This Dame for Hire (31 page)

Myrna West. I’d nixed her myself.

Brian Wayne. The most likely. But I still hadda check his alibi for the Garfield murder. This meant going to the San Remo bar and seeing his wife again.

His wife! Maureen Wayne. I’d forgotten to list her. If only Brian had been seeing Claudette this year instead of last, Maureen woulda had a great motive to kill her. Brian said his wife didn’t know who the girls were, but that was just his thinking. Maybe Maureen knew Claudette was pregnant and thought, wrongly or rightly, that the baby was Brian’s. What kind of alibi did she have? What did she know about Warner Garfield? And did she have a motive to kill him? I wanted her alibi for his rub out, too.

Cornell Walker. He had an alibi for Claudette’s murder. But what about Garfield’s? Claims he didn’t know she was gonna have an abortion, but I only had his word for that. He might’ve been convinced that Garfield was the father of Claudette’s child and thought Garfield killed her. A revenge murder. Where was he the night of Garfield’s murder? When I’d asked him, we’d gone into our pitiful comedy routine and he never did answer me. Even if he did kill Garfield, that left Claudette’s murder unsolved.

Gladys Wright. Although she was a cold, calculating con, she never had a motive for killing her niece. The plan to get Claudette’s money was ruined before her murder. And what about Garfield? Did Gladys even know the bum was alive . . . when he was? Claudette could have told her favorite aunt his name but with which story? Garfield as creepy pest who wouldn’t lay off or wonderful Warner her latest conquest?

Either way, would Gladys have done anything about it? And why? Still, I needed to know where she was the night Garfield got it. Leon was her alibi for Claudette’s murder. Convenient that they could alibi each other. And they’d probably do the same for Garfield’s murder.

So there it was, laid out on my yellow pad, my thoughts on each one. My first two choices were one or the other of the Waynes. If I could knock a hole in Brian’s alibi or find out Maureen didn’t have one, I might solve this thing.

I looked at my watch. Holy moley. It was quarter after five. I jumped up. Johnny was picking me up in an hour and a half. That didn’t give me a whole lotta time to make it home, take a bath, get dolled up, and be ready when he arrived.

When I glanced back at the pad, all at once it struck me. I’d been so fixed on the murders being connected that I also thought they had to be done by the same person. But they didn’t.

For instance: Maybe Brian Wayne did one murder and Maureen did the other. Why? Right now I didn’t know, and if they were in it together, that didn’t make sense. I hadda get their alibis before I could work this out.

But what if the murders had nothing to do with each other? Just because Garfield was gonna perform Claudette’s abortion didn’t hafta hook up their murders. I’d been looking at this all wrong. I didn’t have to connect the murders. I needed to concentrate on one or the other. I’d been hired to find out who killed Claudette West, so that’s what I was gonna do. I sat down, and keeping my number-one job in mind, I examined everybody on the pad I’d listed. I went over and over it, and it still turned out that I needed to see Brian and Maureen Wayne first.

There was one rap on my door before Birdie looked in, wearing her hat and coat.

“Ya leavin early, Bird?”

“Early? It’s six o’clock. I stayed late to finish some work, ya ungrateful wretch.”

“Omigod.” I’d lost track of time again.

“What?”

“I got a date tonight.”

“Yeah? Yer soldier boy from the other night? Maybe we should double.”

“No. It’s not him.”

“Oh, yeah?” She raised her eyebrows twice like Groucho Marx. “Who ya got on the string?”

“Probably nobody now. I’ll never make it home in time. I gotta try to call him. Bird, do me a favor?”

“What?”

“Try to find the home number of John Lake.”

“Oh, the cop.”

“Detective.”

“Forgive me for livin.”

“Do it. Please.”

She sighed and left my office. I dialed his precinct. He wasn’t there, and nobody would tell me where he was. I dialed the chili parlor, where he’d been earlier. Nothing. I was outta numbers. Then Birdie came back.

“So here’s his number,” she said, throwing a piece a paper on my desk. “Good night.”

“Bird, don’t. I’m sorry, okay?”

She turned and looked at me, her brown eyes showing hurt. “I’m not yer slave, ya know.”

“Jeez, Birdie, I don’t think of ya like that. Never. Don’t say such a thing.”

“I don’t like to be talked to that way. I say cop and you say detective. What’s the diff?”

“Yer right. There’s no diff. I’m sorry. I’m a little overwhelmed here. Forgiven?”

“Okay.” She grinned. “So the detective asked ya out?”

“Yeah. For dinner. Tonight.”

“Ya like him?”

“I don’t know him, but I think he’s pretty nice.”

“Bout time ya found somebody ya like. Uh-oh, I’m keepin ya from callin.”

“That’s okay.”

“Nah. Call him. I’m gonna skedaddale.”

Before I could say anything more she was gone.

I dialed John at home. I felt funny about calling there, but I didn’t know what else to do. He answered.

“Hello, Johnny. It’s Faye.”

“Faye? Everything all right?”

“Not exactly.” I had trouble getting out the words. “Listen, Johnny, something’s come up. I gotta cancel our date for tonight.”

“Oh? I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Me, too. It’s work.”

“Anything to do with Garfield?”

“No. It’s the West murder . . . the case I’ve been workin on.”

“I understand, Faye. I’ve been in the same fix myself plenty of times.”

“I hope . . . I hope we can do it some other time.”

“Sure.”

Why didn’t I believe him? I wanted to reschedule right there and then, but if we did and I had to cancel again . . . well, that wouldn’t be too keen.

“How’s the Garfield case goin?”

“We’re looking into different angles, different people.”

It was clear he wasn’t gonna tell me anything.

“Are you getting near the end on your case?” he asked.

“I think so.”

“Well, that’s swell. I’ll call you in a couple of days, all right?”

“Yeah, that’ll be fine.”

“Good luck, Faye. Bye.”

When I said goodbye, I felt like I’d never hear from him again. And then what would I do? Just the way Birdie said, he was the first man I’d liked in a long time. Oh, hells bells. I couldn’t think about John Lake now. I had to hold on to my concentration. First stop, Maureen Wayne.

By the time I got downtown it was dark. Daylight savings time hadn’t begun yet. I walked over to Ninth Street, where Maureen Wayne lived.

Our last meeting hadn’t gone too well, and that was putting it mildly. She’d kicked me out. And if she was guilty of the murder, then why in the hell would she let me in?

I had to try. I rang the bell and soon heard her coming down the stairs. She opened the door, then started to close it as soon as she saw me. But I got my foot in fast.

“What do you want?”

“I have to talk to you about Brian.”

“We’ve already done that.”

“There’s been another murder.”

Her face showed shock. It looked genuine.

“Who was it?”

“A man named Warner Garfield.”

“Who’s that?”

“Please let me in.”

“I don’t know why I should, but all right.”

She opened the door and I followed her up, same as last time. We sat in the living room. She didn’t offer me anything to drink.

“So who was this Garfield person?” She lit a cigarette.

“He was an actor and an abortionist.”

“Nice combination. What does he have to do with Brian?”

“When did ya see him last?”

“Two nights ago.”

“Where?”

“Here.”

“Why?”

“He wanted me to take him back. That’s what he said anyway.”

“What time did he leave here?”

“About ten.”

All of it jibed with what Brian had told me. “How did he seem to you?”

“Well, what do you think? He wanted his family back, and he wasn’t getting his way. That’s what Brian always wants . . .
his
way.”

“And when he doesn’t have things go his way, what does he do?”

“Well he doesn’t kill people, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

I was, but I didn’t expect her to tell me that. “Course not.”

“But you think he did, don’t you?”

“Did what?”

“Killed that man.”

“I don’t know what to think. What did you do after he left?”

“Why?”

“Did ya go out?”

“I don’t leave my children alone, Miss Quick.”

I believed her. “So you were here. Did Brian call ya?”

“We’d just seen each other. Why would he call me?”

“Did he?”

“I don’t know. I can’t be sure.”

“Meanin?”

“The phone rang about midnight, but no one spoke on the other end. I heard a lot of noise in the background but nothing from the caller.”

“Ya get many calls like that?”

“No. Never.”

“What did the background noise sound like?”

“It was just noise.” Her impatience was showing.

“Was it car sounds, like the caller was on the street in a booth?”

“No. It was more like people talking.”

“Bar noise?”

“I don’t know. I don’t get a lot of calls from bars. None, in fact.”

I was sure it was bar noise and that the caller was Brian. So far his alibi was checking out. At least until midnight.

“I’m gonna ask ya somethin that’ll make ya mad.”

“As if you haven’t already. What?”

“You remember me askin about Claudette West?”

“Yes. You thought Brian might have killed her. I believe she was one of his paramours.”

“Yeah. You ever meet her?”

“I told you I hadn’t last time. No.”

“Can ya tell me where you were on January twentieth?”

“You were right. You’re making me mad.”

“I have to ask.”

“I have no idea what I was doing that night.”

“Ya keep a date book or anythin?”

She stared at me. It wasn’t peachy. But I didn’t look away. “Do ya?”

“Yes.”

“Could ya look up that date?”

“You have no real right to ask me these questions, do you?”

“Nope.”

“I don’t have to get my date book, do I?”

“Nope.”

“At least you’re honest.” She got up and crossed to a mahogany secretary and opened it. There were a couple a rows of pigeon holes. She reached into one and pulled out a burgundy-colored book.

“Here,” she said, dropping it in my lap, “find the date yourself.”

“Thanks.” I opened it at the front.

There it was, January 20: 7:00 dinner with Mother and Dad. 8:30
Something for the Boys
(Ethel Merman).

“Well? What was I up to?”

I read it aloud.

“Would you like my parents’ address in Pennsylvania?”

“No thanks. But tell me, what were ya gonna do if the date had been empty?”

“I wasn’t going to do anything. Except to ask you to leave once again. And in fact I’m going to do that anyway.”

“I’m sorry. I had to know. I had to rule ya out.”

“Please don’t ever come here again.”

“I don’t think I will.” I was convinced Maureen Wayne had nothing to do with the murders.

“Good.”

I went to the door but turned back when I got there. “One more thing.”

“What?”

“How was Miss Merman?”

“Superb. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

THIRTY-FIVE

I hit the bricks and made my way home. At least part of Brian Wayne’s alibi checked out. I didn’t think Maureen would lie for him. And odds on, the phone call she got at midnight was from him. Either he’d been too stewed to remember it or didn’t want to be knocked from his high horse by telling me he’d made a call like that. I believed he was at the San Remo until he staggered home around two. So for my money neither of the Waynes had anything to do with Garfield’s murder.

Maureen was in the clear on Claudette’s murder, and Brian didn’t look as good as I’d once thought. Most likely he and Claudette had the affair when he’d said they did. And I doubted that Brian Wayne ever looked back. A
new
conquest was the important thing for him.

By the time I got to my building, though, I was not a Little Mary Sunshine cause I was nowhere. It was only eight o’clock, and I wanted to be out having dinner with Johnny Lake. Instead I was gonna eat a bowl of oatmeal by myself. I thought of Anne and how she’d said I wouldn’t have a date tonight. Maybe I should ask her if I was
ever
gonna have one with him. Nah, she didn’t do stuff like that. She wasn’t a fortune-teller, after all.

I opened the big front door, and Dolores was, as usual, sweeping the hall outside her place.

“Pretty late for that, isn’t it?”

“Good thing I was out here,
bubee.
”

“How come?”

“Well, I wouldna seen yer boyfriend, would I?”

“Dolores, what’re ya talkin about? What boyfriend?”

“And what a cutie he is.”

Johnny would never have shown up here after I broke the date. Would he? “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Don’t kid a kidder, Faye.”

It was useless to keep denying that I had a guy, so I took another tact. “Okay, what did he say to ya?”

“When I came out, he was fumbling with his keys in front of yer door.”

Now I knew it wasn’t Johnny, and I felt a little panicky. “Dolores, nobody has a key to my apartment but me.”

“Oh, c’mon. I won’t tell the rest of those
shmendriks
who live here nothin.”

“Listen, Dolores. I’m serious. How do ya know this guy ya saw wasn’t tryin to break in?”

“Ya think I’m a nitwit? I asked him who he was lookin for and he told me, Faye Quick. That’s you, ain’t it?” She cackled crazily.

“Did he say why he wanted me?”

“Course not and I didn’t ask. He looked like a mensch but a little embarrassed.”

“He looked like a crook is my guess.”

“No
bubele,
ya got him all wrong. He knew who you was, so right away I know he’s not a gonif. And he has a key.”