Too Darn Hot (15 page)

“Business.”

“And yer all dolled up like that for business?”

“I am. I gotta eat.”

She started to get up. “Lemme feed ya, tootsie. I have leftover kasha and some nice blintzes, and . . .”

It sounded great, but if I let her feed me, I’d have to talk to her, and I wasn’t in the mood.

“I just wanna grab somethin. And I gotta be alone. Ya understand?”

She sat back down. “Yup.”

I knew she didn’t. She was hurt and I felt like hell, but there was nothing I could do about it now. Like Scarlett, I’d worry about it tomorrow. I gave her a halfhearted wave and went inside.

Zach turned his head, but he didn’t jump down when I came through the door. He thought the street was much more interesting than I was. I agreed.

I headed for the icebox. I was starving, tired, and feeling down and out. Not to mention my worry over Jeanne. I found some old lettuce and Velveeta. A perfect meal for a bungler like me. Dick Tracy woulda been ashamed of me cause William Ladd was gonna sober up, the brass were gonna take him to the drop, and they were all gonna put Charlie’s life at risk.

There wasn’t a thing I could do about it.

TWENTY

I
slept in dribs and drabs, then got up and smoked a butt or two, which was not my routine. It was seven A.M. I lay in bed staring at the ceiling and wishing there was someone in the kitchen to bring me a cup of java. Well, not just anyone. Johnny. Who else? I wondered if he was the kind of guy who’d make a gal a cup, or if he’d expect me to do all the deliveries. I put that on my mental list of things I wanted from a mate. It was getting pretty long. But not unreasonable to my way of thinking. Number one was a sense of humor. Johnny had that in spades. In fact, he’d been batting a thousand on my list. The addition of coffee in bed mighta upped even that stat.

Zach was on top of my head, but he was getting too heavy for this habit. I reached up to take hold of him, then transferred him to my stomach. Even though he looked at me like I was crazy he began to purr in no time.

I wanted to go back to sleep. I wanted to find a way out of this day. But there wasn’t any. I’d have to call Claire and tell her the bad news. And now she understood the damage Mr. Ladd could do by making the drop. But there was an outside chance we’d get away with it. Maybe the kidnappers would just be glad to get the dough whoever dropped it. Nah. Even if they didn’t spot John Law they’d know the cops were there. A substitute for Claire would tip em to that and they’d scratch the pickup. Unless they were stupid, and we couldn’t count on that.

The phone rang. When I moved, Zach leapt from the bed like a volcano had erupted. I padded out to my phone and got it on the third ring.

“Did I wake ya, Faye?”

“No. I wish ya had.” I sat down.

Birdie said, “What’s that mean?”

“I didn’t get a lotta shut-eye last night.”

“Ya don’t mean . . . Mr. Ladd?”

“Course not.”

“Did ya get him plastered?”

“Yeah. He passed out on the table at 21.”

“Before he was face-first in the soup, did he say he’d let Claire make the drop?”

I liked her picture and didn’t see any reason to tell her it wasn’t exactly what happened. “That’s the thing. He refused.”

“Ya think he’ll be sober enough to do it himself today?”

“Oh, sure.”

“So whaddaya gonna do?”

“I don’t know yet. Why ya callin me so early?”

“Ya said I didn’t wake ya up.”

“Ya didn’t. That’s not the point.”

“What is the point?”

“Bird, just tell me why yer callin.”

“It’s about Barbara Swanson. I found her. She lives here.”

“Whaddaya mean?”

“Here. New York. Barbara Swanson. Lives.”

“How d’ya know?”

“I talked to her mother in Rhode Island. She gave me Babs’s address and phone number.”

“Babs?”

“That’s what she called her.”

“How come she gave ya the info so fast?”

“Who said it was fast? I was on for a half hour before I got Mrs. S. to trust me.”

“And how’d ya do that?”

“I think I’ll keep that one to myself.”

“Yer kiddin me.”

“Nope.”

“Ya get this from Marty?”

“Get what?”

“Playin close to the vest.”

“Faye, yer workin on a mystery so I’m gonna be mysterious.”

It made no sense but trying to get something out of Birdie Ritter, once she’d made up her mind, was like getting gold from a monkey. So I dropped it.

“So tell.” I grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil.

She gave me the info on Babs. “Did ya make up with Pete?”

“Yeah. He won’t bring up gettin hitched for a while.”

“Glad to hear it. Thanks for gettin all that info.”

“You bet. See ya tomorrow.”

Barbara Swanson lived on the Upper East Side. She would. If there was one place in the city I didn’t care for, that was it. I always felt I hadn’t bathed enough when I walked around those streets.

I put water in the pot, spooned coffee into the top half of the pot, lit the burner along with a cig, and sat down to wait.

It was a little too early to call Claire, and I dreaded giving her the lowdown. All of a sudden I realized how hungry I was. Lettuce and Velveeta weren’t gonna fill the bill. I washed my face, brushed my teeth, put on lipstick, blotted it on a tissue, and threw on a pair of slacks and a short-sleeve white blouse. I slipped my feet into a pair of sandals, took the coffee off the burner, grabbed my pocketbook, and was out the door.

It was a little early even for Dolores to be sweeping or sitting on the stoop. But I knew the bakery on the corner of Bleecker and Seventh would be open.

Inside, the smell of fresh bread hung in the air. There was an old man ahead of me so I had time to clap my eyes on the rolls and loaves of bread. Before the war the case had been loaded with sweet stuff. Napoleons, éclairs, cookies, you name it. But now Clifton, like everybody else, had a devil of a time getting sugar. Still, once in a while . . . well, I hoped this was one of those days.

The old man left with a loaf of bread in a brown bag.

“Faye. I’ve missed you. Where have you been, dear girl?”

“Here and there.”

“I hope that doesn’t mean another bakery.”

“Course not. I’m on a case and it’s takin almost all my time.”

“But you must eat.”

“Couldn’t agree with ya more.”

“See anything you like?”

I stared into his eyes until he smiled, held up a finger, and disappeared behind a curtain that separated the shop from the bakery. He came out holding a white box tied with string. “Eighty cents, please,” he said.

I forked over the coins, thanked him, and almost ran back to my apartment where I cut the string and opened the box to see what he’d given me.

I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. There was a slice of apple coffee cake with pecans, and a chocolate éclair for later. Maybe for later. It hadda be for later. I wouldn’t have time for all this now. What a sweetheart Clifton was. I hadda think of something nice to do for him.

I put the coffee back on the stove, went to my folded dining table, and lifted up one side. I got out a plate covered with rosebuds—one Aunt Dolly’d given me—for the coffee cake, and a knife, fork, and spoon. I brought everything to the table.

When the java was ready, I poured it into a good cup and took it to the table. My record of Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring went on the phonograph. I wasn’t a big classical music lover, but there were a few things that I liked and this was one of them.

Then I pulled a chair over and sat. I had delayed as long as possible. But I couldn’t anymore. The first bite of the coffee cake was scrumptious. It seemed like forever since I’d had anything like it.

Sitting there listening to the music, drinking coffee, and eating my cake, I felt I could spend the rest of my life this way.

But wouldn’t you know. The phone rang.

It was Claire. “Lemme turn the music off,” I said. On the way back from the phonograph I picked up my cup and sat down at the telephone table.

“I was gonna call ya in a few minutes. I wanted to let ya sleep a little longer.”

“Sleep? I haven’t slept a wink all night.”

People always made this claim—like the old fingersmith who boosted my wallet—but it was hardly ever true.

“I don’t have good news for ya, Claire. Mr. Ladd’s insistin they do it his way.”

“Oh, no.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Charlie’s gonna die, isn’t he?”

I took a swallow of my coffee. “Anything could happen.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not. I’m not makin any promises, but I honestly don’t know what’s gonna happen.”

“I know ya don’t
know.
But we talked about this before and ya admitted the chances were slim to nothin.”

“I don’t know about every person who’s been kidnapped, Claire.”

“Don’t bother soft-pedalin, Faye. I know what I know. So what’s gonna happen next?”

“The FBI will be stakin out the pier, and at three o’clock Ladd will put the money in the barrel. Then he’ll leave and the FBI will wait till somebody picks it up.”

“But what if the kidnappers spot the FBI? They won’t pick it up, will they?”

“No. The fact that Ladd is droppin the money is gonna tip the kidnappers anyway.”

“Then what?”

“Then when the bad guys call ya again, we can hope Mr. Ladd wises up and lets ya do it without gettin the FBI or cops involved.”

“Won’t they be mad, the kidnappers?”

“Yeah. I would be, wouldn’t you?”

She didn’t answer.

“Claire? Ya there? Claire?”

“Yeah. I’m here. I was just thinkin. Maybe they won’t bother to call me again. Maybe they won’t trust me anymore.”

“I think they’ll give ya another chance.” I wasn’t sure of that, but I hoped it was true. Charlie Ladd was worth more to them alive than dead. Unless he was dead already, which wasn’t outta the question.

“I don’t guess we can go and hide out somewhere and watch, can we?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. We’ll find out what happened later. How’re ya gonna spend the day?”

“Why?”

“I don’t want ya sittin in your apartment twiddlin yer thumbs.”

“Whaddaya want me to do?”

“Ya like movies? Go to a movie.”

“I couldn’t do that. It wouldn’t seem respectful.”

“Call a friend who ya can be with.” I hoped she wasn’t gonna ask me to stay with her.

“Okay. I’ll call Rita Welles. She’s been a pal for years.”

“Great. I don’t think we’ll know anything before about five. I promise, soon as I know I’ll give ya a jingle.”

“Okay.”

“Try not to worry too much, Claire.” What a dumbo thing to say.

“Sure.”

“I know. Sorry. I’ll call ya later.”

After I hung up I poured another cup a joe and went back to the table. My slice of cake was still there. Where would it go? I dug right in.

I managed to save the éclair for later. Then I called Jeanne and gave her the phony baloney about my date with Johnny. I said he didn’t propose and I was glad. He just felt like taking me to a special place. She thought that was hunky-dory.

Then I phoned Johnny and we had a nice tête-à-tête. Depending on what happened, at seven we were gonna meet and have a bite at John’s Pizzeria on Bleecker.

Next was Marty. I asked him to keep his big ears open about the Ladd case and what happened when William Ladd coughed up the ransom. Then I rang Barbara Swanson and asked if we could meet. She was iffy at first, but when I told her it was about Charlie Ladd she changed her tune.

The subway was stifling. I don’t know why I bothered to bathe. I felt like I was in a bath all the time. I tried to read but it was too hot so I did my perusal of the other riders. Part of me kept hoping I’d run into the old lady who’d lifted my wallet. And what would I do if I did? Could I prove anything? No. Would I even be able to confront the old grifter? No. That was that.

Sunday the crowd was different on the subway. Lotsa kids with their parents all dressed up to go to Grandma’s for dinner. A few singles, but a lot more couples, the girls with their soldiers and sailors. It wasn’t as interesting as during the week.

I tried my book again but no go. Eventually we got to Forty-second where I took the shuttle to the East Side. And then I hopped another train to Eighty-sixth. From there I hadda walk almost all the way to the East River. The powers that be were always saying they were gonna build a subway far east, but they never did. By the time I got to where I was going, I could have wrung out my dress. I may as well have swum the river, the way I looked.

Swanson’s building looked snazzy. Nothing I’d like but it was new and expensive. And, of course, it had a doorman.

“Barbara Swanson,” I said. And when I said her name it hit me like a ton of bricks.

Claire hadn’t said word one about Swanson. Zip. And that didn’t make sense.

TWENTY-ONE

B
arbara Swanson’s apartment was as interesting as the inside of a Kleenex box. I guessed it was a two-room joint, but I only saw the living room. White walls and tan furniture. No pictures on the walls, not a book in sight, as if she’d just moved in.

Barbara herself, at least the way she looked, was more interesting. She was shorter than I and wore her brown hair like Veronica Lake. The style was better blonde, but it still worked on Babs. Whenever she turned to her left I couldn’t see her face cause the sheet of hair cascaded over her right side completely. I knew she couldn’t be working in a factory with hair like that. Machines loved it, but the bosses didn’t.

She wore a patterned light blue poplin dress with no collar but open at the neck and belted at the waist. On her feet, white open-toed shoes with a low heel.

There was no engagement ring on her left hand.

She handed me my cup of tea and sat on a very expensive and uncomfortable-looking chair.

“You wanted to know something about Charles?”

No
Charlie
for her.

“Yeah. How’re ya feelin about the whole thing?”

She blew a stream of cigarette smoke straight at me, but I was far enough away so it didn’t make the trip.

“What whole thing?”

“That he’s missin.”

“Miss Quick, I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

I believed her. “Miss Swanson, are you engaged to Charles Ladd?”

“Of course not. And call me Babs.”

“Why d’ya say of course not?”

“Charles and I are like brother and sister.”

“You are?” I stubbed out my cig.

“We’ve known each other since we were children. There’s never been anything romantic between us.”

“Can ya explain why William Ladd said ya were engaged?”

Her laugh was like the trill of a canary.

“That’s funny, huh?”

“Amusing, yes. I can’t imagine why Mr. Ladd would say such a thing. And frankly, Miss Quick, I’m not so sure he did.”

“Meanin?”

“How do I know who you are, really?”

“I showed ya my license.”

“Yes, you did. But you could be telling any tall tale. I don’t know what it is you want from me. What’s this about Charles missing?”

“Charlie disappeared almost a week ago.”

“And you thought he was with me?” Her eyes were glittery, as though they’d been polished.

“No. I didn’t think that. But I thought you might know where he is.
Do
you?”

“How dare you.” She shot up but her height made this stunt seem silly.

“Look, Babs, I came here to find out your connection to Charlie.”

“And now you know. We’re friends. Anything else?”

“When’s the last time ya saw him?”

“Before he was drafted.”

“Not since then?”

“No.”

“Why don’t ya take the load off.” I gave her the high sign to sit down.

She wasn’t an eager beaver about it, but after a few seconds she took my advice.

“If you and Charlie were such good friends, how come ya didn’t see him when he came into town?”

“I’ve only lived in New York for a month. Before that I was at home.”

“In Rhode Island?”

“Yes.”

“So why’d ya come here?”

She fired up another smoke and rested her head against the back of the chair. “Why does anyone come to New York?”

“To get away from their parents?”

She gave out with the warble again. “That, too.”

“What else?”

“Do you have any idea how boring it is to live in Rhode Island?”

“Sorta like livin in New Jersey, I guess.”

“At least New Jersey’s close to New York. I wanted to feel alive. I was dying at home.”

I nodded cause I understood. “So Charlie didn’t phone ya over the weekend?”

“He doesn’t know I’m here. Unless his parents wrote him. But no, I haven’t heard from him. And I had no idea what was going on. Are his parents here?”

“Yes. Mr. Ladd is. Mrs. couldn’t handle it and went back home.”

“Poor Jennifer. Are the police involved?”

“Yes. And, of course, Claire.”

“Claire?”

“Didn’t you and Charlie write each other?”

“Yes. For a while. Then he stopped answering my letters.” Her face was draining of color.

“Why d’ya think that happened?”

“I don’t . . . I don’t know.”

“I think ya do.”

She turned away, her Veronica Lake masking her face from me. But I could see her shoulders shaking and I knew Barbara Swanson was crying.

I waited.

She turned back to me after she’d taken a hankie from the pocket of her dress and swiped at her face with it.

“I was in love with Charles but he didn’t feel the same way. Our parents always assumed we’d marry. We were a couple in high school. I knew he didn’t really care for me.”

“You wrote to each other when he was first in the army?”

“Yes. I shouldn’t have told him how I felt. It was after that that he stopped writing.”

I hated having to tell her. “So ya didn’t know that Charlie had a girlfriend named Claire Turner?”

“No.”

“Do ya know if Charlie had any enemies?”

“How could he?”

“Meanin?”

“Charles is the nicest, kindest man I’ve ever met.”

Charlie Ladd had everybody fooled. Except maybe the kidnappers. I toyed with the idea of telling her the truth about what’d happened to Charlie. Then I rejected it cause the less people who knew what was going on, the better.

I stood up.

“Where are you going?”

This took me aback. “You’ve been real helpful, but I hafta go now.”

“Are you going to see this Claire person?”

“Why?”

“I’d like to go with you.”

“I don’t think I can do that. I mean, that’d be sorta a mess.”

“I want to be somewhere where I can know what’s happening.”

“Frankly, Babs, I was goin home.”

“Won’t you be searching for Charles?”

I couldn’t tell her I’d be waiting to hear how the ransom drop went.

“I’ll be followin some leads from home,” I said.

“Then let me come home with you.”

This was some wacky broad.

“Please. I don’t want to be alone.” What was it with these girls? I liked my time alone.

“Can’t ya get a friend over?”

“I don’t have any friends.”

This was malarkey. “That’s not true.”

“How do you know?”

“You seem like a nice dame, why wouldn’t ya have any friends?”

“I told you, I just moved to New York. I haven’t had a chance to make friends.”

“Not even at work?”

“I don’t work. I have a trust fund.”

What did she do all day? I couldn’t picture not working. I’d go loco with nothing to do.

“Look, Babs. Comin home with me is not a good idea. I promise I’ll call ya as soon as I know anything.”

“You hate me.”

“Huh?”

“You think I’m vile.”

“Wait a minute. I don’t know where yer gettin this hogwash, but I don’t hate ya or . . . or think yer . . .”

“Never mind. Just go.”

“I’ll call ya, Babs.”

“I might not be here.”

“I’ll try ya again.”

“If I’m still alive.”

I wasn’t falling for this. I walked to the door, opened it, said goodbye, then closed it behind me.

To say this meet gave me the blue devils wasn’t the half of it. I’d never come across anyone so manipulative and loony. I wasn’t sure what her game was, but I wasn’t playing.

My wristwatch said two-thirty. Half an hour till the drop. I hadda argue myself outta heading for Pier Eighty-eight and playing the invisible girl. Deep down I knew that might make things worse. So I decided to go home and wait for the call.

Dolores wasn’t on the stoop, and she hadn’t left her pillow there. The shade was down on her window. Everything looked exactly like it had when I’d left that morning. Something was out of whack and the butterflies were making mincemeat outta my stomach.

I hurried up the steps into the building and right to her door. I knocked hard and loud.

“Dolores? Ya in?”

I put my ear to the door. Nothing. That was pretty scary, too. She always had her radio on when she was there. What was I thinking? Maybe she just wasn’t home. I was getting to be a worrywart in my old age.

I knocked again and called her name. I’d just about decided she was out somewhere when I realized that was tommy-rot. Dolores never went anywhere. To the store, but that was it. And if she’d gone to the store she wouldn’t pull down the shade and her pillow’d be on the top step.

A cold sweat started running along my spine. I banged on the door and yelled her name. Finally I tried the door. It was locked. Dolores never locked her door. I’d nagged her about that, but she always waved the idea away.

“What’s wrong?”

It was Jim Duryea.

“Dolores doesn’t answer.” I quickly told him all the reasons we oughta be worried.

“You think we should call the police?”

“Yes. And I think we should try to get this door open.” I gave him the keys to my apartment. “Could ya go to my place and make the call?”

“What about getting the door open?”

“Leave that to me.”

He gave me a funny look, then went to my apartment, where he unlocked the door. While he was inside my place I got out my ever-loving picks and went to work. By the time Jim came back I was opening the door. I hated going into people’s apartments. I never knew what I’d find.

I called Dolores’s name and listened. Nothing.

“The bedroom,” Jim said.

I nodded and we tiptoed toward it. I don’t know why we thought we should be quiet. If she wasn’t there, she wouldn’t hear us—and if she
was
there, she probably wouldn’t, either. I got a knot in my stomach when I thought of that.

I knocked on the bedroom door and called her name once more, hoping. Nothing. I looked at Jim.

“We have to go in,” he said.

“Yeah.”

I turned the knob and opened the door. We saw her right away.

She was facedown on the floor. I ran to feel her pulse. It was there. And she was breathing. There was a little blood on the side of her head but I figured that coulda happened when she fell. I didn’t think this was a crime scene.

“Where are those police?” Jim asked.

“I think I hear em. Run out and tell em we need an ambulance.”

“Okay.”

“Dolores? Can ya hear me? Dolores?” I felt guilt weighing me down, like some ape was sitting on my chest. All the times I’d found Dolores annoying, tried to duck her, thought she was batty.

“Please wake up.”

She didn’t stir.

Two cops came thundering in.

“Move back, lady,” one said.

I didn’t move. “I don’t know what’s happened to her. I found her like this.”

“I said to move back.” He looked like a package of un-shelled walnuts.

“Okay.” I stood up as he moved in.

“She’s alive,” he said.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Slezak, go call an ambulance.”

“My friend’s doin that,” I said.

“Look, girlie, I’m in charge here. I don’t even know who ya are.”

“I’m her neighbor.”

“Go on, Slezak, don’t just stand there like a department store dummy.”

Slezak left.

“Now you, girlie, you stay outta the way. In fact, ya said ya were a neighbor, go home.”

“Not on yer life.”

“What’d ya say?”

“I said, I’m not leavin. She’s my friend.” And she was.

“Listen, sister, you better . . .”

There was a racket in the other room and then two guys came in with a gurney. Both of us moved outta the way.

I tried to watch while they took her vital signs. But I couldn’t see a thing. Then they got her on the gurney and carefully carried her out. I followed.

There was a crowd on the street. I knew most of them, and they’d be asking me a trillion questions after the ambulance left. St. Vincent’s Hospital was the closest, so I started walking in that direction.

“Faye? Where are you going?” Jim asked.

“To the hospital.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“Suit yerself.”

And we were off.