by P. J. Conn
He arrived at the Bar of Music half an hour early. The front of the building had a rounded shape that struck him as more bloated than modern. He sat down at the bar, and ordered a beer. The bartender was a young man who didn't look at him twice, and Hal wished he'd asked Crystal to meet him at the Golden Bear.
There was a piano at the end of the bar, and a man dressed in a tux played a lazy rendition of Frank Sinatra's hit, "I'll Never Smile Again". Faye had loved Sinatra and a new burst of sorrow swept through him. A bowl of peanuts on the bar gave him something to do, and he cracked off the shells with a vicious crunch. When Crystal spoke to him, he nearly tossed the bowl into the air.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. Come, let's move to a booth."
Hal brushed the peanut shell dust from his suit jacket and followed her to a back booth. He wondered if the location held any significance. She was wearing only light make-up and a demure navy blue dress with a high neck and long sleeves rather than the tight sequined outfit he'd imagined. She was gorgeous by any standard. Her eyes were a warm golden brown, and her long lashes looked real rather than fake.
He checked his watch. "You're early."
"I am, but I wouldn't have penalized you had you not been here yet." The bartender sent over a gimlet without her having to ask, and she took a small sip of the pale green cocktail. "Now tell me your story from the beginning."
Hal sighed and tried to make sense of what made no sense at all. When he finished, the curious light remained bright in Crystal's eyes, and he hoped she'd remain sympathetic.
"You've really fallen down the rabbit hole, haven't you, Hal?"
"You could say that, but it's more of a snake pit." There was a bowl of peanuts on their table, and he reached for one to snap open. He offered her the newly shelled nuts.
"Aren't you sweet," she observed. She scooped the peanuts from his palm with a slow caress, and he jerked his hand away. "Sorry, I didn't mean to do that, habit I guess."
Hal clasped his hands in his lap. "No, I'm just jumpy."
"With good reason." She ate the peanuts and sipped her gimlet. She drew a finger across her sweet apricot tinted lips. "I've been invited to parties where men bring their mistresses rather than their wives. They're rather common here in Hollywood. That's how I've met the type of woman you believe Pearl might have been, but frankly, I don't recall anyone of that name."
Hal pulled out the folder he'd tucked into his jacket and showed her the drawing. "She was a pretty brunette who wore beautifully tailored suits and cute little cocktail hats."
Crystal's red curls were piled atop her head in the style heroines in Western movies favored. She poked a stray wisp into place. "My hair is my best feature, so I'm not fond of hats, even tiny ones. That's beside the point, isn't it?" She studied the drawing a long moment, and then shook her head. "I'm sorry, I don't recognize her. Los Angeles is overflowing with pretty girls who've come to California hoping to break into the movies. Most of them fail, and some stay to make a living with their looks."
"Was that your dream when you came here?" Hal asked.
She responded with an indulgent smile. "I was born here, and had a few film roles as a child, but I prefer real life to make-believe and never caught the acting bug. They make a great roast chicken here on Sundays. Are you hungry? I haven't eaten all day, and you look as though you could use a good meal."
"I don't recall eating either." He'd not even bought popcorn at the movies. "Chicken sounds awfully good."
A waiter brought them menus, but they ordered without opening them. Hal spoke after the waiter walked away and immediately regretted it. "You're not what I expected. I'm sorry, that didn't sound right, did it?"
She lowered her voice to a near whisper. "You imagined some brazen hussy in a low cut dress, hair dyed blacker than midnight, and an overwhelming dose of near nauseating perfume?"
Hal laughed in spite of his dark mood. "That's close, but you're much kinder than I'd thought you'd be."
"Thank you. You're such a nice guy, and I'm whatever you need me to be. I wish I could help you, but even if Pearl were involved with anyone I knew, I never met her. When affairs come to an end, and I'm being generous referring to them as such, most men buy a girl an expensive gift, offer her an envelope of big bills and say good-bye. They don't resort to murder when they want to move on, unless..."
Intrigued, Hal leaned forward. "Unless what?"
She frowned pensively. "Maybe she broke it off. That's another story. Some men can't bear to lose their pretty toy and turn violent."
Hal fought to suppress a cold shudder. For an awful moment, he thought Pearl might have given him a gentle push. "Can you give me names?"
"No, it wouldn't be wise for either of us, but the detective you mentioned must know who they are. They have reputations for being rough with women, and the smart girls avoid them."
"You impress me as being a very smart woman, Crystal."
"So why am I doing what I'm doing? Is that the next question? Let's just say I'm too restless to settle down, and I'm awfully fond of male company."
"I understand, but you've not met a man who wouldn't let you walk away?"
"No, and I don't intend to. Are you thinking I'd make a poor prospect for life insurance?"
He shook his head. He'd called the office on Friday to speak with Lorraine and she'd assured him his salesmen were getting along just fine and not to worry. She would probably have said the same thing even if the office were in total chaos. "If I can't find my wife, I may no longer be in insurance, so you needn't worry I'll urge you to buy a policy."
"I like you, Hal. You seem so damn normal, and I don't see many men like you."
Hal took normal to mean just plain dull, but Crystal continued to talk with him as though she wouldn't rather be somewhere else, and he was too grateful to ask why.
* * *
Detective Lynch came to Hal's home so early Monday morning he had to answer the door still wearing the blue pajamas Faye had made for him. "Do you have news of Faye?" he asked as he welcomed the detective inside. He hadn't slept well, yet again, but didn't care how weary or ridiculous he might appear in his baggy new pajamas.
Lynch swept him with a narrowed glance. "I need you to come to the station with me. I'll wait here while you dress."
"You didn't answer my question," Hal complained. "Have you found Faye?"
"No, but we've other matters to discuss. Hurry and dress, and call your attorney to meet us there."
There was a uniformed officer standing outside on the porch, and Hal's mood slid a couple of notches further into dread. He hoped he wouldn't need to call Lou King to go his bail. "I'll call her."
* * *
Gladys Swartz was already at the station when they arrived. She was dressed in a black suit and wore such a serious expression Hal feared she might have been on her way to a funeral when he'd called. She stepped forward to greet them and introduced herself to the detective.
"Let's get this farce over with quickly, shall we?" she asked.
Hal loved the way she had instantly gone on the attack, and bit his lip to hide his smile. They were shown into the same dreary interrogation room, and he hoped this second interview would be as brief as the first.
The muscles clenched along the detective's jaw as he grit his teeth rather than spit on the floor as he surely must have wished to. "This is no farce, Mrs. Swartz. Mr. Marten, you were seen going into the Bar of Music in Beverly Hills yesterday. Are you aware it caters to a mob clientele?"
Gladys rested her hand on Hal's knee and squeezed slightly. The table blocked Lynch's view of the gesture, and Hal understood he should admit as little as possible. "I'd no idea. Their roast chicken on Sundays is especially fine."
Lynch dropped into the chair opposite them, opened a manila folder and quickly closed it. "Who did you meet there?" he asked, his tone darkly accusing.
"A friend."
"We already know her name," the detective countered. "She's a favorite of know
n criminals. First you're involved in a brutal murder, and then your wife disappears. Now your visiting mob haunts and meeting with a woman no man would introduce to his wife. Your behavior has become increasingly suspicious, Mr. Marten."
"That's enough," Gladys quickly responded. "Mr. Marten was an innocent bystander to Miss LaFosse's death, and his main concern is his wife's whereabouts. That's all we'll discuss today. What news do you have of Faye Marten?"
"None, but she isn't the issue at present."
"I say she is," Gladys countered.
Hal knew she would decry Lynch's every stupid move, but he had to speak up too. "Faye's disappearance appears to be linked with Pearl's murder. I've been trying to learn more about Pearl to see who might have wanted her dead. That's why I was at the Bar of Music."
"You fancy yourself a detective?" Lynch snorted, clearly discounting the idea as absurd.
"Why not when he might actually get some results?" Gladys offered quietly. "We're ready to go." She'd placed her briefcase beside her chair and leaned over to pick it up.
"Wait a minute." Lynch demanded. "We're still searching for Pearl LaFosse's family. It was clear she didn't live in a mobile home at Starlight Park, but she must have lived elsewhere and someone has to know her." He flipped open the folder. "There's nothing left of her face, but she did have a distinctive birthmark on her right shoulder. I'll release that much to the press, and maybe a relative will come forward."
He turned the folder around so Hal and Gladys could see the photograph of the cat head birthmark. Hal recognized the familiar silhouette instantly and pulled the photo close. He couldn't catch his breath, and the room swirled around him at a dizzying speed. "I'm going to be sick," he mumbled.
Lynch jumped to his feet and yanked open the door. "The restroom is at the end of the hall. Hurry. I won't have you puking in here."
Hal rose on trembling legs and balanced his weight against the corridor wall as he made his way to the rest room. In danger of tripping over his own feet, he pushed open a stall door and vomited what was left of last night's chicken dinner. The toilet's flushing roar couldn't drown out the fierce scream in his head, and shaken to the marrow, he rested against the side of the stall so long Gladys came to find him.
She took his hand to pull him to the row of white porcelain sinks. "Rinse your mouth, splash some water on your face, and then tell me what you found so sickening."
Hal leaned over the sink and splashed water until he had to stop to breathe. "Faye has the same birthmark, so either Faye and Pearl were twins, or the dead woman is my wife."
"You can't be serious," Gladys replied, but his stricken expression couldn't be mistaken. She handed him several paper towels to dry his hands and face and took his arm to guide him to the interrogation room. "Mr. Marten isn't able to continue today."
Hal nearly fell into his chair. "No, wait. I want to see Pearl's body. My wife had a similar birthmark, but I can't believe she's the one who's dead."
"What?" Lynch cried. "This case gets crazier by the minute. I know there are men who ask their wife to dress up like a French maid, but were you and Faye playing some kind of crazy game where you pretended to be strangers meeting in a bar?"
Hal shook his head. "No. Just let me see the body." He listened as Gladys and Lynch argued the matter until he wanted to scream for them to stop. "Just let me see her," he urged between clenched teeth.
* * *
The Coroner's office was in the basement of the Hall of Justice. The air held an eerie chill, but Hal welcomed the cold and followed the attendant down the hallway to a viewing room. The body's head was wrapped in white gauze so he didn't have to look at that horror again, but he needed to see the birthmark up close to make certain the dead woman really was Faye.
He took her hand first. Pearl had always worn gloves, but he'd held Faye's hand so often he knew the slender fingers were hers. "Did she have a wedding ring?" he asked.
The attendance checked the file. "No, only a watch. We're saving it for the next of kin."
Faye had always worn a pale pink polish on her toenails, and he recognized her pretty feet. He forced himself to ask the attendant to lift her body so he could see the birthmark, but he already knew he was looking at his wife, his late wife.
Det ective Lynch and Gladys were in the hallway watching him through the glass. He turned and nodded. He'd been in the insurance business long enough to know what steps had to be taken, but he simply stood by Faye's body and fought not to make a pathetic spectacle of himself by breaking down and weeping.
Gladys entered the small room to take his arm. "We'll sign to claim the body and a mortuary will come for her. Let's go, Hal. There's nothing more to be done here."
Hal hesitated only long enough to squeeze Faye's cold hand, and he left feeling equally dead.
Chapter 13
Gladys Swartz drove Hal home. His hand was shaking so badly she had to take his keys to unlock the front door. "You needn't stay," he mumbled.
She watched him lurch through the door and followed him inside. "I'll leave when I'm certain you'll be all right."
He fell into his easy chair. "How do I look?"
"Despondent," she responded. "That's why I'm here. You've had an awful shock, and Lynch is sure to find a way to turn it against you. Can you swear to me you had absolutely no idea Pearl was your wife?"
Mr. Cuddles rose from his pillow to stretch and leaped down to the floor. He rubbed against Hal's legs and gave a plaintive, "Meow."
"Give me a minute, cat." Hal closed his eyes and let the memories of his few conversations with Pearl flood through him. "Pearl was so completely another woman, no one who ever met Faye would have guessed they were one and the same. Pearl's gestures, her language, and her voice held a low sexy edge. She didn't resemble Faye in any way."
He reached for the file folder on the coffee table. "I had an artist make a drawing of her yesterday. She was an elegant orchid of a woman, Faye was a charming girl."
Gladys sat down on the couch and leaned close to study the sketch. "I see what you mean." She pulled a notebook from her briefcase. "Tell me more about how they were different. It's important, or I wouldn't ask." She opened the notebook and drew a line down the center of the page to create two columns.
He left the open folder on the coffee table, leaned forward and clasped his hands between his knees. "Faye had a natural beauty. Rather than visit beauty salons, she'd bend over and fluff her curls with her fingers before we went out. She had such beautiful skin she didn't need make-up other than a blush pink lipstick. She was very sweet and kind. I never heard her say a negative word about anyone, or anything. Let me show you her clothes."
He led the way into the bedroom and opened the closet. "As you can see, she loved colorful fabrics. She often sewed a new dress in a week, and she was very proud of her work. I always found a way to compliment her, but it was often a real challenge."
She touched one of the dresses. "This purple and yellow number looks as though it could jump right off the hanger and make its own way to the garden."
"True." He remembered how Faye would model her fashions and couldn't believe someone so pretty and full of life was gone. He closed the closet door rather than stand there and wallow in his memories. They returned to the living room.
"Now tell me about Pearl," Gladys coaxed.
"I noticed her the first time I stopped by the Golden Bear Lounge."
"Tell me why."
"She was the only woman there that night. She was wearing a suit and little cocktail hat. That's how she was always dressed, in beautifully tailored suits and tiny hats with veils that shaded her eyes. She wore such bright red lipstick, it was difficult to focus on her other features. She always wore black leather gloves, so I never saw her hands."
"And when you came home, Faye was always here?"
He glanced out the front window and was surprised to find such a lovely day. "Yes, until the night Pearl was shot, or Faye rather. She had dinner nearly ready that
night. Pearl never stayed long at the Golden Bear, and she always left before I did. I usually came home half an hour or so later than usual on Thursday nights. She must have had our car that night, probably every night she was there, so she could have driven home and turned herself back into Faye before I walked through the door."
He caught Gladys's gaze and held it. "Why would she have done such a thing? She hired a detective to follow me simply because I'd wanted to shake up our routine. Maybe she didn't trust me and wondered how far I'd go with Pearl. But if she were Pearl, she'd already know. None of this makes any sense."
"No, it doesn't, and from what you've told me, Faye seems as though she would have been the trusting sort."
"I'd always thought so. She was positive there were ghosts because she'd read about them in books. We were going up to the Gold Rush country and see if we could find one. Now I don't know if I ever knew her." He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.
Gladys rose. "The cat's hungry, and so am I, aren't you? What do you have to eat?"
He opened one eye. "I've gotten used to fact Pearl is dead, but I've just discovered I've lost my wife."
"Yes, I know that's why I'm here, but you need to eat or you'll get sick and be in worse trouble than you already are."
"Impossible."
"Where's the cat's food?"
"Mr. Cuddles eats on the back porch. There's a can of his tuna open in the refrigerator, but don't give him too much."
"Come on, Cuddles." Gladys scooped him up, and he leaned into her arms rather than spring from her grasp. "Heavy little guy, isn't he?"
Hal was surprised the cat hadn't scratched her. "Be careful, he doesn't take to strangers. Better put him down."
"He's purring as loudly as a motorboat, so he likes me, or the prospect of tuna." She carried Mr. Cuddles into the kitchen, put him down and opened the refrigerator. "You've got bread and eggs. Why don't I make us some scrambled eggs and toast?"
