by P. J. Conn
"Put the thought of jail out of your mind," she ordered sharply.
"All right. Maybe I could move in with my new Aunt Millie." He laughed and she laughed with him, but it wasn't an altogether bad idea.
* * *
When Hal came home and switched on the light, the first thing he saw was the bright red ribbon bow tied around Mr. Cuddles' neck. The cat leaped from his pillow to plead for dinner with his usual pitifully demanding meows, but Hal just stared at him. He bent down to see if there were a message tied to the bow, but found none. He untied the bow and drew the satin ribbon through his fingers. He'd locked the front and back doors before leaving that afternoon, but clearly someone had been in the house and wanted him to know it.
He fed Mr. Cuddles, checked to make certain all the windows were locked as well as the back door, and then went next door. "Hi, Carmen. Someone tied a bow on the cat. Did you see anyone who might have been in my apartment this afternoon?"
She frowned and studied the ribbon in his hands. "You know I have a key to your place, but I had no reason to go in today, and I didn't see anyone either. Do you suppose it's a threat?"
"I do. I'll call a locksmith in the morning and have deadbolts put on both the front and back doors. Someone got in today, but I won't make it easy for them the next time they try."
"Is anything missing?"
"I didn't notice anything out of place, but I'll look again. Good night." Hal went home and searched for any sign of an intruder. The police could have come in with a warrant he supposed, but Carmen would have seen them, and they wouldn't have tied a bow on the cat. He called Gladys at home.
"I'm coming to get him," she offered immediately. "Someone wants you to know they could have easily killed Mr. Cuddles, and they might do so if they visit again."
He silenced a near snort. "I hate to call Detective Lynch to report a bow on the cat."
"That isn't really the issue. Someone broke in. You need to report it."
"I will." He fetched the cat carrier from the garage and left it on the back porch. He made another slow tour of the house, and this time noticed the restaurant photo of Faye and him was missing. He checked to make certain it hadn't fallen behind the dresser, or sailed under the bed, but it was gone.
* * *
Gladys had changed into gray slacks and a white sweater and looked relaxed and even prettier than she had in her lavender suit. Hal turned down the heat of an all too admiring glance. "I just made coffee. Would you like a cup?"
"I'd love one." Mr. Cuddles had returned to his pillow, and she scratched behind his ears. His satisfied purr amused her. "I wish people were as easy to please. He loves his pillow. May I take it with me?"
"Sure, along with the cat box and bag of litter. I've several cans of cat food. Faye only bought one kind, maybe that's all he likes."
Gladys sat down on the sofa, and set her cup on the coffee table. "This is just a temporary arrangement, isn't it? Won't you want Cuddles back when you move?"
"Not if he's still in danger," he answered. He sat in his favorite chair and held his warm cup. "I left a photograph of Faye and me on the dresser, and it's gone. Whoever broke in might have taken it as proof he'd been here."
"It's possible he simply wanted a photo of her. Did you call the police?"
"It can wait until morning. Detective Lynch wouldn't be there this late in the day."
"Probably not, but he wouldn't handle break-ins." She leaned back, kicked off her shoes and folded her feet underneath herself. "I'd take it as a warning. Someone wants you to stop asking questions. Clearly you're poking a hornets' nest. If we didn't need to solve Faye's murder ourselves, by default, I'd insist you stop."
"I must be getting close," he mused aloud.
"It appears so. Did the police ever find Faye's purse?"
"No, she must have left it in the car when she went into the Golden Bear, and the kids who stole it would have taken anything of value and tossed the empty bag. She wasn't wearing her wedding ring when she was shot. I'd given her a gold bracelet she liked to wear, and it isn't here. Her jewelry might have gone to pawn shops, but neither piece was distinct enough to be recognized as hers now."
"It's a shame you don't have her ring." She sipped her coffee and looked up at him with a soft blue gaze. "Be prepared for Lynch to laugh at you. He might even say you made it up, but clearly you're getting more leads on your wife's murder than his whole department has."
"So what's the point of reporting it?" he asked.
"You want it on the record. He's annoyed you're pursuing the case, but we won't allow Faye's murder to remain unsolved. Whoever came in and tied the bow could have hidden and choked you to death with the ribbon. So you've got an additional worry now."
"I've already thought of that. I'm having dead bolts put on the doors tomorrow, so it will be more difficult to break in. As for Mr. Cuddles, I couldn't find Faye's record of his vet visits. If you want to take him to one, I'll pay for it."
"He looks plenty healthy, so I'll wait on that. Did Aunt Millie know about Cuddles?"
"Yes, she did. Faye brought him along the last time she stayed with her. Millie said the cat slept so much of the time, she often feared he'd fallen into a coma, but he never missed a meal."
She placed her empty cup on the coffee table. "So he hasn't changed much, has he? This is a beautiful philodendron. Did Faye love plants?"
"No, Faye thought houseplants were too much trouble to water and dust. It belonged to Pearl. I'll get the cat carrier so you can be on your way."
"Thank you. I have an early morning court date." She stood to put on her shoes and pet Mr. Cuddles. The cat didn't see the carrier coming until Hal had eased him right on in.
"I'll carry him out to your car, and then bring the other things," he offered.
"I'll carry the rest, so you needn't make two trips." Mr. Cuddles had already begun to complain with long, loud mewing, and she looked into the wire mesh door and apologized. "Relax, big boy, I promise you'll get all the pampering you need at my place."
Hal handed her the bag with the cat box, litter, and cans of tuna. Even if it hadn't been a social visit, he wished he'd thought to play some soft music on the radio. He waved as she drove away, and looked up and down the street searching for someone who might have been watching the duplex, but there were only the familiar cars belonging to his neighbors parked nearby.
Once inside he locked the front door securely and hoped whomever had come in wasn't planning on returning tonight. He picked up the Agatha Christie book to read a while, but his concentration was shot. He could set booby traps to confound anyone who broke in that night, and provide himself with a loud warning, but that was the sort of thing the Marx brothers would do, or the Three Stooges, and he let it go and slept on the sofa.
* * *
Detective Lynch came to Hal's home soon after his call. "There was no sign of a break-in, other than a missing photo and a bow on the cat?" He glanced toward the front window. "Where is the cat?"
"He's staying with my attorney."
"Maybe you ought to stay with her too," Lynch offered. "The next guy who breaks in might want to make a more lasting impression."
"I know. The locksmith should be here within the hour to add deadbolts to both the doors. Do you know of any other cases where a burglar tied a ribbon on a pet?" He'd rolled up the ribbon and handed it to Lynch.
Lynch pulled an evidence bag from his pocket and dropped in the ribbon. "I've heard no mention of ribbons, but at first glance, this doesn't strike me as an ordinary burglary. What are you thinking, that he must have come knowing your wife had a cat?"
The thought had occurred to Hal in the middle of the night. "Yes, unless he carried a pocketful of ribbons just for the fun of it. Otherwise, it seems like an odd thing for a man to have."
"This whole case is odd," Lynch countered. "I don't see any point in looking for fingerprints if nothing was touched. I'll tell you again to let us find your wife's killer. You needn't hang out at t
he Bar of Music hoping to overhear someone admit to it."
"I like the piano player," Hal responded with a careless shrug.
Lynch had been more subdued than Hal had expected. The man hadn't accused him of murder even once. "There weren't any footprints in the flowerbeds. Whoever came in must have seen me leave, and didn't bother to peek in the windows before he picked the lock on the front or back door and came in."
"He probably came in through the back," Lynch adjusted the angle of his hat and went out onto the front porch. "You worry me, Mr. Marten. I'm not convinced there really was a break-in, when all you have to show for it is a ribbon you could have purchased yourself. If that's the case, then you're as nutty as your late wife."
"Are you hoping I'll punch you in the nose for that?" Hal asked. For some reason, the snide observation didn't bother him at all when he'd expected much worse from the man.
"I said nutty, not stupid. Let me know if you have another break-in, or worse. I'll advise you again, rather than put yourself in danger, leave your wife's murder to us."
Hal made no promises, and he watched the detective drive away. A woman up the block out watering her flowers looked his way. Lynch had arrived in a plain sedan rather than a police cruiser, but she looked mighty interested anyway. He waved to her before going inside.
He had nothing planned other than waiting for the locksmith, and that worried him. There had to be something he could do to before someone dropped a red ribbon around his neck and yanked it tight.
Chapter 17
The locksmith was a gregarious gray-haired fellow who proved to be a lover of poetry. He'd recited Alfred, Lord Tennyson's "The Charge of the Light Brigade", while working on the front door. For the one in back, he chose Robert Frost's "The Road Not Taken". Hal hadn't expected such literate entertainment from a tradesman, but he enjoyed the selections thoroughly. He tipped the man generously and promised to keep his card should he again have need of a locksmith.
"That's the trouble with this business," the locksmith replied. "There aren't a lot of repeat customers, unless you're someone who owns an apartment house with a high turnover of tenants."
"People will recommend you to their friends," Hal offered.
"Yes, they do, and I'm grateful for it. If the locks give you any trouble, call me, and I'll come right over."
"Thank you." Hal had just closed the front door when the telephone rang, and he was slow to answer. "Hal Marten."
"Good morning, hon, this is your aunt Millie."
He was delighted to hear from a friendly soul, and at the same time, hoped she'd not make a habit of calling him daily. "Good morning, Aunt Millie."
"After you'd left yesterday, I got to wondering if Renee might have left something here with me. Didn't have a chance to look until this morning, but I found an old valise of hers in the hall closet. I haven't opened it, so it could contain old shoes for all I know, but I thought you might want to come and take a look at it."
Hal hoped it held answers for at least some of his questions about his late wife. "Yes, I'd love to see it. What's a good time for you?"
"Come for lunch at one o'clock."
"See you then."
Hal needed to check-in with Joe Ezell first, called him, and walked over to his office.
* * *
Hal had had enough of Joe's coffee to know he didn't want another cup, but he'd been there so often of late, he sat in his usual chair and felt at home. "I found Faye's aunt Millie living on the street where Faye had pretended to rent a room at a boarding house." He condensed what he'd learned about his late wife's troubled childhood. "Millie has invited me to come for lunch. Faye, or Renee, left a suitcase there when we married, and it might contain something to link her to Pearl. The aunt knows a great deal about her niece, but nothing about Pearl. What did you find at the hotels?"
Joe grinned and opened the case folder. "Finding a living relative is the first success we've had. Sometimes that's all a case needs to break apart in solvable pieces. Let's hope it's true here. Now for the hotels, the bartender at the Biltmore recognized Pearl from the drawing and knew she was dead. No photo appeared in the Times with the article about Faye's double identity, but he made the connection immediately. He also told me to get out. I think we were right about Pearl knowing someone who values his privacy. Whether he's a crook or not, I can't say, but I stopped there rather than visit any more of the hotels on our list."
Hal nodded thoughtfully. "That's probably wise. Someone broke into my place yesterday and tied a red ribbon bow on the cat. I took it as a threat and had deadbolts put on the doors this morning."
Joe gaped at him. "How did they get in?"
"Must have picked the lock, because Faye's keys were found in the car. They were returned to me at the police impound lot."
"Her house key is still on the ring?"
"Yes, but I suppose someone could have had a duplicate made."
Joe sat forward in his chair. "Probably not if they were just kids out for a joyride. They wouldn't have thought that far ahead and planned a break-in."
"I suppose not." Hal rose and stretched. "I'll call you if there's anything we can use in Faye's suitcase."
"Let me know either way," Joe asked.
"I will, but I don't suppose I'll find an envelope containing the murder's name that says, 'Open in the event of my death.' That would be too easy."
"Go and look," Joe encouraged. He made notes after Hal left and added them to the file. Aunt Millie was the first person who'd actually known anything about Faye, and he wished he'd found her rather than Hal.
* * *
Hal bent down to give Aunt Millie a kiss on her cheek. Today she was dressed in a pretty pink polka dotted dress that was cute even without ruffles. Her skin was powdery soft, and she wore a luscious perfume with a sweet floral scent that reminded him of candy. "I like your perfume."
"Thank you. It's been my favorite for a good many years. The suitcase is on the coffee table, why don't you take a look through it while I see to lunch."
"I could help you if you like."
She waved him off with fluttering bejeweled hands. "My maid, Bessie, is a wonderful cook, and no help is needed. Go on and look through the suitcase, and see what you find. We can talk about it while we eat."
The living room had finely crafted mission style furniture, precisely what the house required. The oak gleamed with polish, and each piece stood as straight and overtly simple as the day it had been fashioned. The sofa was covered in soft, brown leather, and a hand-woven Navaho rug in reds and browns covered the floor. It was a handsome room, and could have been included in a turn of the century museum.
The battered suitcase looked as though Faye had carried it for years while growing up. The worn leather handle was loose, and perhaps that was why she'd left it behind. He unsnapped the two brass locks and opened it carefully. The yearbooks from Hollywood High School immediately caught his eye. The years 1936 and 1937 were stamped in gold on the front.
He found Renee's freshman photo in the first book. She looked very cute, and had a wide, charming smile. In her sophomore year, she stared at the camera with a sullen frown. Clearly something had happened to her, and she'd left school after that year. There were no notes from friends scribbled in the books, and he laid them aside.
He found a diary she'd written at ten, with big loopy letters that covered only half the pages, and the rest of book had been left blank. He read a few lines and found what a ten year old would write about, her friends. One was being selfish, and another too proud of her beautiful white dog. Renee wished she could have a dog, but her mother had said no.
There was a copy of Little Women, and a worn deck of cards held together by a frayed rubber band. He wondered if she'd played Gin or maybe Go Fish with friends. There was a small porcelain Christmas angel wrapped in tissue paper. A little red box held a pair of hairclips with silver birds. There were several years of birthday cards signed by her mother tied with pink ribbon. A photo in a g
old frame showed Renee at three or four in a pretty party dress and black patent leather shoes. She sat perched upon her mother's knee, looking up at her with an adoring gaze.
Patsy Bell wore her hair swept atop her head in a mass of curls. Her tailored suit gave her the appearance of a very proper lady. Her winsome smile struck Hal as all too familiar, and he carried the photo over to the window to study in better light. He recognized the tilt of her head and the grace of her pose. Had he not known the woman had to be Patsy, he would have sworn he was looking at Pearl. He took the framed photograph into the kitchen were Aunt Millie sat on a stool directing Bessie to add stuffed olives to their tuna salads.
Bessie was an ample figured black woman in a neatly pressed gray uniform. Her bright smile revealed a gap between her front teeth. Her gray hair was pulled back in a bun.
Hal nodded a greeting and showed his aunt the photo. "Is this Patsy with Renee?"
"Why yes, it is. She and Albert were no longer married by then, but she often had photos taken for Easter or Christmas and sent them to him. As I told you yesterday, she wasn't nearly as sweet as she looks. Did you find anything else of interest in the suitcase?"
"A girl's treasures. I wish she'd brought it with her when we married so we could have talked about her childhood."
"As I see it, she left it here to avoid having to tell you the truth."
Millie slid off her stool and led him into the dining room. The long oak table had tall slat-backed chairs, and she had a thick cushion on hers to manage a comfortable height. The table was set with heavy sterling silver in a baroque pattern and cut crystal goblets held ice water. Hal took the chair at her right and put the starched white linen napkin in his lap.
Bessie served their tuna salads on china with a delicate a pink rose border. There were freshly baked rolls, and the salad was incredibly good. It was all lovely, but he was interested in so much more than a fine meal.
