Murder Me Twice

by P. J. Conn

  "Thank you, Mr. Ezell. Good-bye."

  Joe closed his door behind her and leaned back against it. From what she'd said, her husband was either in his office, or on his way to and from there. They were together on the weekends, so there weren't any of the huge gaps in time that his other clients had reported. If Hal Marten were straying on Faye, he had to be damn quick about it. He laughed to himself, because it didn't matter whether he caught the man in the act or not, he'd already been paid.

  * * *

  Faye passed the building custodian on her way out. He was a burly black man with a near blinding smile. "Have a nice afternoon, miss," he said.

  "Thank you," she replied and went on her way, still uncertain whether or not she'd done the right thing in coming to Discreet Investigations.

  * * *

  That night, Joe ate at Mary Margaret's apartment. She'd prepared the pork chops with corn bread dressing he loved. "With cooking this good, I swear you should open a restaurant. You're sure to make a fortune."

  Mary Margaret was petite, five feet two inches tall with fiery-red hair and freckles, which everyone said made her look as cute as a bug. "And where would I find the resources for such an enterprise? I could hardly save it from my nurse's salary."

  She was always so practical, a trait Joe feared he frequently lacked. "If you invited the president of a bank to dinner, he'd be sure to give you a loan."

  "Which I'd have to pay back, and what if other people didn't love my cooking as much as you do? Then I'd have to close the restaurant, but the bank would still expect me to repay the loan. Where would I be then? No, it's far too risky a venture for me."

  "I understand," he agreed thoughtfully. He'd found the phrase worked wonders whether he actually understood her reasoning or not. "Let me ask you something. If all a woman has is a feeling her husband is cheating on her, should she trust it, or shrug it off?"

  "Trust it," Mary Margaret insisted. "I take it you're referring to a case, the details of which I don't expect you to divulge, by the way."

  "Thank you. People usually come to me with strong suspicions, just as you did. A suspicion is more substantial than a mere feeling, isn't it?"

  "Could be. Women tend to trust their intuition for a good reason."

  "I suppose that's true," Joe admitted. "It's just difficult to know where to look if all the client has are feelings, and no clues, or facts, I can actually investigate."

  "I'm sure you'll do your best."

  "I'll give it my best shot. May I please have a little more stuffing?"

  She kissed him and served him a delicious second helping. "Anything else I can do for you?"

  Joe regarded her with an appreciative smile. "Let's wait until after dinner, but maybe we could save the dessert for later."

  "Don't make it too late," she teased. "I have to be at work early in the morning."

  He nodded. "So do I, but sometimes missing a little sleep is worth it."

  She leaned in close. "Prove it."

  He did.

  * * *

  Joe took to every investigation with a keen zest for his newfound profession. Early the next morning, he parked his car near the Marten's duplex and followed Hal, discreetly of course, to the Red Car station. The man walked briskly, with real purpose, and Joe had to hurry to keep up. He boarded the train after Hal, took a seat several rows behind him and pretended to look out the window while he watched him. Hal opened the first section of the Los Angeles Times he'd carried from home, and folded the newspaper neatly to allow him to read without disturbing the man seated beside him.

  Joe carried a small notebook and jotted down his first impressions of Hal Marten. Hal was better looking than he had appeared in the small photograph Faye had given him. His gray suit fit his trim build handsomely, his shirt was snowy white, and his tie a maroon and gray stripe. Joe had only gotten a quick look at the man's shoes, but they held the same gleaming polish as a military officer's.

  Once they reached the train station downtown, Joe wove his way through the crowded sidewalk to keep Hal in sight. When he reached his office building, he entered, and went to the bank of elevators. Joe walked on by to the coffee shop on the corner. He went in, sat down at the counter and had a cup of coffee and a hot cinnamon roll that was fresh from the oven and absolutely luscious. He wiped his fingers on his napkin and added a few more thoughts to his notes. So far, Hal had impressed him as being thoroughly professional.

  He waited until ten o'clock to enter Hal's building and rode the elevator to the fifth floor. From the glass double doors at the entrance of the California West office, he could see men seated at multiple desks, many talking on the telephone. Faye had said Hal had his own private office, so Joe didn't see him, and he didn't want to call attention to himself by walking in to request information on life insurance. Instead, he went out for a walk and came back at noon to follow Hal as he walked alone down the street to a café that looked expensive. From what Joe could see, the place did a lively luncheon business. He waited ten minutes to be certain Hal would have been seated, and then went in to look at the menu. He saw Hal seated at a table alone, eating a sandwich, and turned around and walked out before Hal could catch sight of him.

  He always had a book in his pocket and went down to MacArthur Park to read until time to follow Hal home. There was less vigor in Hal's step on the return to the Red Car station, which made him easier to follow. When they reached their station, Joe waited for Hal to head for home before he went in the same direction to get his car. He'd type up a detailed report for Faye Marten, but so far, he'd seen nothing to cause her any worry whatsoever.

  He'd wait until Thursday afternoon to watch Hal a second time and maybe whatever caused him to arrive home a few minutes late would prove to be incriminating.

  * * *

  On Thursday, Hal watched the clock all afternoon and swore it often stood still. He couldn't be seen bolting out of the office ahead of his salesmen, so he had to remain at his desk several minutes after closing time, until they had all left for home. His secretary was always half out the door at six, and he wished her a good evening when she said good-bye.

  Once he'd left the California West office, he had to wait so long for an elevator, he considered racing down the stairs, but finally the doors opened on one, and he rode down to the first floor. He hurried and caught the Red Car he'd hoped to catch, and arrived at the Golden Bear Lounge several minutes earlier than his usual time.

  Pearl had worn her red suit, and looked as delicious as a cherry pie. "You look beautiful as always," he said in greeting.

  "Thank you. I brought the Irving Stone book on Van Gogh, and thought you might want to read it."

  She handed him her copy of Lust for Life, and Hal grinned as he accepted it. He was inordinately pleased that she'd brought him the book, and he'd tell Faye a salesman had loaned it to him. "Thank you. I'm sure I'll enjoy it." They conversed so easily now, and he relaxed and sat back in the booth. Mitch brought him a beer, and he thanked him.

  "Do you like mysteries?" she asked, her voice a seductive query.

  "I do. I listen to several on the radio, but haven't read one in a while," he told her.

  "I picked up an Agatha Christie book, Body in the Library, because it has such an intriguing title. Rather than a gruff detective, there's a sweet little old lady, Miss Jane Marple, investigating the crime."

  "How did the body come to be in the library?" he asked.

  She responded with a mere hint of a giggle. "That's the whole story, and I've read only a few pages. One morning, an English couple awaken to find a stranger, a beautiful girl in an evening gown, dead in their library. The wife asks her friend Miss Marple to come and solve the crime."

  "And, of course, she will," he said.

  "Of course, no one would buy a writer's mysteries if he or she, failed to solve the crime. That's the essential element in mysteries, isn't it?"

  "I suppose so." It was so easy to discuss their expectations for a novel, but all to
o soon, Pearl excused herself and left. He turned to watch her pat the carved bear's paw on her way out, but waited in the booth rather than join the men seated at the bar. He wished he knew where she was going in such a hurry, but if he asked her such a pointed question, he'd probably not see her again. He wouldn't risk it, and hoped someday she'd take him into her confidence and tell him on her own.

  * * *

  Joe had followed Hal into the Golden Bear and taken a stool at the bar. The bartender was friendly, and the easy conversation among the clientele made him feel welcome. He sipped a beer and kept his eye on Hal in the long mirror behind the bar. Hal had met a rare beauty, but they had only a brief conversation before she left. Joe laid his money on the bar intending to follow her, but he strolled out a few minutes later so it wouldn't be obvious. He looked both ways up and down the sidewalk, but she'd vanished. He hurried to the corner, but didn't find her walking down the side street either. She must have had a car parked close by, or someone had picked her up.

  Disappointed he'd lost her, he went on to the train station to wait for Hal, who appeared within a few minutes. Joe rode home with him and hung back as Hal left the train at his stop. Hal went straight home, and Joe got into his car, and pulled out his notebook to make a few notes. He'd found the reason why Hal got home late on Thursdays, and he'd seen the woman pass him a book. Their conversation looked more casual to him than intimate. Perhaps she'd hidden a message in the book setting up a more romantic date. She could have written a love letter revealing feelings she'd concealed in the bar. Or maybe they were planning some criminal caper, but that was highly unlikely.

  His first thought when he'd seen her was that she was a high-priced call girl. If so, Hal must expect far more than a brief chat. He prided himself on his surveillance work and was chagrined that she'd eluded him before he could follow her home. He could come back next Thursday and leave before she did to enable him to keep a better eye on her, but before he did any more work on the case, he needed to discuss his observations with Faye Marten. He dreaded the consultation, however.

  * * *

  Faye arrived early for her appointment at Discreet Investigations and waited on the bench in the hallway outside the office to collect herself first. She wanted the truth, but feared it would be too awful to hear. Rather than be late, she pushed herself to open the detective's door.

  "Good afternoon, Mrs. Marten, please, come in." Joe stood to greet her with his most charming smile, and immediately felt guilty for not projecting a more serious demeanor.

  He'd bought an electric coffee pot and offered her a cup, but she shook her head. "No, thank you. I'd rather just get this over with. What did you discover about my husband?"

  She sat with her shoulders hunched, her hands clasped in her lap, clearly fearing the worst. To put her at ease, he began with the first page of his neatly typed report. "I followed your husband last Tuesday, and he went straight to his office, left to go to a café for lunch, which he ate alone, and he returned to work until closing time. I rode the Red Car with him both ways, and he had no interest in any of the other passengers."

  "That's what I'd hoped," she offered, "but what about on Thursday? Did you follow him then?"

  Joe had to swallow hard and take a drink of coffee that had already grown cold. He'd have to carry his mug down to the restroom at the end of the hall to empty and rinse it, which would be a thoughtless interruption. Maybe he ought to get a plant so he could water it with cold coffee, if it wouldn't kill it. Alarmed by how far his thoughts had strayed, he quickly refocused his attention.

  "Thursday after work, your husband rode the Red Car, but got off at one stop before his usual station. He went across the street to the Golden Bear Lounge."

  "He stopped at a bar?" Astonished, her eyelashes nearly swept her brows.

  "Yes, it's a nice place, not a dive." He paused and resumed his effort to be thoroughly professional with the remainder of his report. "He sat in a booth that was already occupied by a young women wearing a stylish red suit and veiled cocktail hat. Frankly, she looked as though she were on her way to some elegant party. She had dark hair worn in an upswept style. Does she sound like anyone you know?"

  Huge tears filled Faye's eyes, and she pulled a handkerchief from her purse to dry them. "No, I don't know anyone like that. Could you overhear what they were saying?"

  "No, but I did see her pass him a book. He left the Red Car at his usual station carrying it. Did he bring it home?"

  She nodded. "He said someone in his office had loaned it to him, but from your description, she isn't one of his agents."

  "No, I think not. I had hoped to follow her, but wasn't able to. Would you like me to observe your husband again next Thursday? I'll wait outside the Golden Bear, follow the woman if he sees her again and learn where she goes."

  She shook her head. "No, I don't want to hear anything more. If he's meeting another women and keeping it from me, then our marriage is already as good as over."

  Most clients were already so angry when they came to him seeking evidence to justify their rage, he seldom saw tears, but Faye Marten presented an entirely different type of encounter. "My dear, if you love your husband, please be patient. This could prove to be merely a brief flirtation, not a full-blown affair. If you confront your husband, you might push him into this other woman's arms. Frankly, she looked as though she had expensive tastes. Your husband has a good job, but does he earn enough money to entertain women on the side?"

  "No, certainly not. We often discuss our budget, and he puts money into a savings account each month. He doesn't hide the bankbook, so I can check the balance whenever I wish. He's a serious person who doesn't waste money playing cards or betting on horses."

  "He also impressed me as being a serious individual," Joe offered. "Perhaps this woman is someone he knew before the war. She might have merely wanted his advice on a problem she's facing."

  Her eyes narrowed as she grew skeptical. "If that were true, he wouldn't have lied about where he got the book."

  It was an acute observation he wished she hadn't reached. "I suppose not. Have I answered all your questions?" he asked.

  "Yes, but now I'm sorry I ever came to you. Thank you, anyway, Mr. Ezell." She rose unsteadily to her feet, and he walked her to the door.

  "Would you like to take a copy of my report?"

  "No, I'd just brood over it. Good-bye."

  "Should you ever need me again...."

  "I won't. In the future, I'll know better than to pry into my husband's life."

  Joe closed the door behind her, and returned to his desk to make a few notes on how their conversation had gone so he could do better the next time such an uncomfortable situation arose. He was tempted to go back to the Golden Bear on his own and follow the classy woman just to satisfy his own curiosity. It would probably be a waste of time, and he hoped he'd be working on another job by next Thursday.

  There was enough time that afternoon to go out to the driving range and hit a bucket of balls. He did some of his best thinking while working to improve his swing, even if his overall game remained deeply disappointing.

  * * *

  Unwilling to go home just yet, Faye returned to the bench outside Discreet Investigations. She bit her lip rather than cry, but if Hal had lied to her about why he was late on Thursdays, or about a book, then she doubted she could trust his word about anything. That her husband wasn't the trustworthy man she'd thought he was broke her heart and home was the very last place she wished to go.

  The custodian finished cleaning the restroom and came down the hall pushing his mop and bucket. Faye looked so forlorn, he stopped beside her and whispered, "Are you all right, miss? I could bring you a drink of water."

  "No, thank you. It wouldn't help."

  "You been talking to Mr. Ezell?" he asked.

  She nodded. "Now I wish I hadn't."

  He parked his mop and bucket against the opposite wall. "I'm Cleotis Cotton, and everyone calls me CC. Maybe it's be
cause I've got such big ears, but I'm real good at listening if you'd care to tell me why you're so sad."

  She looked up at him and didn't think his ears looked all that large. He had such a kind expression, and engaging smile, and she was in desperate need of sympathy. Gulping back her tears, she explained why she'd come to Discreet Investigations, and what Joe had reported. She'd hoped her concerns about her husband would prove to be unfounded. Now that her worst fears had been realized, however, she was desperate to get rid of the woman in red.

  She dried her eyes on a tissue. "I don't suppose you know a hit man?" she asked.

  CC took a step back. "That's a mighty strange question for such a sweet little lady to ask. These things have a way of working themselves out without any need for violence."

  "So I should just go on home and pretend I don't know Hal's meeting a beautiful woman at the Golden Bear Lounge?"

  "I know that place," he answered.

  "Do you think I should go there next Thursday afternoon and catch them together?"

  "Oh no, you ought not to stir up more trouble than you've already got, young lady. Just go on home and fix your man a fine dinner and make him forget he ever knew another woman."

  Faye rose slowly. "I doubt pretending nothing's wrong will work, but I suppose I could try it for a little while."

  "That's right. Just go on home and have yourself some ice cream, and you'll feel better right away."

  "I'll have to buy some ice cream on the way. Thank you, CC. Talking to you really was helpful."

  He gave a slight bow. "My pleasure. You have yourself a nice afternoon now."

  She hadn't thought she could, but maybe eating ice cream and pretending everything was as it should be was all she could do for the time being. Her head ached so badly she didn't see how she could do anything more for now, but she wasn't sharing Hal with another woman, not now, not ever.

  * * *

  Cleotis entered Joe's office to empty the trash. "How are you this afternoon, sir?" he asked.