Jailbird Detective

by Helen Jacey

  ‘No. I’ve just got a quick message for Martell. Is she around?’

  ‘Uh-huh. She’s in the garden. Remember the way? I got some chicken in the pan. About to catch fire.’ She let me in, grumbling. ‘They were supposed to be going out for late lunch, but looks like they changed their minds. They’re multiplying like fruit flies.’

  ‘Maybe you should get out the bug spray,’ I said, drily.

  Phyllis glanced at me. Yeah. Maybe, one day, I will.

  She showed me through a door leading to a sun lounge which I hadn’t noticed before. Fashion magazines and nail polish lay scattered on the floor next to a wicker recliner. Pammie’s clutter. The doors opened onto a covered patio, where fragrant blooms hung from the beams.

  Some distance away, a large group of women lounged in expensive swimsuits like exotic parakeets around an oasis, cocktails in their perfectly manicured hands. Spirits were high. There had to be about twenty people already, and the doorbell was ringing again.

  Frou-Frou scampered around with other perfectly groomed pedigree dogs – a blonde Afghan hound and an Irish setter. They fought and whined over a toy rabbit.

  The canine version of a girl harmony trio.

  Martell waved me over. She wore a pale silk sundress with peasant-style stitching over a purple satin swimsuit, and a wide-brimmed hat with a lilac chiffon scarf dangling over it like a veil. Her shades were a deep plum glass bordered by ivory rims.

  As I approached, she rose from her sun lounger and met me halfway across a lawn that felt like bouncy green carpet. ‘Well, look at you working hard. No rest for the wicked, huh?’ This was a humorous dig at my work getup. ‘Come meet the girls. We’ll talk later.’ She pulled her shades down her nose and rolled her eyes, a reminder not to reveal anything. Then she pushed them back up.

  ‘I don’t have long.’ A lot of faces staring at me made me nervous. I didn’t want to get too well known.

  She put her arm in mine, which I found somewhat awkward. Suddenly bosom buddies? Either she was banking on good news or she was tipsier than she looked. She propelled me over to the gathering. ‘Girls, this is Elvira Slate. Helping me with a few matters, business and personal. Somebody get her a goddamned drink.’

  ‘I’m good, thanks. Working.’

  ‘One won’t hurt.’ A hand with red talons plonked a glass of fizz in my hand. I looked up to say thanks and my heart jumped. A blonde in red shades, wearing a white satin swimming costume, smiled at me. She looked suspiciously like Lana Turner from a picture June had taken me to. Up close, all the women were extremely glamorous. Nobody else paid me much attention, too involved with their own conversations. Maybe one or two smiled and waved.

  Martell gracefully slid back onto her lounger and gestured for me to take the one next to her. I sat awkwardly on the edge.

  Martell raised her voice, to bring the focus back to her. ‘So, girls, back to the Pammie situation. Who have we boiled it down to? Chazz Melton, Buster Brigson, Duane Flanagan.’ She turned to me. ‘I’m taking matters into my own hands and introducing my niece to some fellas that meet Auntie’s approval. Oh, what’s the name of that fighter pilot turned producer? Lyle Vadnay.’

  Of course Lyle would be on the list. New to town, no spouse in sight. Pammie would make a perfect wife for Lyle – pretty, fun-loving and with great industry connections thanks to Auntie Martell. Their kids would be golden and never know a hard day’s work in their gold-plated lives. He just had to get divorced.

  Martell turned to me. ‘I want them all vetted. That’s where you come in.’

  Someone called out. ‘Anthony Goggins’ family is Texan oil. Shame he’s bug ugly.’

  Martell frowned. ‘And no grandchild of mine will have the surname Goggins.’

  One woman said, ‘Lyle Vadnay was canoodling with some gal at the Palms. Might be taken already.’

  ‘Oh, he’s too smooth. I like them rough around the edges.’

  ‘Hardly a wimp. Bombed enough Nazis.’

  ‘And pounded enough pussy.’ They screamed with laughter.

  And he’s married, I could have added.

  Martell’s smile was fading by the second and then she snapped. ‘I’m not expecting a saint. God knows, Pammie isn’t. I just can’t have her dating any crazies!’ She said this with some force. Everyone went silent. Martell laughed it off. ‘Listen to me. I’m so overprotective!’ She turned to me. ‘You know what? Let’s get away from this rabble!’

  We got up and we headed towards the French doors at the back of the house. ‘Well?’

  ‘Want the good news or bad news?’ I said.

  Martell stopped by the patio and shook her head, momentarily frazzled. ‘Both, whatever. Good news first. Optimism goes a long way.’

  ‘Well, the good news is the producer is keen to meet you and hear more. He’s looking for projects and has bucks to burn. The bad news? He’s Lyle Vadnay and he’s married.’

  Martell’s face fell for a second but she rebounded quickly. ‘Oh, there’s plenty more fish in the sea of hunk. I wouldn’t call that bad news at all. This is all marvelous news!’

  ‘I’m seeing him later, and we’ll be in touch about meeting. He’s very excited to hear all about the story.’

  Martell widened her eyes. They were shining, the look of somebody dying to reveal something. I smelt the liquor on her breath. Could sun, fun and alcohol loosen her tongue?

  She leant in, to whisper in my ear. ‘Tatiana Spark has been reunited with her long-lost child. The kid recently arrived from Europe. All grown up now, of course. It’s just too dramatic. You couldn’t make it up!’

  ‘Gee.’ A kid. I noticed she pointedly wasn’t saying what sex. ‘Is this the new story?’

  ‘Uh-uh. You got the bare bones. Lots more meat to come, but all in good time. I’m only telling you because I know you won’t blab. There’s something about you I trust, and I don’t say that very often, believe me. I’m an excellent judge of character.’

  ‘Have you met the kid?’

  ‘Not yet. They needed time to get to know each other.’

  Another lipstick to be slid around on Beatty’s desk. How could a long-lost child be a factor Darlene and Shimmer’s death? Maybe somebody didn’t want the news of the kid to come out. Maybe the father didn’t want that? Enough to kill?

  I thought of my own absent father, so desperate to remain unknown he’d gone by a phony name. But the father of Spark’s kid surely had to be European. The Heymann Studios wouldn’t care, Tatiana Spark’s contract had expired decades ago and they weren’t interested in Darlene’s pitch anyway.

  I had to call Beatty. ‘Who would benefit?’ She would ask. ‘Who gains from this?’

  Then it hit me. Somebody could lose. Beatty and I didn’t know how much Tatiana had stashed away since her glory days, but money, the great motivator, could be behind everything.

  Martell was still cooing, excited. ‘This picture is going to be big, so big. It’s going to speak to every woman who’s made an impossible choice. Which is most women, in my book! Now we just need some big boys to let us prove it!’

  I wondered if that was her story, too. I assured Martell I would set up the meeting very soon.

  62

  The Laurels was a small apartment block on a junction with 18th Street in a leafy corner of Santa Monica. It was a squat Deco style building, nestling between large family houses. I liked the atmosphere in the area. The sky looked bigger down here, the air was fresher, and my mood more optimistic.

  Perhaps I would go to the pier and get my fortune told. Validation on the cheap. Knowing my luck, I’d get a fortuneteller who took an instant dislike to me and predict disaster.

  A tabby cat basked in the sunshine on the front steps, licking its fat white paws. The cat ignored me as I buzzed number seven. I held a bunch of peach-colored roses, intermingled with some kind of blue daisies. If Janice answered, I’d play it that I’d been sent to the wrong address and ask if she could help me. If she was as obsessed as her letter soun
ded, she’d be kind of disappointed she wasn’t the intended recipient. If I played my cards right, she might even open up about any love troubles with Lyntner.

  No answer, so I rang again and waited. For want of anything better to do, I stroked the cat, which rolled onto its back and swiped at the flowers. I grinned, remembering Kettle. I’d like to get another cat one day, if Lauder ever let me move out of the Astral.

  ‘Calling for Janice? She ain’t here!’

  I turned. Damn! I hadn’t even considered that possibility. A young mother with flushed cheeks and a hassled expression was staggering towards me. She lugged a toddler on one hip and shopping on the other. The kid had a runny nose and his arm wildly flailed at the flowers. The mother yelled ‘Baxter! Quit that right now. Gee, ain’t that a pretty bouquet.’

  I gave Baxter’s cheek a pinch, steering clear of the snot. He wriggled away, protesting. ‘Oh, you big baby!’ cried his mom. ‘He’s got a cold. Just leave them with me, I’ll put ‘em in water. Janice gets back real late.’

  She put Baxter down. He lunged at the cat, which took off. Baxter whimpered in frustration and toddled off after it. The mother shrugged. ‘Boys will be boys, huh?’

  I had a choice to make, and fast. Either stick to my wrong address story, as I hadn’t actually said the flowers were for Janice, and just walk away.

  Or stick around and use the situation to get some gossip. But this was high risk. Janice would thank Lyntner for the flowers, he would then find out somebody had been pretending to be his assistant, brandishing bouquets, and even stealing his mail. The neighbor would be able to describe me.

  Risk suddenly appealed.

  ‘Thing is, my boss sent them. Strict instructions to give them straight to her.’ I rolled conspiratorial eyes. ‘Looks like a kiss and make up bouquet to me.’

  She peered at the bouquet and shot me back a meaningful look. ‘Could be. Never said nothing to me, just she was seeing someone. To be honest, thought she was a spinster for life. That cat is hers. I feed it if she don’t come back at night.’

  Funny how the world put cats and spinsters together. Was it my destiny? I could live with that.

  I looked around, acting concerned. ‘He’s gonna be real mad if she don’t get them today. Maybe I should take them to her work? Know where that is?’

  The woman frowned. ‘Well, she’s a nurse.’

  ‘I can drop them there. Which hospital?’

  ‘Private nurse, somewhere in the Palisades.’ She leant closer, so precious Baxter didn’t hear. ‘Patient’s not doing so well. Dying. An old lady. That’s why Janice is staying over a lot. You didn’t hear it from me, but the old lady, she’s a retired movie star.’ She rolled her eyes, clearly impressed.

  ‘That’s too bad. Who is it?’

  ‘No idea, Janice doesn’t gab.’

  I stared into space. My instinct was waking up like a hungry baby. Janice had sent the letter to Frederick Lyntner, her lover and Tatiana’s attorney. Janice was nursing a retired movie star who was dying. Lyntner had suggested a ticking clock…

  Tatiana Spark was dying.

  Did Martell know? If so, she wasn’t giving it away.

  Hadn’t Janice written something to Lyntner about being more careful? And if Spark’s child had shown up recently, was Janice worried about either Tatiana or the child knowing about the affair? It could look unprofessional, tactless even.

  There had to be a motive in there somewhere.

  I collected myself and looked down at the flowers. ‘Such a waste.’

  ‘Give them to me. I’ll enjoy them till she comes back. Mind you, she does the night shift a lot nowadays.’

  I might as well leave the flowers, she would tell Janice I’d come anyway. My first breakthrough was riddled with risk. But possibly I had a little time before any of this came out, particularly if Janice wasn’t coming back home often.

  ‘Okay, thanks.’ I handed her the flowers and walked away.

  The woman called out after me. ‘Maybe it’ll get my husband thinking I got an admirer!’

  63

  A heavy blanket of late afternoon sea mist had rolled in and settled Downtown, collecting at the foot of buildings. The gloom made Trenton Towers appear even more dingy. It reminded me of foggy London days.

  I entered the building through the same revolving doors. No doorman, again. The elevator was still parked on some other floor.

  I hurried up the stairs.

  The corridor was deserted. I hurried along to Lyntner’s office. The door swung open. No one around. I hovered on the threshold. ‘Hello? Mr. Lyntner?’

  The window in the antechamber was open, letting in cold air.

  Silence. I stepped inside, gripping the pistol.

  The place had been cleared out. Every book, every paper, every photograph of a docked nag. There wasn’t even a telephone left from which I could call Beatty. Just a wire, dangling like a piece of string.

  Somebody had left for good.

  Lyntner had said he wasn’t moving out anytime soon and now he’d packed up and gone. Had my first visit spooked him?

  Could he be the one who didn’t want the movie going ahead?

  I rushed back down the stairs and into the street. There was a bar on the corner, packed with office workers letting off steam. Happy, ordinary people leading happy, ordinary lives. I headed for the payphone on the bar and called Beatty. Therese must have left already because Beatty picked up herself.

  I spoke as low as possible. People were near me. ‘Martell’s keen. She told me Spark’s long-lost child has arrived, from Europe. That’s what the movie’s about! But Lyntner’s gone. Office totally cleaned out. So he lied, because he said he wasn’t leaving anytime soon. And guess what – Janice, the lover, is a nurse, but to one single private patient. In the Palisades, a very sick patient. A movie star who is dying!’

  ‘Good Lord. Tatiana Spark lives in the Palisades.’

  ‘Right. And the love letter said something about being careful. There’s a motive somewhere in all this. And I think Darlene was murdered because of it.’

  ‘Jeez. I don’t like this, Booby. Now I’m thinking it wouldn’t be so farfetched if Caziel and Lyntner do know each other.’

  ‘Lyntner could have paid him to do something, maybe? To do with Darlene? Maybe Lyntner and Janice are in cahoots, making Spark sick!’ My mind raced.

  Beatty spoke low. ‘Poison? Or maybe the kid is in on it, too and he or she hired the nurse.’

  ‘What if Lyntner has messed with the will? He’s Tatiana’s attorney, after all. He could have designs to get rid of the kid. I should go to Tatiana’s now. Can you get her address?’

  Beatty said she had it, in fact.

  ‘But if they see you, you’re in big trouble.’

  ‘If it’s what we think, Lyntner was shaken up by my first visit. He could have speeded up with his plans. I’ll park at a distance and just watch the house.’

  ‘All right. Go there, but make it quick, and see what’s going down. Report back to me. You can’t exactly call the cops, but I can! See how many cars are there, any movement, that kind of thing. Park somewhere well out of sight of the house. You hear me? Do not approach the house. We still could’ve got it all wrong. All right?’ Beatty sounded tense.

  ‘And what about Olive Harjo?’ I asked.

  ‘What about her?’

  We’d kept Olive out of the line of enquiry, but now it was open field. ‘She could be pretending to be the nurse, in on it somehow.’

  ‘You know I never suspected her. Why not drop by on your way? Tell her the good news about the movie going ahead. See how she reacts. As ever, proceed with caution.’

  I said I would.

  With that, Beatty finally gave me her home address and telephone number. Then she gave me Tatiana Spark’s address. Juniper House. She didn’t need to look it up, I noticed.

  The cabin looked as if it had been shut up tight for winter. No rugs airing, no swinging hammocks, no spying parrot. The shutters we
re closed. The building had lost some of its romantic charm. It was now a shell.

  Everyone is clearing out today.

  The only sound was the wind rustling through the grasses. Even the grasshoppers had gone elsewhere. I suddenly wished I hadn’t left my jacket in the car.

  I made my way to the little hut. A half-dead creeper covered the building. The charcoal remains of a fire blackened the ground outside. The heavy door was padlocked. Could Rhonda have been locked in here? I shuddered to think of it. I edged around the side and peered in through the window.

  Nothing. The place was empty.

  Maybe Beatty’s instincts had always been right. Olive Harjo, the mysterious artist, had just decided it was time to pack up and move on. Maybe she really was grieving her lost lover.

  Maybe she was somehow in cahoots with Lyntner. His real lover?

  Maybe she was on the run.

  Whatever, she was gone and I couldn’t waste any more time here. As I turned back on my path, something caught my eye.

  A note, stuck with tape on the front door of the cabin. I walked up the steps and pulled it off. One word was scrawled on the envelope. Elvira.

  I grabbed it and tore it open.

  Dear Elvira, you will be the only person to come back. I hope you have given up your search. It is pointless. I have left Los Angeles. I am living now with Blandine Hundley, in New Mexico. The address is below. When you can, please visit our artistic community. By the way, your name means Truth.’