by P. J. Conn
"Let's leave firearms out of it."
Hal stood at the open door after Duffy had left wondering which of his neighbors were the nosy, fearful type. He knew a few just to wave to as he walked to the Red Car or back, but Carmen was the only one he'd ever spoken with. He'd not thought of inviting any of them to the memorial, and now he was glad he hadn't. He changed out of his suit into slacks with his dress shirt, made himself a sandwich for lunch, and was ready to go.
* * *
Hal drove down the street where he'd thought Faye had lived and noted a couple of big homes with signs of rooms for rent. That didn't mean others didn't rent rooms, but at the present had no vacancies. Determined to pry a clue out of the neighborhood if there was one to find, he'd work both sides of the block with Faye's photo to see what turned up.
The woman at the first house on the corner nearly swept him off the porch with her broom, but undeterred he went on next door. Some people were friendly and eager to chat even if they knew nothing helpful. He stayed only a minute longer than necessary to be polite and excused himself. He was already at the house at the end of the block before anyone provided anything helpful.
The gray-haired man wore a white dress shirt, loose fitting brown slacks held up by suspenders, and leather slippers. He studied Faye's photo and scratched his chin. "Mrs. Collins, right across the street there, had a girl living with her for a while. She looked something like this young woman, but I can't say for sure. Let me ask my wife."
Hal held onto the photo while the man called a pretty dark-haired woman in a housedress and apron with a touch of flour on her cheek. She wiped her hands on the apron before touching the photo. "First, tell me what this is about."
Joe had coached him. "There's an inheritance coming to her, but unfortunately, the family has lost her address. They knew she lived somewhere near here. Does she look familiar to you?"
The woman pursed her lips thoughtfully. "This looks like the girl who used to live across the street with Mrs. Collins. She hasn't been there for a while though. Now I think a young man rents the room, but I'm not sure. I'll warn you now, Mrs. Collins is hard of hearing so you'll probably have to shout, and I don't believe she sees too well either."
Elated to be on the right path, Hal broke into a wide grin. "Thank you both. I appreciate your help. I'd sure like to see the inheritance delivered soon." Looking at his late wife's photo, he nearly stepped in front of a diaper service van coming down the street, but caught himself in time to remain on the curb. He could easily imagine the reporters at the Times speculating he'd thrown himself in front of a truck rather than face prosecution. That it had been a diaper service van would make for a great punch line.
The Collins' house was a craftsman style one-story bungalow. Rose bushes that had had their spring pruning lined the walk and filled the flowerbeds bordering the house. He had the notebook and could write messages if Mrs. Collins didn't understand what he said, but if her eyesight was as poor as her hearing, they'd be stuck for a way to communicate.
A sandy-haired young man who looked to be of collage age answered the door. "May I help you?" he asked.
"Yes, I'd like to speak with Mrs. Collins. Is she home?"
"Just a minute, I'll call her." He left the screen door latched while he looked.
A tiny little woman dressed in a ruffled pink dress that could have come from Bullock's children's department unlatched the screen door and looked up at Hal. Her white hair was spun atop her head in a hairdo that rivaled the whipped cream on a sundae. Her lips were as pink as her dress and slippers.
"What is it you want, hon?" she asked.
Hal loved her already. He introduced himself and showed her the photo of Faye. "Do you know her?"
"Well, of course I know her, and you needn't shout. I'm not nearly as deaf as I pretend to be when I'd rather not listen to someone jabber on. Now why are you asking about Renee?"
Hal had known her as Faye Renee Bell, but maybe she'd tired of her middle name. "It's a matter of a large inheritance, and her family has lost her current address. I'm hoping you'll be able to help me find her."
She inched her rimless glasses up her nose with a brightly polished pink nail and studied him more closely. "I'm the only family she has worth a fig, so don't you go lying to me about an inheritance. What's Renee done now?"
"You caught me." There was a padded rattan sofa on the porch, and he gestured toward it. "Would you care to sit with me while we talk?"
"Not particularly, but I'll do it anyway." She turned to the young man who stood close behind her. "If I disappear from my own porch, you call the police right away, Carl."
"Yes, Mrs. Collins, I will." He smiled at Hal over her head, clearly not worried that she'd meet with foul play.
Hal waited for her to make herself comfortable before he took a place beside her. "Renee was my wife. I'm very sorry to bring you the sad news of her death."
The little woman didn't even blink. "Well, Mr. Marten, there has to be a lot more to your story. Tell me how you met Renee and how she came to such an untimely end, not that it was unexpected, of course."
The dear lady didn't appear to be in the least bit stricken by the sad news, and he didn't know quite how to take it. "I met her in the spring of 1946 when we were both taking classes with UCLA's extension department."
She raised her hand. "She was living here with me then, and she may have said she was taking college courses, but she never finished high school. You might say higher education wasn't something Renee admired."
Hal added another lie to his mental list. "You obviously know more about her than I did. How were you two related?"
She crossed her legs and rested her folded hands on her knee. She wore several rings with large faceted stones set in gold. "She was my niece, my youngest brother Albert's daughter. Or at least Albert liked to believe she was his daughter, but I was never too sure. Patsy Bell wasn't what I'd describe as a high-class woman, you understand, but she was a sister-in-law, and I tried to get along with her. Didn't get much in return, I'm sorry to say."
Hal opened the notebook and pulled his pen from his pocket. "What was your brother's last name?"
"The family name is Stewart. I was wed to Jeb Collins, may he rest in peace. My given name is Mildred, which is too dreadful to speak, let alone carry around, and I've always gone by Millie."
Hal made a quick note that Renee's parents were Albert Stewart and Patsy Bell. "Did Renee have brothers or sisters?"
Millie shook her head. "No, one child with Patsy Bell was all Albert deigned to have. They divorced when Renee was still a little bitty thing, maybe two. Albert saw her often, but she never went to live with him and his second wife. Louise was a different story, not nearly as pretty a woman as Patsy, but chairman of the church guild," she confided with a telling dip of the head.
"Ah, I see. So Renee grew up in her mother's home?"
"Such as it was. Patsy married a couple more times, maybe had three husbands after Albert. It could have been four. I couldn't keep track of them when they came to pick up Renee after she'd spent a few days with me. They were all good looking men with easy salesman's smiles, but none struck me as having much depth. Of course, if they'd had much in the way of character, they wouldn't have married Patsy."
Hal had to rein in his thoughts before they went a dozen wild directions. "It sounds as though you were a good influence for Renee. Why weren't you surprised to hear that she'd died so young?"
Millie fiddled with a gold earring. "If you were married to her, you must know she wasn't well-acquainted with the truth. From the time she said her first word, she preferred telling a fanciful fib. Something was just twisted in her brain, I guess, or Patsy set such a poor example Renee simply didn't learn any better. She could be the sweetest little girl one day, and a sullen brat the next.
"She saw a psychiatrist for a while when she was in high school. I think my brother may have paid for that. He's gone now, sweet man. All the Stewart men have weak hearts, but t
he women have all lived into their nineties. I'm hoping to celebrate my one-hundredth birthday before I'm called to heaven. I'm looking forward to seeing my darling Jeb again, but not anytime soon."
"Of course not. Where did Renee go to high school?" he asked.
"She went to Hollywood High. She definitely had a flare for drama, but that was the only class she did well in. She was working as a file clerk when she last lived with me. What did she tell you?"
"That she did temp work and never stayed long in any office."
"Well, that much is true. She'd do good work, and then lose interest and ask for days off. Or else she just wouldn't return to a job after getting her first paycheck. So you came along last year." She nodded thoughtfully. "She used to go up to UCLA to meet college boys. She was exactly like her mother. If there were only one man left alive on the planet, Patsy could have found him within a half an hour."
She reached out to touch Hal's knee. "I'm sorry not to have better memories of Renee, but there's no point in lying about her now. Would you like some tea? I can't get through the afternoon without my tea and a couple of cookies."
"I don't want to put you to any trouble."
"Well, as I see it, you're a nephew by marriage. Just call me Aunt Millie when you come by. A cup of tea is no trouble at all." She pushed off the sofa with a near leap and hurried inside her house.
Hal wanted to see more of the charming little lady, and was grateful she'd given him such an important part of Faye's, or Renee's past. He still had more to tell her, and to ask, and he could use a cup of tea with a whole lot of sugar while he thought of a way to explain the mysterious existence of Pearl LaFosse.
Chapter 16
Joe began at the beautifully appointed Biltmore Hotel on Grand Avenue. Entering through the high arched doorway, felt like stepping into a Renaissance palace. Nearly overwhelmed by the gold leaf and marble, he made his way to the bell captain's desk. A slim gray-haired gentleman in a finely tailored uniform, who looked as though he'd held his post for a good many years, acknowledged him with a curt nod.
Joe introduced himself as a detective working for the family and showed him the drawing of Pearl. "She's inherited a good deal of money, but she's lost touch with the family. Do you recognize her?"
The bell captain regarded the detective with an icy glare. Joe hadn't worn one of his ill-fitting suits to melt into the crowd, but the guests of the elegant hotel were all more expensively dressed. "What leads you to believe she may have stayed here, sir?"
"As you can see, she's an elegant woman, one who'd be at home here," Joe answered. "Have you seen her?"
The bell captain surveyed the lobby rather than study the sketch. "Our guests appreciate our discretion, sir. May I suggest you try elsewhere?"
Joe was prepared to tip well for leads, but clearly any bill he'd offer would simply insult the man. He thanked him and walked into the bar. The lighting was pleasantly dim, and the voices of tourists planning the rest of their day carried easily across the room. He walked up to the bar and waited for the stocky bartender to come to him. He imagined the burly fellow might lift beer kegs over his head for fun.
Joe held a ten dollar bill as he gave his detective speech and opened the folder with the drawing. "Do you recognize her?"
"Do you want a martini, sir?"
"Make it club soda." He waited until he'd been served a glass with a lime wedge garnish. "She may have come here from time to time."
The bartender leaned close and whispered, "I read the papers often enough to know she's dead. Unless you'd like to join her on a cloud playing the harp, you'll make a smart move and leave." He picked up the ten dollar bill and walked away.
Joe sipped his club soda slowly. Overcome with an itchy bad feeling, he realized the bartender had recognized Pearl from the drawing. Only her name had been given in the papers, and Joe hadn't said it. That meant Pearl had been there and clearly had associated with men who closely guarded their privacy. Everyone they came across would have been paid handsomely, or threatened, to guaranty their silence. He finished the last drop of his club soda and headed for his favorite golf course.
* * *
Hal walked into the Bar of Music at a quarter to five and waited for Crystal at the bar. The piano player was into bluesy jazz tunes, and kept up a running conversation with a little brunette seated on the nearby stool. Hal kept turning over the conversation he'd had with his new Aunt Millie, and thought of a dozen questions he should have asked. He looked forward to going back.
When Crystal entered, he escorted her to the last booth. She again wore a high necked and long sleeved dress, this time in a lush ruby shade. She'd gathered her hair into a clip at her nape and soft curls brushed her shoulders. She smiled as though she were glad to see him, but he supposed she greeted all men in the same way.
"I can't promise anything," she said after the first sip of her gimlet. "Maybe with the drawing, I'll have more success than I did simply using Pearl's name."
He handed her the folder, and she opened it to study the sketch. "There's something about her that draws you in, isn't there? Maybe it's her eyes."
He'd been drawn to all of Pearl's assets, and nodded thoughtfully. "You'd remember her if you'd ever met. I've found an aunt who remarked on her talent for drama, but if she'd ever wanted to be on the stage or in movies, she didn't mention it to me."
Crystal reached across the table to touch his hand. "That gives me a new direction to look. There are wealthy men who love to invest in films to meet pretty actresses. One of them might have known her."
"That's a good idea. Thank you. Do you want something more than a drink?"
"I'd love to stay and have dinner with you again, Hal, but I'm busy tonight. Maybe when I see you the next time."
"Fine. I do want to have the drawing returned."
She made an elaborate crisscross of her heart. "I promise." She finished her gimlet, and he walked her to a De Soto coupe parked out front. She waved before driving away, and he hoped she really would get back to him with a tangible lead.
He checked his watch, and wondered if Gladys would still be at her office. He went back into the bar to use the pay telephone in the hall by the men's room. When she answered, he asked her to dinner. "We could go to the Italian place near your office."
Her voice was cool, "Do you have something to report, or are you asking me on a date?"
The way she'd asked the question gave him his answer. "This is strictly business, Mrs. Swartz, and I've got plenty to report. Besides, I'm too recent a widower to consider dating anyway."
"Meet you in half an hour."
* * *
Hal had already been seated at the table they'd shared on their first visit when Gladys walked in. She was dressed in a pale lavender suit that looked too sweet for the courtroom, but it was gorgeous with her fair coloring. He would have complimented her, but thought it would be better to avoid anything so personal. Once they'd ordered, he told her he'd met Faye, or Renee's aunt.
Gladys ate a couple of breadsticks while she listened attentively to all he'd learned. "She didn't tell her aunt she was marrying you?"
"No, but she had a good reason when Aunt Millie would have known little of what Faye, or Renee, told me about herself rang true. Millie Collins didn't recall the name of the psychiatrist Faye saw, but I would love to read his records."
They'd switched their orders this time, with Hal enjoying the spaghetti and Gladys the ravioli. "Definitely pillows of perfection," she nearly purred. She waited until they'd eaten several bites before offering advice.
"Type up everything you've learned today because the more we know about your late wife, the easier it will be to build your defense. Let's keep calling her Faye because that's the name you knew her by. She may have been drawn to you because you're such a responsible man. It would have been a comfort to her when her childhood may have bordered chaos."
"But she thought I'd changed and hired a detective to follow me. That's where I hit the brick w
all. Maybe she gloried in fooling me as Pearl LaFosse, but feared I'd want to meet other women."
"Maybe. We don't need special insight into her motives to prove you had nothing to do with her death, but every scrap of information helps."
"So we can overwhelm Detective Lynch, if nothing else?"
"I prefer the word eviscerate," she responded with a decidedly predatory grin.
"Good word, although one I seldom have occasion to use in insurance." They'd ordered a bottle of Chianti, and he refilled their glasses. "I have the detective Faye hired doing what he can to track Pearl. Her aunt had never heard the name. The dear lady gave up reading the papers during the war when the news was too distressing and knew nothing about the murder."
"Do you think she'd make a good witness if we had to call her?"
"Yes, she's sharp and doesn't shade her opinions. She said Faye's mother moved to Texas before the war, and she hasn't heard from her since. Faye said her parents were dead. We know Albert died, and maybe Patsy is gone too."
"Forget Patsy. Let me know if the detective learns anything new about Pearl."
"I will." He was reluctant to tell her he'd seen Crystal again, but thought he ought to before Detective Lynch called him down to the station over it. Gladys's eyes widened slightly when he mentioned Crystal's name, but she didn't stop him. "I'm relieved to have found something we can hold onto about Faye, but Pearl is still where we have to go. Or at least, I think so," he said.
"Crystal sounds like she's sincere. If she turns up anything useful, let me know immediately. Under no circumstances are you to attend any parties with her. Do you understand me? If she invites you, tell her you've come down with pneumonia, and can't leave the house. You've got to avoid becoming involved with the wrong crowd, and she's definitely well-acquainted with them."
"I understand." She was sympathetic, and provided excellent advice as an attorney, but even heartsick as he was, he wished they could have more. There were a whole lot of things he'd have to accomplish first though. "My landlord wants me out of the duplex by August first. I need to decide where I'm going to work before I move, if I'm not in jail."
