Too Darn Hot (9 page)

The waiter left on little cat feet, like the poet wrote.

“You’ve got to find our son,” William said.

“I will. Or the police will.”

“I’m not sure the police are too worried about Charles,” he said.

I took a sip of my drink. “If it was just a missin person case, I might share that outlook. But Cooper makes it murder. The cops’ll take that seriously.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“What about Claire? Do you like her?”

Again they looked at each other.

I waited.

“We haven’t met her but at least she’s not Jewish,” Mrs. L. said.

“Yes. I suppose we should be grateful for that.” He took out a gold holder, stuffed a cigarette into it, and flicked a fancy gold lighter.

“What would be the problem if she
was
Jewish?”

“Well, you know how they are.” Jennifer Ladd wrinkled her nose, and it wasn’t cute.

“No. I don’t know how they are.”

William said, “Let’s not get sidetracked. What else do you want to know?”

“Do ya have any idea why Charlie would disappear?” I eyeballed the hors d’oeuvres.

“I think he was kidnapped,” she said.

“I don’t,” he said. “There’s been no ransom request.”

“So whaddaya think happened to him, Mr. Ladd?”

“I can’t imagine. Whatever it was, it had nothing to do with Cooper’s murder. You say he was a soldier, too?”

“A private like yer son.”

“It’s so awful, so very confusing and awful,” Mrs. L. said. She took a swig of her martini.

“Why would Cooper be murdered in Charlie’s room?” he asked.

“That’s what everybody wants to know.”

“Well, we’re going to stay here until Charles is found,” he said.

“Can ya think of anything that might help me find him?”

“Such as what?” She blew a perfect smoke ring.

“Habits, interests, hobbies.”

Mrs. L. said, “He collects stamps.”

“Please, Jennifer. That’s not what Miss Quick means.”

“Well, it is sorta,” I said. “Did he have any other hobbies?”

“He collected stamps when he was a boy,” Mr. L. said. “He hasn’t done that for years. And no. I can’t think of any other hobbies Charles was interested in. But you might want to talk to George Cummings, the other gentleman you said was with him last Friday night. He might know things we don’t.”

“What kinds of things, William?” She seemed alarmed.

Nobody was eating the hors d’oeuvres. What a waste.

“Jennifer, a boy doesn’t tell his mother everything.”

She downed her drink then reached for a little cracker with a spread on it. Finally she offered the platter to me.

“Thanks, I believe I will.” I bagged a shrimp thing. “I’ve already met with Mr. Cummings.”

“What did he say?” she asked.

“He couldn’t help me cause he didn’t see Charlie often.”

“Poor George,” she said. “His eyes.”

“Yeah, too bad.” I wanted another shrimp, but didn’t dare reach for one. I drank instead.

I didn’t think the Ladds were gonna cough up anything else useful, so I told them I’d be in touch.

Waiting for the elevator, I thought about that business of asking what kind of name Quick was. And their not-so-subtle feelings about Jews.

I didn’t think either of them was keeping any serious jelly from me. They didn’t want to face the possibility of where Charlie might be and if they’d ever see him again. Who would?

TEN

I
could hear Ma Bell calling to me as I tried to get the key in my door. The harder I tried the worse it got. I thought it might be Johnny. I told myself it was only a phone call and that he’d call back.

Finally I turned the lock, opened up, almost tripped over Zachary, who gave me a greeting howl, and shut the door so he wouldn’t get out. I ran to the phone and grabbed the receiver.

“Yeah? Hello?”

“What’s with ya, Faye? Ya sound like ya been runnin up Mount Everest.”

Birdie. “I had trouble gettin in, that’s all.”

“Yeah. You’ve been out.”

“No kiddin.”

“I’ve been tryin ya for hours, fresh mouth.”

“Sorry.” I sat down and Zachary jumped into my lap. I knew it wasn’t cause he’d missed me. It was about food. He’d have to wait, but I scratched him around the ears. “So what is it, Bird?”

“Claire Turner called about five o’clock soundin crazy.”

“Crazy?”

“More hysterical than crazy, I guess.”

“And?”

“She wanted ya to call her soon as ya could.”

“Didn’t say what it was about?”

“They don’t tell me secret stuff like that, Faye.”

“That’s a secret, tellin ya what she wanted?”

“Lemme put it to ya this way. I asked and she said she couldn’t yak about it with
me.
She needed you chop chop.”

“Don’t be hurt, Bird.”

“Who’s hurt? Ya think I wanna know about their dirty laundry?”

Yeah, I did. I let it go. “I have her number in my pocketbook, but gimme it anyway.”

She did.

“Any other calls?”

“If there was, I woulda told ya.”

“Right. Sorry. Why don’t ya go home now.”

“I
am
home. I’m making pork chops.”

“Oh, yeah. For Pete.”

“For Pete, yeah.”

“Hope ya have fun, Bird. And I’ll see ya Monday.”

“Goodbye,” she said.

Was she mad at me? She was never formal like that. I hoped she wasn’t gonna quit. I couldn’t run the agency without Birdie Ritter. Sure, I could always get another secretary, but not like her. The sugar shortage made it hard to find a box of candy. I’d have to think of something else to take her on Monday.

I was planning to go to Claire’s anyway, to get the picture of Charlie Ladd. She knew that. What could be so important? I dialed. She picked up on half a ring.

“Oh, thank God it’s you.”

“What’s goin on?”

“I don’t want to talk about it over the phone.”

Why did they always say that? “Could ya please come here.”

“Sure. I was plannin to, remember?”

“I forgot. The picture.”

“Yeah.”

“This is nothin to be sneezed at, Faye.”

“Okay, I’ll be there soon as I can.”

Zachary looked at me with pitiful eyes. Claire would have to wait. I stood up and he jumped down. I got his food, dished it up, and put it on the floor. I heard him purring. He was one happy guy.

“I hate to do this to ya, Zach,” I said, “but I gotta go out again.”

He kept eating; I coulda been invisible. I grabbed my stuff and headed out. A neighbor, Jim Duryea, was in the hall. We’d had a strange encounter a few months ago, but since then we’d been friendly enough though he’d never be my favorite guy.

“Going out in this heat?”

“I have to, Jim.”

“I’ll bet you’re on the missing soldier case.”

That knocked me back on my heels. How’d he find out?

“Ya know I can’t talk about my cases.”

“It’s in all the papers. Do you think they’ll find him? The soldier?”

“I have no idea. I gotta go, Jim.”

Outside I walked to Sixth and Tenth and hailed a hack. Something I hardly ever did. But I’d put it down as expenses. I gave the driver the address and sat back to smoke a cig.

Jim’s guess made me think of Anne Fontaine, who was a real psychic. I missed her like mad. We’d been friends since high school, but a couple of months ago she’d moved to California. She said she saw the name of the state written on somebody’s forehead and knew she had to go. We kept in touch by letter, but it wasn’t the same.

At Sixty-first Street and Eighth Avenue the cabby let me out. I paid him the $1.25 and tipped him a nickel. Cabs were getting pricey.

At Claire’s building I walked up three flights. She was standing in the doorway.

“Hurry,” she said.

She looked around the hallway before she shut the door. The first thing she did was light a cigarette.

The apartment was pretty dark cause her view was another building about two feet away. Mismatched pieces that looked like she’d gotten them at a fire sale made up her furnishings. I gave the room the once-over, but saw nothing that looked like ya could sleep on. Then I noticed a floor-to-ceiling cabinet. A Murphy bed. I figured the one inside door was the bathroom.

“Sit down, Faye.”

I sat and took a cig from my pack of Camels, which was running low.

She paced. “He called.”

“Who?”

“The person who took Charlie.”

“Ya mean he
was
kidnapped?”

“Yeah.”

“What’d he say?”

“He said he had him and he wanted a hundred thousand dollars to give Charlie back.”

I let out with a whistle. “A hundred thou. That could buy a lotta tamales.”

“Where am I gonna get that kinda money?”

“What else did he say?”

“He said he’d be callin back with instructions. I tried to tell him I couldn’t get that much money but he wouldn’t pay attention to me.”

“You didn’t get to speak to Charlie, did ya?”

She flashed a smile of pride. “Yeah, I did. I knew enough to ask for that. He put Charlie on for a couple a secs, but I knew it was him.”

“Did ya call the police?”

“He said no cops.”

“Yeah. They always say that.”

Her eyes widened. “You know who they are?”

“I meant kidnappers in general.”

“Oh. So what should I do, Faye?”

“I think we have to tell the Ladds. They’re in town at the St. Moritz.”

“Have ya seen em?”

“I went to their hotel. Naturally I didn’t tell em you hired me. But they assumed that anyway.”

“They hate me.”

“They never met ya.”

“They hate me anyway.” She pooched out her lower lip. “Why d’ya think Charlie hasn’t introduced us?”

“Ya said . . . never mind. When they meet ya, they’ll like ya.”

She sat on the chair across from me, put out her cigarette, and pulled her feet up under her.

“Look, Claire, ya don’t have the money and the Ladds probably do. I mean if they’re stayin at the St. Moritz, they’re not broke.”

She nodded. “Charlie tried to play it down, but things he said made me know they’re rich.”

“It seems like callin them is yer only angle.”

“What if the kidnappers find out?”

“How d’ya know there’s more than one?”

“I heard a guy in the background talkin to somebody else.”

“Anyway, he told ya not to get the police into it, not the Ladds.”

“Yeah, that’s true.”

“He didn’t say when they’d call back, did he?”

“No.” She lit up again.

“By the way, ya got that picture of Charlie?”

“I gave the good one to the cops yesterday when they came to see me. But I got another.”

She opened the drawer of a table, took something out, which musta been the picture, and turned back to me.

“He’s much better lookin than this, Faye.” Her eyes filled up.

“I gotta see it, Claire.”

“Yeah.” She laid her glims on the pic like she was gonna forget his face if she didn’t, then handed it to me.

Private Ladd was a handsome fella. He had big, sad eyes and a straight nose. I couldn’t see his hair cause it was under his hat, but she’d told me it was brown. The brim shaded part of his face.

I lit my last Camel and looked for a place to toss the empty pack. I didn’t see anything so I dropped it into my pocketbook. “Ya want me to call the Ladds?”

“Would you?”

“Sure.” The minute I said it I felt queasy. How d’ya tell parents their son’s been kidnapped? Better than telling them he’s dead, that was for sure. And he could end up dead if these snatchers didn’t get their long green. I walked over to the phone.

The Ladds were horrified but the moola was no problem for William. I told em to wait in their suite until Claire phoned after she heard again from the men holding Charlie.

This setup made Claire one unhappy twist.

“I don’t like the idea of
me
having to call
them.
”

I wanted to tell her that this wasn’t about her relationship with the Ladds and to can it. But I didn’t think honesty would be the smart move to make with this client.

“Claire, this is the way it’s gotta be done. Unless ya want the Ladds to come here and wait with ya.”

“No.”

I figured she was probably ashamed of her apartment. “Well, ya can’t wait at the St. Moritz with them cause the kidnappers are callin ya here.”

“What if they don’t call for days?” Now she was getting whiny.

“Ya gotta sit tight.”

“Will you stay with me?”

Oh, brother.

“I suppose you have some hot date?”

“I don’t.”

“Please stay.”

She looked so pitiful I said I’d stay for a while or until they called, whichever came first.

They never called. At least not while I was there and I’d been home for half an hour and hadn’t had a jingle from Claire. I tried to stay off the phone, but even though it was late it was one of those times when it seemed like everybody hadda ring me.

I talked to Johnny, but after I told him what was going on I kept it short. Him I woulda liked jawing with. Still, it was nice that I had a boyfriend who understood.

Jeanne Darnell called, too. We made a date for the next week to meet for dinner at Fuglio’s on Greenwich Avenue. She was another one who understood if I had to cancel, which I’d done on many a night. She said she had something special to tell me. I wondered if she was tying the knot with her longtime boyfriend.

I shrugged off a few more calls while I was getting out my bobby pins and the strips of cotton I used to do my hair. I was getting sick of this routine. I kept threatening to cut my mop but I never seemed to get around to it.

I turned on the radio to my favorite music station and caught the Mills Brothers right in the middle of “Paper Doll.” I liked them a lot and sang along till the end of the tune.

I’d decided if there was no news on Charlie by morning I was gonna head to New Jersey and meet Lucille Turner.

Swell. How was I gonna get there?

ELEVEN

T
he phone was my alarm clock. I pushed Zach off my head, rolled out of bed, and got to the horn in time. “Yeah?”

“What if it wasn’t me?” Marty said.

“Huh?”

“Answerin with a
yeah.
”

“Who are you, Emily Post?”

“How much ya wanna know about David Cooper?”

“A lot.”

“Then close that satchel mouth and listen.”

“Shoot.” This was no time to put on the gloves with Marty.

“The hotel geniuses found Cooper’s room soon as they were told the ID. Then Powell and company went over Cooper’s room and came up with his dog tags, wallet, the usual.”

“Nothin else?”

“That’s all I could find out. I was hopin there might be a connection to Ladd, beside them bein on leave together. Somethin to tell us if he knocked Cooper off and then took a powder.”

I didn’t know what to do about telling Marty the kidnapping stuff. But he’d never forgive me if he found out I’d known and didn’t tell him.

“Marty. About Ladd. I got some news but ya gotta swear ya won’t tell anybody.”

“I swear on my mother’s grave.”

“Yer mother’s still alive.”

“I was talkin about the grave she’s gonna have someday.”

“Don’t be a saucebox or I won’t tell ya.”

“Okay. I won’t tell nobody. Ya know that, Faye.”

“Not yer tootsie or anybody else.”

There was a deadly quiet on the line. I’d never in so many words let slip that I knew about his girlfriend.

“That’s a low blow, Faye.”

“I’m not judgin ya. I don’t care what ya do.” It was a lie. I did care that he cheated on his wife. I thought he was a heel to do it. But in all other ways he was solid gold and most of the time I could put his double-crossing Bridgett to the side.

“So why’d ya mention it?”

“I guess I’m afraid a pillow talk.”

“I don’t tell Bette nothin.”

First time I heard her name. “Good.”

“So what were ya gonna tell me?”

I filled him in on the call to Claire, the kidnapping, and the Ladds, who were ready to pony up with the dough.

“Ya didn’t tell Powell?”

“No. And don’t you, either. Ya know it could get Charlie killed just as much as I do.”

“Yeah. Okay. But don’t ever let on I knew.”

“Promise.”

I pulled out the drawer in the phone table and scrabbled around until I found an old half pack of Camels. I shook one out. Some matches were in the drawer, too. I jammed the receiver between my shoulder and ear and lit up. That was better.

“So who killed Cooper?” I said.

“How do
I
know who killed him?”

“I was talkin to myself.”

“As long as ya don’t answer yerself that’s okay.”

I listened to him laughing like some hyena. “That’s a good one, Marty. When yer through pattin yerself on yer back at how witty ya are, I got another favor to ask.”

He snorted once, then said, “Spill.”

“You know anybody with a car?”

“Yeah.”

“You know them well enough to ask to borrow it?”

“For you?”

“Yeah.”

“Where’d ya learn to drive, Faye?”

“In New Jersey. My uncle taught me. Said it might come in handy one day.”

“Thing is, the person I’m thinkin of wouldn’t want a dame drivin his jalopy.”

That burned me up. All this malarkey about women drivers. I couldn’t ask Marty to pretend he’d be at the wheel, so I wrapped up the conversation.

As I was pouring water in my coffeepot I remembered that
I
knew someone with a car. Jim Duryea. I dialed his number.

We said our hellos, but I didn’t beat around the bush. I asked him right out if he was willing to let me have his buggy for the day. He asked me where I’d learned to drive and if I had a license. I felt like hanging up on him but I needed the car. So I made nice. He told me to come up for the keys when I was ready.

I called Birdie.

“Why?” she said.

“Why what?”

“Why’re ya goin to New Jersey?”

“That’s where Lucille Turner lives and works.”

“Why would she live in New Jersey?”

“Careful, you’re speakin of my home state.”

“Yeah, and a place ya love like I love Iowa.”

“I never knew you’d been to Iowa.”

“I haven’t. That’s my point.”

We said goodbye and then I fed the cat, took a shower, and slipped into a casual polka-dot dress and a pair of open-toed shoes. I didn’t have a single pair of stockings left and didn’t feel like putting on leg makeup and drawing the damn line down the back of my gams. I went bare-legged instead.

I grabbed my pocketbook, left
The Human Comedy
cause I wouldn’t be reading while driving—no matter what all those mugs thought. In the hall Dolores was doing her usual sweeping. She was wearing a striped blouse with a checked skirt and her wig was hanging low over her right ear. Par for the course.

I said hello while starting toward the stairs.

“Ho ho,” she said.

I stopped. “What ho ho?”

“Yer goin up instead of out.”

“And?”

“Who has the pleasure of yer company?”

She was the nosiest woman I’d ever met. But I couldn’t get mad at her. “Jim Duryea. Make somethin outta that.”

“Me? Me make something outta a visit to Mr. Duryea? Why would I do that?”

“Ya got me there, Dolores.”

“It’s early for a visit. Ya having breakfast together? A nosh maybe?”

Telling her the reason would only lead to more questions so I just said no and continued walking up.

When Jim opened his door, there was a smile on his puss, as usual. He was dressed in a blue summer suit and a lightweight striped tie.

Being inside his apartment was like being in a museum’s storage space. Every inch was crammed with artifacts. Jim owned an antiques store but couldn’t help bringing home pieces he liked.

He offered me a seat and a cup a coffee. I accepted cause I couldn’t just snatch the keys to the car and run. Besides, I’d only had time for one cup and I needed another jolt.

The java he brought me was tops. Jim always had the best of everything.

“May I ask where you’re going, Faye?”

“I gotta go to New Jersey.”

“Business or pleasure?”

“Business.” I couldn’t imagine anyone going to New Jersey for pleasure. But my attitude was colored by the fact that my ma and pop were there.

“And, of course, I can’t ask why.”

“You’re finally catchin on, Jim.”

“I’ve always understood, but I thought it worth a try.”

I took a cig from my bag and Jim lit it with an odd table lighter.

“I see that you’re looking at this.”

“Yeah.”

He handed me the lighter. It was a metal Scottie dog, black with white eyes and a little red nose. Now that I saw it up close it gave me the jimjams.

“Very nice,” I said.

He flashed me a satisfied smile.

“So, New Jersey, hmmm?”

I nodded.

“Isn’t that where you’re from, Faye?”

“It is. Newark.”

“Are you going to visit your folks while you’re there?”

Gloom settled over me like a foggy day just thinking about doing that. “I don’t think so.” I took a swallow of coffee.

“So it has something to do with the missing soldier case.”

“You’re impossible, Jim.” I stood up. “Can I have the keys?”

“You haven’t finished your coffee.”

“It’s very good and I hate to leave it, but I have to go.”

He actually sniffed. “All right.” He walked over to a serious-looking antique desk, opened a tiny drawer, and took out the keys. “I was able to get a B sticker because I said I drove back and forth from my shop.”

“Aren’t ya afraid ya might get caught?”

“No. I can’t imagine who would care about my comings and goings. Take my ration book, just in case you need gas.”

“I hadn’t even thought about using up yer gas. You sure ya don’t mind?”

“For you, Faye, anything.”

“Thanks, Jim.” I didn’t like the sound of that at all.

“I’m parked on Charles near Seventh. You know what the car looks like, don’t you?”

“Who could forget? Burgundy roadster, right?”

“A LaSalle. And it has a rumble seat.”

“Well, I won’t be needin that.”

“I know it’s nine years old but I like it. Be very careful when you put the top down, and I’m sure you’ll want to on a day like this.”

“I promise I’ll return it as I found it, Jim. I’m really a good driver.”

“If you say so.”

I could feel the slow burn making its way up from my toes. “I do say so.”

He handed me the keys and the ration book. “When do you think you’ll be back?”

“Sometime in the afternoon.”

“You can slide the keys under my door if I’m not home.”

“I can’t thank ya enough.”

“Think nothing of it.”

When I got downstairs, Dolores was still sweeping. I was sure she was clocking me.

“That was a short visit.”

“Yeah? How long was it?”

“How should I know?”

“Just wonderin.”

“About twenty minutes.”

I went out into the sunshiny, hellish day. First thing I had to do was pick up a fresh pack of cigs from my local store.

Village Cigars was at the intersection of Christopher, West Fourth Street, and Seventh Avenue. The shop was shaped like a triangle and run by Nick Jaffe, a funny little guy who always wore a cap. Some people thought it was because he was Jewish but didn’t want to wear a yarmulke. I knew he wanted to cover his bald head. But maybe he had religious reasons, too. Who could say?

The store was empty. Unusual. “Hiya, Nick.”

“Faye, my darling. Pack of Camels?”

“And the papers.” I hoped I’d have time to read them later.

Nick leaned toward me over the counter. “It’s getting worse, Faye.”

I knew what he was talking about cause he told me every time I went into the store. I always humored him.

“Worse? How could it be worse?”

“They think they’re going to the showers but it’s gas comes out of the sprinklers. Poisoned gas.”

“No.”

“Yes. They say it’s hundreds at a time. Women and children, too. Ya gotta get the word out, Faye.”

“I’m tryin, Nick.” I didn’t tell a soul cause I was afraid they’d take him off to the funny farm. I hated lying to Nick, but I felt I was protecting him. “Ya tell anybody else about this?”

“Only the ones I trust. Which ain’t many.”

I thought the others felt like me but kept mum or Nick woulda been picked up by now.

I paid him for the Camels and the papers.

“Don’t let the information get in the wrong ears, Faye. Ya know what they say: ‘Loose lips sink ships.’ ”

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell the wrong people.” I felt like a rat. “I’ll see ya, Nick.”

Walking up Seventh, I wondered why Nick made up this stuff. He seemed normal in every other way.

I crossed Seventh and on the other side, at the corner of Charles, there it was. It was swell looking, a red dazzler. I wished someday I could sit in the rumble seat. I slipped the key into the driver’s door, stepped up on the running board, and got in. The dashboard had dials trimmed in shiny chrome, and the steering wheel had a big chrome horn in the center with the initials LAS across it. The seats were soft tan leather, the color matching the top, which I woulda put down, except for the time I’d lose, so I gave it skips.

I threw my papers on the passenger seat, turned the key, pulled out the choke, and put my left foot on the clutch. I shifted into first, and put my right foot on the gas pedal, and pushed it down while I let the other pedal up. I pulled out a bit and waited at the corner until I could turn down Seventh Avenue toward the Holland Tunnel to New Jersey. Whenever I went through the tunnel, which wasn’t often, I thought of my mother’s story about the day it opened.

My grandfather had insisted that his son, Humphrey, take the whole family in their car and drive them through the tunnel, each way. My mother said it was quite an experience, but it wasn’t fun cause her mother was terrified that the walls would crumble and they’d all drown in the water that would come gushing in from the Hudson River.

I wasn’t nuts for going through the tunnel myself. Maybe I inherited my grandma’s fears cause it didn’t take much to make me think I heard crumbling or rushing water.

At the booth I paid the toll. Soon I passed the sign on the tunnel wall that said NEW YORK/NEW JERSEY. It gave me the same feeling as sitting in the house in a wet bathing suit.

Before long I saw some light and then I was out of the tunnel. I was in New Jersey. Always a thrill. I wasn’t far from my family’s house. It was closer than the bookstore where Lucille worked. I guess I’d known all along that I couldn’t be in NJ without dropping in at 1240 Seymour Avenue. The question was, before or after the bookstore? I figured I’d have a better chance of catching my mother a little sane in the morning than later in the day.

So I headed to Seymour Avenue.