by P. J. Conn
"Do you really think that's all it could be? The other night, I woke up, and he wasn't in bed with me. He was standing in the living room looking out at the street. I didn't know what to say, so I went back to bed and left him alone."
Carmen reached out to touch Faye's knee. "That's probably very wise. I doubt he was thinking of another woman when you're such a pretty girl. In fact, you can dismiss that thought as absurd. Would you like more tea?"
Shocked, Faye sat back. "I've never even considered another woman." Horrified by the possibility, she began to cry with huge gulping sobs.
"Oh dear, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have said such a thoughtless thing. Please forgive me. Maybe what Hal needs is a hobby, like playing tennis or golf. Does he have an interest in sports?"
Faye wiped her eyes. Her lashes were long and dark, and she didn't wear mascara or it would have run clear to her chin that morning. "Sports? Well, don't most men like sports?"
"Yes, but maybe he needs to get out and play himself to run off the energy that's made him so restless. I don't mean to be indelicate, but what about s-e-x? Are things going well there?"
A bright red blush filled Faye's cheeks. "Very well, at least I think they are. If anything he's become more ardent. That isn't bad, is it?"
"No, of course not," Carmen assured her. "You mustn't expect Hal to be the same man every day. Sometimes he's bound to be preoccupied by problems at work, and other days, he'll be more carefree. You don't feel the same way every day, do you?"
Faye sniffed. "Pretty much, yes." She finished the last of her tea and stood. "Thank you, I need to stop crying right now so my eyes won't be puffy when Hal gets home tonight. It would upset him if he thought I'd sat home crying all day."
"Hal sounds like a wonderful husband, dear. Hang onto him."
"Oh, I intend to." Faye went out the back door, and stopped to look at their small backyard. A gardener came each week to mow the lawn front and back, but it could use some color. She'd ask Hal about it that night and see what he said.
* * *
Hal was amazed Faye had come up with the idea on her own, and he needed a gulp of water before he could reply. "You're right, the yard would be much prettier with a flower border. Let's go to the nursery on Saturday and see what they suggest. March shouldn't be too early to plant flowers in southern California."
"You like the idea?" she asked.
"Yes, of course, I do. Whenever you think of something you'd like to do, just tell me. You're here all day with only Mr. Cuddles for company, so you'll see what needs to be added long before I will."
Faye regarded him with a wide, loving smile. "You're a wonderful husband, Hal. You know that, don't you?"
"Thank you, you're a wonderful wife," he replied, but his heart sank even as he spoke the words.
* * *
That Thursday, Pearl was dressed in a gray suit with black trim and a matching veiled cocktail hat. She looked as beautiful as always, and Hal could no longer contain his curiosity. "You're always dressed in the latest fashions. Do you work for a ladies' magazine or with a designer, or perhaps you're one yourself?"
She sent a lazy glance toward the men seated at the bar before she smiled at him. "Thank you, but I simply wish to be presentable. There must be a great deal involved in designing clothes, or running a magazine. It must be exhausting."
"I'm sure it is," he replied, sorry his question hadn't prompted her to confide more. He didn't want to just stare at her, but her red lipstick made her mouth so alluring, it was difficult to look away. "Creative people love their work though, don't they? Do artists complain about the effort it took to complete a painting?"
She dipped her head and looked up at him through her veil. "Never, they have too much pride in the finished work they're eager to display. I'm reading Irving Stone's book about Vincent Van Gogh, Lust for Life. It's a rather tragic tale."
Greatly relieved she'd offered a topic he could pursue, he leaned in slightly. "Tell me about Van Gogh." He loved to hear her talk, her voice was soft, as though revealing secrets, and sometimes fell to a sexy breathy whisper. He forgot all about time, but all too soon, she glanced at her watch, and was ready to go. He rose, but she shook her head, silently forbidding him to follow. He carried his beer to the bar, and Lou, the bail bondsman, had again taken the stool he thought of as his.
Mitch dried a clean glass on a towel. "Looks like you and the lady are fast becoming friends. Why don't you leave with her?"
Hal shrugged. "We both have places to go."
"Does she have a husband?" Lou asked.
"She's never come in here with him if she does," Mitch offered. "She's always alone."
Lou nodded thoughtfully. "That doesn't mean she doesn't have a husband who works late." He turned to Hal. "Whatever you do, avoid becoming involved in a love triangle. Believe me, they're always more trouble than they're worth."
"And you'd know?" Hal asked with a skeptically raised brow.
Lou laughed. "I earn my living providing a service to people who've fallen into desperate situations. I'm warning you about a particularly nasty one to avoid. Consider it a favor."
"Thanks, I will." Hal swallowed the last of his beer and left in time to catch the next Red Car home. Pearl always wore gloves, so she could be hiding a wedding ring, but he thought it more likely that Mitch was right, and she'd lost a husband or lover in the war. No one in the bar knew he had a wife though, so if there were a love triangle brewing, he'd be the one creating it.
* * *
That evening Mr. Cuddles jumped into Hal's lap and eyed him coldly. He raised his hands rather than pet the ample-sized feline. "Faye, what does he want?"
"Probably just a snuggle. He's finally warming to you, Hal. Give him a few pats before you put him down."
Hal set his book aside and stroked the cat with a light tentative touch. His fur was silky smooth and not unpleasant, but Hal simply didn't like the yellow-eyed beast. He lifted him and was surprised by how much he weighed. Mr. Cuddles jumped out of his grasp, and landed on the carpet with a thud. The pampered pet walked away in a proud strut to his preferred perch by the window.
"How long have you had Mr. Cuddles?" he asked his wife.
"I got him as a kitten four years ago. He should live to be at least twenty, if we're lucky, maybe even longer."
Appalled the cursed cat would be around nearly forever, Hal left his chair, went into the kitchen for a drink of water and out into the backyard for some fresh air. He needed to measure the flowerbeds before they went to the nursery to be certain they bought enough flowers. It was too dark now, but he'd remember to do it first thing Saturday morning.
Faye followed him out into the yard. "Chrysanthemums would be good for the yard, wouldn't they?"
"Yes, they're pretty, but they might be better in the fall. The nursery should have spring flowers, pansies, snapdragons, something pretty even if they won't last through the summer." They had only a small slab of concrete by the back door rather than a nice patio, but it was enough to inspire him. "We could use a couple of outdoor chairs and a table so we could sit out here on warm evenings. Let's see what we find on Saturday after we've been to the nursery."
"Sure, I love to go shopping with you." She took his hand as they returned to the house, and squeezed his fingers before letting go.
* * *
Hal drew doodles on the edge of his calendar. Meetings he'd have to attend, or lead himself, were noted in block letters. The deadlines for monthly sales reports due in California West's headquarters in San Francisco were noted in red. The men he oversaw were achieving at a pace that would put the office above their monthly goal for March. He'd congratulate them, but he was also concerned they were doing so well headquarters would raise their quota. He tapped his pencil on his desk in a staccato rhythm. He couldn't tell his crew to slow down, but he didn't want them to burnout on the job either.
He got up to look out the window. The day was windy and clear, a good day for selling insurance, as every day was. He drew in a
deep breath and released it slowly. There was far more to life than work, however, and he'd warn his salesmen against neglecting their personal life. Volunteer work always looked good on a résumé when a man came up for a review or promotion, and he'd mention that too. He returned to his desk and took out a sheet of paper to make notes for a sales meeting that would have nothing whatsoever to do with sales.
* * *
Pearl was dressed in dark blue that night. As Hal joined her, he longed to spend more time with her than a few precious minutes once a week. Faye would believe him if he told her volunteering for a charity would enhance his résumé, and it would give him an excuse for coming home late on Thursday nights. But the thought of lying to his wife made him sick to his stomach.
"Why so serious?" Pearl asked.
Rather than waste a minute with the truth, Hal forced a smile. "Just a thought of something I should have included in notes for a sales meeting, I won't bore you with it. What are you reading this week?" He relaxed when she mentioned an author he knew and their conversation flowed as smoothly as he'd hoped, until she glanced at her watch. He wanted to ask her to stay, but when he was expected at home, he couldn't. "I wish we had more time."
"So do I," Pearl responded, and she brushed her hand over his shoulder in a soft caress before heading toward the door.
* * *
Faye invited Carmen to come over and enjoy their new patio furniture. The redwood chairs had bright floral padded cushions to make them comfortable, and the small round redwood table was the perfect size for a pitcher of lemonade and glasses.
"It's warm enough this morning to sit outside, isn't it?" Faye asked.
"Yes, let's enjoy the pleasant weather before it grows too hot. I love the pansies you've planted. I ought to buy some too."
"Thank you." Faye bit her lip, but couldn't contain herself for long. "Hal has bought a couple of new suits. He wears a suit everyday for work, but he's become more concerned about his appearance. Maybe it's all in my mind, but since you mentioned another woman..."
Carmen raised her hands. "Please, I never should have said such a silly thing. I spend too much time listening to the soaps on the radio, and they need constant turmoil among the characters to keep everyone listening and buying detergent. It doesn't mean that your Hal is two-timing you the way the soap opera characters always are. If a businessman needs a new suit or two, there's nothing even remotely sinister about it."
"You don't think?" Faye poured Carmen a glass of lemonade. She lacked the patience to squeeze lemons, and it came in a bottle at the market and was quite good. She poured herself a glass too.
"No, I don't. Does he come home late at night with lipstick on his collar and smelling of perfume?"
Faye laughed in spite of herself. "No, he's here every night for dinner, although sometimes he prepares for Friday meetings and is home a few minutes later on Thursdays."
Carmen took in the pretty yard. "A man needs more than a few minutes to pursue another woman."
"Maybe he meets her on the Red Car," Faye suggested.
"There's no romance going on with people riding the Red Car," Carmen assured her. "They're crowded and someone is always getting on or off."
"At his office then," Faye proposed.
"Has he described his secretary?" Carmen asked.
"Yes, Mrs. Adams is a grandmother who's been with the company for years. I don't think she'd appeal to him."
"Go look in the mirror, Faye. You're far too pretty to worry over other women."
"I know, but..."
Carmen turned in her chair to face her young friend more directly. "You need to put your mind at rest. There's a detective who has an office near the market. Do you have enough money set aside to hire him for a day or two? That would probably be all you'd need."
Faye nodded. "I've seen the sign on the window above the drug store, Discreet Investigations."
"Yes, that's the place. Now have you been listening to Our Gal Sunday? It's my favorite on the radio. I love the idea of an orphan from Colorado marrying a titled lord. Not that we see many wealthy Englishmen in this neighborhood."
"No, not a one," Faye agreed. "I like that show too." She drew in a deep breath to relax and enjoy their pretty yard, but while they continued to talk about the characters on popular radio serials, she couldn't recall even one who'd ever hired a private detective.
Chapter 5
Joe Ezell took the name of his firm, Discreet Investigations, seriously. He bought his suits right off the manikins in the windows of the Salvation Army thrift shop. He didn't particularly care about the fit if the clothes were close to his size. Some of his jackets were too large and some trousers a bit short, but they were good enough for undercover work. In cold weather, he added an overcoat that had seen more than a little wear. People remembered a man in an expensive suit, but his goal was to go unnoticed in a crowd. His work required a lot of walking, and his one extravagance was a pair of fine leather oxfords. They were a necessity as he saw it, and no one ever looked at a man's feet.
Despite possessing little in the way of natural talent, he'd once hoped to become a golf pro. WWII had ended his dream by keeping him away from the game for too long. He'd served in the Coast Guard on the Greenland patrol. In addition to protecting the cryolite mines that were needed for refining aluminum, they forecast the weather for Europe. With few outlets for entertainment, he'd begun reading mysteries. He thought Dashiell Hammett's Sam Spade detective stories were the best, but he liked Agatha Christie's Hercule Poirot too. At the end of the war, he'd found few jobs available for forecasting the weather, and had become a detective instead.
He'd found a private detective's manual written by a man who'd been with the Pinkerton Detective Agency. It provided the basics, and he'd studied and passed the test for a private investigator's license. With his new knowledge combined with what he'd learned from detective novels, he considered himself fully prepared for the job and had opened Discreet Investigations last fall. He'd thought a classy name would attract clients who could pay well, but so far, the clients who had trickled in had had modest budgets, which unfortunately forced him to do likewise. It did leave him time to play golf, however.
Most of his cases involved gathering photos of a straying spouse to provide grounds for a divorce. It usually involved spending hours doing surveillance from his car, lying in wait, he liked to call it, to get a photo of someone trespassing outside their marriage vows. A few cautious people had come to him before they got too deeply involved with someone new.
That's how he'd met his girlfriend, Mary Margaret McBride. She'd been his first client. She was a nurse at the VA hospital and had been engaged to a handsome sailor she'd met there. She didn't want to misjudge him, but she wasn't certain she could trust him either.
Joe had found her fiancé stepped out on her so often he'd taken a dozen photos of him leaving a variety of women's apartments. He became an accomplished photographer from that case alone. He hadn't believed women would actually greet a man at their door dressed in filmy negligees like they did in the movies, but some sure did.
Upon hearing his report, Mary Margaret had promptly jettisoned her unfaithful fiancé and fallen into Joe's arms that very week. She was a sweetheart and cooked the best pot roast he'd ever tasted. When she'd hinted that she'd welcome a marriage proposal, he'd convinced her to give herself plenty of time between engagements to be certain she knew exactly what she wanted in a man. He thought they might marry some day, but he was in no hurry to make it any time soon.
When Faye Marten peeked in his office door, neatly stenciled with Discreet Investigations in gold, he'd stood to welcome her. All he had was a desk and swivel chair he'd bought at a secondhand store, and oak chairs from the same place. He'd bought a new Underwood typewriter, because he needed the best for his reports. While also new, the four-drawer gray file cabinet standing in the corner contained a scant dozen files. He couldn't afford a secretary, but it looked like a detective's office to him, and so
far, the furnishings had been convincing enough for his clients as well.
"Come in and sit down," he greeted her. "I'm Joe Ezell, and I'd love to help you solve whatever problem you might have." He motioned her into one of the straight-back chairs facing his desk and took his own padded chair behind it.
Faye looked around the sparsely furnished office and shrugged slightly. "I'm not certain I even have a problem."
Joe used yellow legal pads to note a client's initial information and reached for one and his pen. "Let's begin with your name."
"Faye Marten, that's with an e, not an i. My husband's name is Hal, Harold really, but everyone calls him Hal. He's with California West Insurance."
The detective asked for her address and telephone number as well. "Now tell me, Mrs. Marten, what brings you here today."
She fidgeted in her chair and grasped her purse more tightly. "You may think this is very silly of me."
"I take all problems seriously, my dear. When did you notice, or become aware of what might be a problem?"
"Several weeks ago, I guess. I've no evidence at all, nothing to bring in or point to really, it's just an uneasy feeling that my husband has changed."
"In what way?" Joe asked.
Faye related the same concerns she'd shared with her neighbor, Carmen. "What I want I suppose, is simply reassurance that nothing is wrong, and that Hal is the same man he's always been."
"Of course. You shouldn't doubt your misgivings, however. Why don't I observe your husband, discreetly, of course, for a few days and see if anything is amiss." He requested all the information he'd need, learned about Hal's service during the war, and was pleased she'd thought to bring a photograph he could slip into his pocket. He explained his fees, and gave her a reassuring smile.
"Do you want to be paid now?" Faye asked.
"Fifty dollars should cover my initial expenses. Will it be a problem for you?"
"No, not at all. Hal is very generous, and I'm thrifty, so I've more than enough set aside for whatever I want to do."
"That's very wise of you," Joe remarked. She handed him cash, and he wrote her a receipt and walked her to the door. "Just continue your life in your usual manner, and let's meet again at this time next week."
