This Dame for Hire (25 page)

Myrna West’s half brother. We made some chitchat and then he got Porter. After our initial hellos, I said, “Did Claudette ever give ya a set of cuff links, Mr. West?”

“Of course.”

“Why, ‘of course’?” I asked.

“Daughters often give their fathers cuff links for a birthday or Christmas.”

“I thought they gave them ties.” I was thinking about my last gift to Pop. A yellow tie with bluebirds on it. I thought it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Now it made me shudder.

“I suppose in some families they do.”

It didn’t take much to know whose family he meant. I wanted to slap his face.

“So about these cuff links. When did she give them to ya?”

“Claudette has given me many sets over the years.”

“How about in the last year?”

“No. Not since she was in high school.”

“Yer sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. Is there anything else?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m waiting.”

“Another name’s come up. Did Claudette ever mention Warner Garfield?”

“Never.”

“Is Mrs. West there?”

“Yes.”

“Could ya ask her if she knows the name?”

“If I don’t, she doesn’t.”

He had Myrna West on some tight leash. “Could ya ask her anyway?”

“There’s no point.”

“How about your brother-in-law? Could ya ask him?”

“What does Cornell have to do with this?”

“Maybe Claudette mentioned the name to him in passin.”

“Who is this person? What did he have to do with my daughter?”

“I’m not sure yet. That’s why I’d like you to ask Mrs. West or Captain Walker.”

“Is Garfield a suspect?”

“Like I’ve said, Mr. West, everybody’s a suspect until I rule them out.”

“What about Garfield?”

Talking to Porter was like being conked from behind over and over. It took a lot out of a girl.

“For the moment I haven’t ruled him out.” I didn’t want to tell West yet that Garfield was dead. “So could ya ask Walker if ya don’t wanna ask yer wife?”

“It’s not that I don’t
want
to ask her. I already
know
her answer. Hold on.”

Softly, I started singing “That Old Black Magic” and almost got to the end before West came back on the line.

“Cornell has never heard that name. Now tell me what this is about.”

“No sources, Mr. West, is that understood?” I wasn’t about to tell him I got Garfield’s name from Cotten.

“I know that’s what you’ve told me, but I can’t say I understand it since I’m paying the bills.”

“That’s just the way it’s always been.”

“Never mind. Tell me who Garfield is.”

“Was,” I said.

“Was? You mean he’s dead?”

“Yes.”

“Then what could he have to do with Claudette?”

“He’s only been dead about twelve hours.”

“Oh.”

“He was murdered.”

“Who murdered him?”

“We don’t know.”

“We?”

“The police and I.” I felt myself blushing.

“Are you working for the police now?”

“Mr. West, I found the body and called the police.”

“Again? You found a body again?”

I ignored him. There was nothing else to do. “I know that Claudette knew him, but I don’t know how she met him or what their relationship was. That’s what I’m tryin to find out.”

“Do you think he may have had something to do with Claudette’s death?”

“It’s possible.”

“This has gotten very complicated, hasn’t it?”

Like it was my fault. He didn’t even know about me getting hit on the head. “Murder is always complicated, Mr. West. Even if it’s open and shut.” At least that’s what it said in the books.

“What’s your next move?”

Telling him that I was going to turn Anne loose on a bloody undershirt didn’t seem like the right answer to give Porter.

“Pinnin down Garfield’s particulars and his connection to Claudette.” All true.

“Yes, of course.”

“So you’ll keep your ears open for anythin about him?” Me and Porter. A real team.

“Certainly.”

As always he told me to call him the next night, and we hung up.

After I put the receiver back in the cradle I sat at the telephone table, unmoving. I found myself staring into the room. I
did
need to find out what the connection was between Garfield and Claudette, but I had no idea where to start. No respectable PI would ever admit this to anyone, but it was something Woody had warned me might happen. You’re working on a case, moving along, and suddenly a wall comes up in front of ya and there’s no way over around or under it. When that happens, he’d told me to take a break. Go to a movie. Drop into your favorite restaurant. Knock back a few drinks. I wasn’t going to do any of these things by myself. Not tonight. I dialed my office, and when Birdie answered, I asked, “What are ya doin tonight, Bird?”

“Nothin.”

“How about we go to a USO dance instead of tomorrow?”

“Faye, I don’t think ya should be jumpin around after what happened to ya last night.”

“Is that how you dance, Birdie? Ya jump around?”

“Don’t get smart with me. You know what I mean.”

“I feel fine, and I need some distraction from this case. It’ll free up my mind. Woody told me so.”

“Ya heard from Woody?”

“No. He told me before he left. He said, ‘Quick, when the case isn’t jellin, ya gotta do somethin real different. Ya gotta forget all about it for a few hours.’ ”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. So whaddaya say, Bird? We meet up for a couple a cocktails at the Hotel Astor, then have a sandwich at Lindy’s followed by a piece of cheesecake, then ankle over to the USO.”

“You buyin?”

“Who else?”

“What time ya wanna meet?”

While we walked to the USO from Lindy’s, Birdie said, “So, these soldiers and sailors, do they expect anything from ya, Faye?”

“Like what?”

“Ya know. After. Later.”

“I suppose some might, but that depends on how ya act with them. Tell ya the truth, mostly these guys wanna talk. They’re away from home in Idaho or Tennessee or some hick place for the first time in their lives, and they’re homesick. They wanna talk to ya about their girlfriends or their hometown folks. Stuff like that.”

“Ya mean they ain’t New Yorkers?”

I stopped dead in my tracks. “Bird, don’t ya get the point of this place? If they were New Yorkers, they’d be with their families. These guys just wanna go home.”

“To Idaho? Who’d wanna go there?”

“Listen to me. Ya gotta be interested in these guys. They’re real nice, and they’re real lonely. They want the companionship of us girls but mostly to talk to. They want somebody to tell their problems to. They’ve been over there fightin for us, Bird. Now we do our part.”

“I get it.”

“Good.”

When we got there, some of the boys had spilled out onto the sidewalk.

“Hiya, fellas,” I said. “How ya doin?”

They all said something, and Bird and me nodded and smiled and went inside.

There was a girl at a table right inside the door who took our names and what we were volunteering for. Some girls played Ping-Pong, cards, were hostesses, or handed out doughnuts and coffee. And then there were others, like us, who wanted to dance.

We went into the large main room where the girl spinning the platters had on Bing Crosby singing “All or Nothing at All.” Lots of couples were on the floor, but there were still plenty of boys standing around, waiting for the right girl or, as I’d discovered before, just too shy to ask.

“What now?” Birdie asked.

“Ya pick out a guy and ask him to dance.”

“
I
gotta ask
him
?”

“Yeah. It works that way sometimes. C’mon, I’ll show ya.” I spotted a couple a guys standing near the table with doughnuts on it, and I grabbed Birdie’s hand and pulled her over with me.

“Hiya, soldier,” I said to a red-haired, freckle-faced kid. “I’m Faye and this is Birdie. Wanna cut a rug?”

His eyes lit up like I was a Kewpie doll he’d just won.

“Sure. I’m Lon. This is Rory Tracy.”

“Hiya, soldier,” Birdie said, following my lead.

Rory said, “I’m a Marine.”

“But yer all soldiers, aren’t ya?” she asked.

“No, Bird, not exactly. I’ll explain later.”

“I’ll explain now,” Rory said, and asked Birdie to dance.

Bing was winding up as we moved away from the sidelines. The next number started right away, and it was a jitterbug.

“Can ya do it?” Lon asked.

“You bet,” I said.

And we were off. That soldier knew his stuff. He swung me around, slid me through his outstretched legs and up again, spun me behind him, pulled me back, and generally wore me out.

When it was over, I told him I needed a break, and we sat down listening to Glenn Miller’s band playing “Chattanooga Choo Choo.”

Private Lon Calhoun was from Iowa and told me all about himself for the next half hour. I didn’t have to pretend I was interested cause I was. I’d always liked to hear about other people’s lives.

Later we danced again, many times, until I had to tell Birdie that we had to go. The boys offered to see us home, but we said we’d grab a checker instead.

“They were nice boys,” Birdie said. “But they wore me out. Jeez, Louise, I can’t get Pete to do a fox-trot. He woulda busted a gut had he seen me with that Marine.”

I realized nobody woulda cared about me dancing with Lon all night, and that made me a little sad. But it wasn’t what was bothering me. Maybe my strange feeling had to do with Detective Lake. But right away I knew that wasn’t it.

I’d distracted myself, forgotten the case for a few hours, and where was I now? Feeling like something was just out of reach, something important that would help me with the case.

Birdie chatted on.

I heard her words, but my mental picture of that soldier and Marine, our dancing partners, nagged.

And nagged.

TWENTY-EIGHT

Sitting at my desk the next morning everything seemed easy. I guessed my night on the town had done the trick. That made me think of Lon and Rory and the nagging feeling came back for a flash then disappeared.

The first thing I did was to call Claudette’s friend June Landis. After the niceties were out of the way, I asked her if she’d ever heard Claudette mention Warner Garfield. She clammed up like I’d asked her for the combination to the family vault.

“June?”

“Yes. I’m thinking.”

I knew if she was thinking about it, it was whether to tell me or not.

“She did talk about him, didn’t she?” I said.

“Yes. I think so.”

“You know so, June.”

“All right. What about him?”

“Was she datin him?”

“Hardly.” June couldn’t help herself. She sniggered.

“Not her type?”

“She couldn’t stand him. But he wouldn’t give up on pestering her for a date.”

Leon had said the same thing.

“Do ya know how she met Garfield?”

“I think she said she’d met him through this acting group she was involved with. God, don’t tell her parents she hung around with actors.”

“Do ya think that’d make a lotta difference to them now, June?”

“Guess not.” She sounded sad.

“When ya say she was involved with this group, do ya mean she was actin?”

“Oh, no. She just liked being with them.”

“What’s the name of the actin group?”

“I don’t think I ever knew that. I know they were in Greenwich Village though.”

Big help. “There are tons of actin groups in the Village. Can ya tell me anythin that might help me find them?”

“Gee, I don’t think so. Wait, I remember a play they put on last year that she went to. It had an
M
in the title . . . two
M
’s maybe . . .”

June was trying so I kept quiet.

“
Moons and Mulberries.
That’s what it was called.”

The title alone probably made it a big hit. “This was for the payin public . . . tickets and all?”

“I think it was just for invited guests.”

“So it wasn’t reviewed.”

“I doubt it.”

“Yeah, me, too. Well, thanks.” I hung up. Maybe Peggy Ann Lanchester, who’d helped me once, could do it again. I’d kept her number, and I dialed it. A maid told me she wasn’t home. I left my name and number and said to tell Peggy Ann it was urgent that she call me back.

I had to find that acting group. Maybe there was something in Garfield’s papers that would help.

I opened my pocketbook. The paper Detective Lake had given me was in a small pocket in the lining. I stared at it. He’d put his precinct in the upper-right-hand corner and his work phone number below his name,
Johnny Lake.
I dialed.

The desk sergeant took the call and put me through. I could feel myself blushing all over when I heard his voice.

“Miss Quick, good to hear from you.”

“Faye, remember.”

“Right. Faye.”

I loved the way he said my name. “I need some help.”

“What can I do for you?”

“I imagine when ya tossed Garfield’s apartment ya came away with a lot of paper, right?”

“Yes.”

“I was wonderin if any of those papers named an actin company?”

“I don’t know but I can find out.”

“It’s very important.”

“Hold on a minute.”

“Sure.” My hands were sweaty, and my heart was thumping like a bass drum. I felt ridiculous, but I couldn’t stop either thing. I tried to remember if I’d ever felt like this and all I could come up with was Spencer Nelson. Fourth grade. Pretty pathetic.

“Faye?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“My guy tells me there are three cartons full of papers. So far they haven’t come across anything about an acting company. I have to go through a lot of it myself once it’s winnowed down. I told them to be on the lookout for it, though.”

“Thanks.”

We dummied up for a few seconds.

“Anything else I can do for you?” he asked.

A few things came to mind, but I wasn’t about to say them. “No. That’s all I need. At least it’s all I know I need. Maybe they’ll come across somethin I’m not privy to right now.” I sounded like a moron.