightstand. Someone tried to fake a suicide note.”

  “That works against you.”

  I let out a groan of frustration. “If I killed Eric, why would I prove the note was a fake?”

  “That’s what I argued to Gus, but he thinks you did that to point us toward whichever dame slept with Eric that night.” Annabelle bit her lip. “I want to help, Jake. I really do.”

  “You discover anything about the murder being a mob hit?”

  She rolled her eyes as if the idea was a red herring. “Only what I read in the papers.” She rose from her chair, walked around her desk, and sat on the edge. She crossed her legs, showing plenty of shapely calf. “The brass thinks I’m stalling. They want an arrest. You uncover anything I can use?”

  I shook my head. Helping Gus and Laura hadn’t gotten me anywhere.

  The door opened and Laura and Gus came in.

  Annabelle returned to her chair.

  Laura winked at me so the two detectives couldn’t see. “You ready, darling?”

  Gus looked a little flustered. At least he was looking at me with a lack of hate-filled eyes from previous encounters.

  Annabelle walked us to the door. “Anything else comes to mind, please give me…us a call.”

  We stepped outside and Laura’s smile was brighter than the midday sun.

  “Okay, what have you done?”

  She feigned a look of innocence. “I merely agreed to give Gus dancing lessons if and when you’re exonerated.”

  My legs refused to move. “Would that constitute a bribe?”

  Laura shrugged. “You should know. I taught you.”

  I glanced toward the entrance of the police station, trying to picture Gus moving to music. “Why would you offer Gus dance lessons?”

  “Like I suspected, Gus and Annabelle have a thing going. There’s a policeman’s ball coming up, and Gus can’t dance.”

  “Are you serious?” We waited at a red light.

  When the light turned green, Laura held my hand and we crossed the street. “What, you didn’t notice?”

  “Notice what?” I stopped beside the Model T and opened the passenger door.

  “Gus and Annabelle.” Laura climbed in. “They have a thing going.”

  I didn’t believe that for a second. Laura was seeing what she wanted to see. Gus and Annabelle seemed as likely a couple as Primo Carnera and Jean Harlow.

  Chapter 14

  The Butler Did It

  We arrived a half hour later at Christine Brody’s surprisingly modest Beverly Hills home. I’d expected something with more glitz and glitter. The single-story sat on an acre of land surrounded by a wrought-iron gate.

  I stopped beside a speaker tucked into a stone pillar. I pressed the button, ignoring the tight-lipped look of humiliation on Laura’s face, no doubt over the heap we were driving.

  “Yes!” Christine sounded like she’d raced to answer my buzz.

  “It’s Jake Donovan and Laura Wilson. Do you have a few moments, Christine?”

  She didn’t reply, but a moment later, the gate swung open and I drove along a redbrick driveway. The turn-of-the-century white stucco one-story was smaller than the lavish grounds suggested.

  I shut off the sputtering engine and climbed out. At the passenger side, I yanked on the door. The hinges screamed like a monkey at the Bronx Zoo.

  Christine greeted us in fuzzy green slippers and a white terry-cloth robe. “I was taking a nap.”

  Laura squeezed Christine’s hand. “We’re so sorry to bother you on your day off.”

  With a quick glance toward our Model T, Christine flashed a disapproving sneer. “Why are you driving this old jalopy?”

  “It’s a rental.” I followed Laura inside and set my hat on a smoked-glass table.

  Christine led us to a high-ceilinged tiled room off a lavish kitchen with modern appliances. Ornate French furniture, designed more for viewing than as a place to set our butts, filled the room. Large windows on the south wall framed a crystal-clear, oval-shaped pool with a diving board at least ten feet above the glistening surface of the water.

  A massive oil painting of Christine standing in front of a fireplace hung above an uncomfortable-looking powder-blue couch. Laura and I perched on the couch while Christine cinched her robe and faced us on a flowered chair with wooden arms.

  A fluffy white Persian cat with black-tipped ears marched in from the kitchen. After a brief pause, he approached me and stared a moment before opening his mouth and letting out a get-out-of-my-house hiss.

  Christine snapped her fingers. “Napoleon, behave.” The cat strolled to the other side of the room. Christine glanced down the hall. She wasn’t alone and hadn’t been napping.

  I cleared my throat. “I’ll be brief.”

  “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Christine clasped her hands on her lap.

  I didn’t want to waste her time or ours. “I’m hoping you can answer a few questions about Eric’s murder.”

  She gripped the arms of the chair. “Y
ou don’t think I had anything to do with it.”

  “Of course not.” Laura gave a wave of one hand.

  The cat weaved between Christine’s legs and sat at her feet, never taking his yellow eyes off me.

  The last thing I wanted was to frighten Christine or scare her so she wouldn’t open up. “Not all of this has been in the papers. After Eric left the party and went upstairs, someone came to his room. They had drinks and, well…”

  “We all thought”—Christine’s face blanched—“he went to bed to sleep it off.”

  “He went up for a little hanky-panky.” Laura’s lip curled in disapproval.

  Christine covered her eyes as if trying to identify who the person might be.

  “That woman was the last person to see Eric alive besides the killer,” I said.

  Christine appeared shocked by the news of Eric’s rendezvous, but I couldn’t shake the sense she was hiding other feelings.

  “She might be the person who shot him.” Christine’s hands began to tremble. “I suppose you want me to guess who she was?”

  Over Christine’s shoulder, movement outside caught my eye. When Laura covered a grin with one hand, Christine glanced back, and all three of us gazed toward the grounds behind the house.

  William Powell, barefoot and dressed in red swim trunks, closed the French doors to what was undoubtedly a bedroom. Carrying a beach towel, he hid behind a palm tree then ducked behind a stone wall surrounding the pool.

  His head bounced above the wall as he sneaked away from the house. Apparently determined to hide his presence in Christine’s bedroom, he opened a gate in the fence and headed for the diving board as if he’d been there all along. He dropped the towel and climbed the steps. At the end of the board, the actor bounced and executed a perfect dive into the water, barely making a splash.

  Laura burst out laughing. “I’m so sorry. Jake, we’d better go.”

  I didn’t care how embarrassing the situation was. I wasn’t going anywhere without answers.

  “No, this is important.” Christine rose and crossed her arms. She glanced toward the pool, where Powell was swimming the backstroke. “Just don’t let Bill know.”

  She paced the room. “I have a history of picking men who…who aren’t particularly nice.” She stopped at the window while Powell gracefully swam laps on his back. “I mean who else would do what he just did to preserve my honor?”