This Dame for Hire (10 page)

He eyed it like it was crawling with insects and said, “That’s all right. I’ll fold it over my lap.”

I watched while he took it off then turned it inside out, showing a matching silk lining. He sat down and laid the coat on his lap folded in half, his fedora on top of that.

Flynn was a looker. Big brown eyes, straight nose, and a mustache above an ample mouth. I never liked mustaches myself, but some girls did.

“Do you want to order before we start talkin?”

“Yes. Do they make a good espresso?”

“The best.” I guessed that although he had an apartment in the area he didn’t go out much.

I waved a hand at Maria, who nodded, and when I looked back at Flynn I could see he was upset by something.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Mr. Flynn, I can see somethin has upset you.”

“Well, I’m not used to ladies calling for the waitress.”

Off to a great start. “Sorry. It’s just that I know Maria so well I didn’t think.” What I
did
think was that this Casanova was a stuffed shirt. I shoulda known.

He tried on a smile that looked like a broken rubber band. Then Maria was at our table.

Flynn ordered his espresso. “Quaint place,” he said.

I’d never thought of the Reggio as quaint.

“Ya probably don’t spend a whole lot of time in cafés like this, huh?”

“Not much.”

I took a sip of my cap and offered him a cig.

“Thank you, I have my own.” He put his hand inside his jacket and pulled out a gold case. I had no doubt that it was real gold.

After popping the thing open with one hand, taking out his smoke, snapping it shut, and putting it away, he lit mine and then his own with a gold lighter that had a flip-top arm. By this time Maria was back with his espresso. I noticed he didn’t thank her. I guessed that the rich didn’t find it proper to thank underlings.

“So, Miss Quick, what can I do for you?”

“I’d like to hear your account of what went on the night of the murder of Claudette West.”

“I suppose it doesn’t matter that I’ve told all of this to the police, does it?”

“No. The police aren’t working with me on this case.”

“Frankly I’m surprised to see a young woman like you working as a . . . a what do you call it?”

“A private investigator.” I told him how my career came about.

“I see. Still, I imagine it could be dangerous work.”

If I didn’t know better I might think this was a threat. But I did know better. Didn’t I?

“Sometimes,” I said. “Mr. Flynn, if you’ll just gimme your rundown of what happened that night, ya can be on yer way.”

“What makes you think I
want
to be on my way?”

Oh, no. The man gave me a definite leer. I acted like I didn’t notice. And I paid no attention to his smarmy remark. Instead, I urged him once more to tell me his tale.

ELEVEN

There was nothing remarkable in what Gregory Flynn had to say. He skidded around Marlene Hayworth’s presence until he got to the cigarette part.

“Whoa,” I said. “You went out to buy her cigs?”

“Yes.”

“What time was that?”

“I didn’t notice.” He sipped his espresso.

“Did she have cigarettes when she arrived?”

“She smoked one before . . . yes.”

I knew what the before was. “So it was
after
that she noticed she didn’t have any.”

“Yes.” Then he coughed and blushed and moved around in his chair, catching the drift of what we’d both said.

“Actually, she smoked another and then was out of them.”

“Was that when ya went out?”

“Shortly after she mentioned it.”

“What time did Miss Hayworth get there?”

“About eight.”

“Did ya have any dinner?”

“I’d bought some pâté and crackers.”

“So what time do ya think ya went out for the cigs?”

“It must have been around nine-thirty.”

“Where’d ya get them?”

“The cigarettes? I walked to Eighth Street. There’s a tobacco store there.”

“That’s a pretty long walk in the snow.”

“I don’t mind snow. Besides, Miss Hayworth wanted a pack of Gauloises, and since the war, they’re the only store that carries them.”

I was getting a good picture of who was running the show here.

“Gauloises?”

“They’re French.”

“Ah. What time did ya get back to the apartment?”

“I’m not sure. But that particular walk to and fro usually takes about fifteen minutes.”

“So ya got back before ten?”

“Oh, yes, definitely.”

“And ya didn’t see anybody?”

He sipped and acted like he was thinking this over. “No one was around. The inclement weather kept people at home, I suppose.”

“Did ya know the deceased, Mr. Flynn?”

He looked at me with a shocked expression. “Certainly not.”

“Miss Hayworth is the only woman ya see at that apartment?”

“Now look here, Miss Quick, I—”

“How many children do ya have?”

“Children? What does that have to do with anything?”

“Just curious.” I was trying to upset his applecart.

“Forgive me, Miss Quick, but I’m not here to satisfy your curiosity. I met you out of my desire to help you find the killer of that poor girl.”

His face was turning red.

“Ya met me because you’re cheatin on your wife and ya were afraid I’d spill the beans. So don’t go gettin high-hat with me, Mr. Flynn.”

He continued to sputter, not words, but odd little noises as though he was gasping for air.

“Ya didn’t answer if Miss Hayworth is the only dame ya see at that apartment.”

“Yes. She is.”

“And ya never knew Claudette West?”

I could see his prissy mouth starting to form the word
who,
but he quickly stopped, remembering.

“No, I never did. Now let me ask you something. Do you plan to tell anyone . . . about . . . our meeting?”

“Ya mean yer wife?”

“Anyone.”

“No. This is confidential.”

“Thank you.” He began to fuss with his hat on his lap. “Is there anything else?”

“When ya came back from gettin the cigarettes, did ya look around outside or go right into yer buildin?”

“It was snowing. I had no reason to look anywhere.”

“So the girl could’ve been there and you just didn’t see her, is that right?”

“She was not in front of my building, so yes, I suppose she could’ve been there. There was no reason I would’ve noticed her.”

What he said made sense. “Okay, I guess that’s it.”

He nodded, then raised his hand for Maria. She came right over.

“Check, please,” he said.

“No, no,” I said. “I’m stayin.”

“Miss Quick, I intend to pay this check. What you do once I leave is your business.”

Maria wrote out the check and put it on the table in front of him.

He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a long thin black leather billfold. He put a fin under the check. When he stood up and I realized he wasn’t gonna wait for change, I was surprised cause a five spot was way too much.

He unfolded his coat, shrugged into it, and buttoned.

“I won’t say it’s been charming because it hasn’t. But I suppose you’re just doing your job.”

“Ya got it right there, Mr. Flynn.”

“And a very unsavory job for a woman, I might add.”

“Ya might, but don’t bother.”

“Good night, Miss Quick.”

I said good night and watched him make his way to the door. Once outside he looked both ways, then put on his hat, pulling it low over his forehead, and headed north.

Maria was at my side. “He didn’t wait for his change.”

“It’s your tip.”

“Gosh. Bring some more guys like that in here.”

“I’d rather not. Bring me another cap, Maria.” I wanted to get the bad taste outta my mouth.

My bedroom was big with a fireplace I never used. Two huge windows faced the back of another building, so I’d hung long white curtains. I kept a desk between the two windows, but I never used that either. Against the right wall was a mahogany highboy. And on the left was a matching chest of drawers with a mirror. I’d put some pictures on the walls. They were posters I’d bought and had framed. There was a Renoir, a Degas, and a Monet. I loved the colors, and I made up stories to go with the pictures.

I sat in bed, my hair bobby-pinned and rolled, two pillows behind me. I had my radio tuned to the news, which wasn’t good any way ya sliced it. The Japs made a big fighter-plane effort to regain the Solomon Islands, and we shot down thirty-nine but we lost a bunch ourselves. I was glad Woody wasn’t in the air force. I didn’t want to hear any more so I turned the dial. Just in time for
Nick Carter Master Detective.
I didn’t want to hear that either. It was a bunch of bunk. So I got a music station. And while Tex Beneke and The Modernaires sang “I’ve Got a Girl in Kalamazoo,” I went over my notes.

I wasn’t any closer to finding out who killed Claudette than I had been the day before. The first thing I had to do in the morning was to find out who this joker Alec Rockefeller really was. Gabbing with Claudette’s pals might be my road in. I knew they’d probably bought the Rockefeller scam, too, but they might have an angle the Wests wouldn’t have. I’d made a list of them I’d found in the newspaper clippings. And maybe it was time to use Anne. I wondered what Porter West would say if I asked for a piece of Claudette’s clothing?

The Voice
came on next singing “Night and Day.” Even though we were hardly bobby-soxers, I’d gone with Jeanne to the Paramount the year before to hear Frankie sing. It was a night I’d never forget. We got way down close, and all around us girls were screaming and some even fainted, but Frank Sinatra was singing just for me. That’s the way he made me feel.

When Frank finished his song, I turned off the radio and picked up my book. I knew I was gonna be asleep in minutes. Maybe if I was lucky I’d dream about Frankie taking me out on a date.

I started my day with a stop at Stork’s. Larry the Loser was missing, but Fat Freddy and Blackshirt Bob were in place. They all greeted me.

I got my usual pack of cigs and my papers.

“How’s that prime case comin, Faye?” Freddy asked.

“I’m movin along.”

The little bell rang, and a young pup with slicked-back blond hair came in.

If the customer was a stranger to us, it was our habit to zip our lips and eyeball the transaction.

“Pack of Luckies, Stork.”

So he was a known figure, at least to Stork. Money and cigs changed hands, and the kid left.

“Who was that?” I asked.

Blackshirt Bob said, “Ya know, Faye, you’re one nosy dame.”

“Thanks for gettin that off yer chest, Bob.”

“Well, whaddaya care who that monkey was?”

“I care about everything, haven’t ya noticed?”

“She’s a gumshoe, Bob, whaddaya expect?”

Then they laughed like somebody said something funny.

Stork said, “Don’t know his name, Faye. He’s just a small-time grifter.”

“What’s his game?” I asked.

“There she goes,” Bob said. “Whaddaya care?”

“Can it,” Stork said. “He does the pigeon drop, Spanish prisoner, three-card monte, that kinda deal.”

“Strictly penny ante,” Freddy said.

You’d think Freddy was Ponzi or somebody. That gave me an idea.

“Hey, you guys ever come across a scammer who makes like he’s from a famous family?”

They looked at me like I was speaking in a foreign language. “Ya know what I mean. Passes himself off as royalty or says he’s a Rockefeller. One of those guys.”

“Ah.” Bob said. “Can’t say I have. Why?”

I ignored his question. “How about you, Freddy?”

“I, a course, get your drift, Faye. But I haven’t come across such a scammer lately.”

“Whaddaya mean, lately?” I asked.

Fat Freddy puffed out his big chest and rolled his half-smoked cigar from one side of his mouth to the other.

“What I am gettin at, Faye, is that once upon a time I knew a shark who made a lotta cabbage by actin the part of a count. He was the darlin of a certain group of ladies in their autumn years, ya get my meanin.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Maybe twenty.”

“What was his con exactly?”

“He’d meet a lady accidentally on purpose in the lobby of some posh hotel in Europe or some big city over here. Havin researched the mark, he’d pretend to know her friends, the ones who were away, take her to tea, then lunch, dinner, the opera or whatnot, meet others of her group who were convinced they’d met him or knew his family, which they didn’t, and then one thing led to another, and before ya knew it the lady in question would be puttin up moola to match his funds that would be arrivin any day. I guess I don’t have to spell out the rest.”

“It’s an amazin thing that anybody would go for that,” I said.

“Like the man said, ‘There’s a sucker born every minute.’ ”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Blackshirt Bob said, “If that’s the kinda tale ya want, Faye, I could regale ya for hours.”

“Regale?” we said in unison.

Bob turned a shade of pink. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothin,” I said. “It’s just we, well, it’s . . .” I decided not to embarrass him any further. “It’s a good word, ‘regale.’ Very good. We’re just not used to hearin it much, right, fellas?”

They agreed.

“And I wish I had time to hear your regalin, Bob, but I gotta hightail it to work.”

Freddy said, “That was a good story I tole ya, wasn’t it, Faye?”

Uh-oh. I knew what he was after.

“It
was,
Fat Freddy. And I appreciate it. It gives me some perspective. Thank you.”

I waved at the guys and made it out the door before Freddy could actually try to tap me for a fin or more.

So what this fake count did wasn’t that different from the fake Alec Rockefeller’s MO. He got everyone to believe him without a hitch. And he, too, was definitely after the pot of gold. Though I wasn’t exactly sure how he planned to get it.

Birdie was hunting and pecking away when I got into the office. I gave her the list of Claudette’s friends I’d jotted down.