Trouble in Rooster Paradise (6 page)

“
It looks to me that for some of
these customers, ordinary is a big step up,” I said.

He laughed, but it didn’t come from the belly.
It was one of those social chortles going no farther down than the
vocal cords.

Most of the caterers to good taste had moved up
the hill some years before. The Moonglow Eats was an underground
cavern on First Avenue—an old strip of real estate with
neon-shingled stop-off spots for flesh peddlers, the
fortune-twisted, and those who didn’t give their right names.
Fortunately, as you entered, the sharp aroma of corned beef and
cabbage washed over all competing smells.

I’d arrived a couple minutes late. After making
my way from the street down a dizzying flight of stairs that would
never pass today’s safety codes, I saw Mr. Lundeen reading the
comics section of the
Seattle Times
. It made for an unusual
opening. A Rikard Lundeen opening.

“
Joe Palooka hasn’t been in the ring
lately. A real disappointment to a boxing fan like me. I like to
see a good mix-up, even in the funny papers. But, Alley Oop never
disappoints. What a hoot. He’s being dogged by a persistent
dinosaur and the old Grand Wizer is sorer than blazes at him. Cave
men. Time travel. It stretches the imagination. Yes, indeed, a real
hoot. Do
you
read the funnies, Gunnar?” he’d
asked.

“
Sure. I like Li’l Abner.” I’d
started reading it during the war in
Stars and
Stripes
.

“
Good for you. Good for you. To my
way of thinking, a man who doesn’t read the funnies lacks
dimension. But I’d have taken you for a Dick Tracy man. What do you
find appealing about Li’l Abner? Is it Al Capp’s narrative
technique? His political satire?”

I didn’t usually give this much thought to the
funnies.

“
Gunnar, I’ll bet you like the
comprehensive lampoons—the social criticism. Is that it,
son?”

I decided his questions weren’t from curiosity
but more likely an attempt to keep me in my place. I knew that
Rikard Lundeen didn’t want his common man setting his sights too
high, and that included the average private eye. So, while I liked
Abner Yokum’s indestructible guilelessness, and how the big yokel
brought out people’s true colors like a human litmus test, instead
I said, “Al Capp works wonders with paper and ink. Those pretty
hillbilly girls in their skimpy little outfits practically prance
off the page.”

He beamed. “Why yes, son, I suppose they do at
that. Yes, indeed, skimpy little outfits.”

We’d snagged a spot in a corner and gave each
other across-the-table scrutiny. I’d freshened the pomade in my
hair and wore my mole-gray suit for the occasion. Mr. Lundeen wore
a dark brown leisure jacket and khaki-colored slacks. On the table
he’d placed the pilot’s sunglasses I remembered he
favored.

When he’d eaten a third of his meal he said,
“Family.” He watched me with shrewd eyes in a beatific face. “In
the end, Gunnar, what else do we have?”

What else? If the man lived to be a hundred and
used twenties for toilet paper, he wouldn’t put a dent in his
fortune. But I kept those thoughts to myself. I wasn’t sure what my
reaction was supposed to be, so I did my rendition of a sagacious
nod.

He gave me what I took for a conspiratorial
twinkle. “Come from a big family, son?”

I shook my head as I wiped my mouth with a
paper napkin. “My folks were killed in an auto crash when I was
six. I was raised by my grandparents.”

“
Ah, then you know something about
enduring familial ties.”

I didn’t tell him that my grandparents had died
when I was in my late teens. Instead, I gave an affirming
smile.

“
My beloved mother was one of the
Mercer girls, did you know that?”

“
Daughter of Asa Mercer?” I asked.
Mercer was one of Seattle’s founding fathers and first president of
the University of Washington.

“
No, no. I’m not related to that
fool schoolteacher. The only smart thing he did was to bring a
number of single women West after the Civil War to help balance out
Seattle’s man-to-woman ratio. I wouldn’t be here otherwise. My
father Guttorm married one of the girls from Mercer’s second trip.
I was the youngest of their five children—and their only
boy.”

Which made him heir apparent.

“
You name it, my father did it. He
showed the way in Seattle’s early boom. Hell, he
was
the
boom. He started off as a shopkeeper’s helper, became a partner in
a printing firm, a banker, a hotel-builder and an investor in land
and local industry. And believe me, son, I could go on.”

I believed him. Guttorm Lundeen was also an
avaricious taskmaster, a strike-buster, and a payer of bribes and
graft. And believe me,
I
could go on.

“
Did you know that ours was one of
the original families to move to First Hill?”

I confessed my ignorance.

“
Well we were. Over the years I’ve
merely enlarged upon and managed my father’s holdings. Yet, I’m
considered one of the barons of the Northwest. But it was my
father’s commitment to family that made it all possible. Do you
know the maxim he lived by, son?” he asked solemnly.

Compound interest is your best friend seemed a
reasonable guess, but I told him I didn’t have a clue.

“ ‘
Rikky,’ my father would say,
‘blood is tikker dan sweat. Work hard, boy, but stand by your
family, or all the sweat is vert-less.’”

I had no idea where this conversation was
headed. But he was paying for lunch, so I sipped my coffee and
waited patiently for the punch line.

It was a short wait.

“
I understand you knew Christine
Johanson—the girl who was killed over in Ballard last
night.”

That surprised me. He noticed.

“
Is my source wrong?”

“
Yes and no,” I said. “I met her
briefly the night before last. But I didn’t really know her. Was
she related to you?”

“
No, son. No relation. But the girl
had a connection to my family. My godson was her
boyfriend.”

“
I see.”

“
Not as clearly as I want you to,
Gunnar. The murdered girl worked for one of my son’s commercial
brainchilds. It’s an adjunct venture of Darlund Apparels. It’s one
of those projects where Rod can toy with being a businessman.
Frankly, it’s a dog. And it’s a costly dog at that,” he said, with
a shake of his head. “But it keeps Rod occupied and provides us
with a tax shelter. He doesn’t even actually head the fiasco. One
of his favor-begging college chums manages things for
him.”

Rod Lundeen’s fame-claim had been his prowess
as a University of Washington athlete in the mid ’20s. He’d turned
into a flabby middle-aged man whose strengths lay more in the high
life than in the life of commerce.

“
And your concern is for
Rod
?” I asked.

“
Not at all, son. At this moment Rod
and wife number three are on a luxury liner mindlessly cruising the
inland waters of Canada. As usual, I’m left to tend to business.
This time, some rather unfortunate business. So much for
semi-retirement.”

I heard a complaint in there, but it was a
hollow one. I knew that Rikard Lundeen would be ship captain till
the day they carried his corpse from the pilothouse. And even then
they’d have to pry his hands from the wheel. I continued to look at
him between forkfuls of apple pie.

“
But since young Dirk is
involved—”

“
Dirk?”

“
My godson. Dirk Engstrom. I’ve
known the family for years. His late grandfather was my best
friend. And his father and I regularly go on fishing trips
together. He’s a local jeweler and a gem of a man. Pardon the
pun.”

I absolved him with a lift of one
brow.

“
And this jeweler’s son is the Dirk
who was romancing Christine Johanson?” I asked.

“
Precisely. Dirk’s learning the
jewelry business from his father. Listen, son, if you haven’t
guessed it, I want to hire you to look into the girl’s
murder.”

“
Why not let the police handle it?
I’m sure they’ll be thorough.” Especially for a man with your
green, is what I thought.

“
Maybe so. But I’d hate for them to
get thorough in a troublesome way. The police are being discreet
for now. But the murdered girl worked for a
Lundeen
company,
and I view young Dirk and his father as my own family.”

“
And blood
is
thicker than
sweat—”

“
Exactly. You’re tracking right with
me, son. If the police should dig up something ugly, the scandal
could hurt Engstrom Jewelry. And I believe I’d even rather see
Rod’s costly enterprise die its own pathetic death than go down in
some messy embarrassment. So, I want my own unofficial inquiry, and
some effort made to contain anything disturbing that may come to
light. It might be quite the task, but when it comes to discretion,
you’ve definitely won my confidence, son.”

I met his look of shared meaning.

“
I noticed you kept it out of the
papers,” I said.

“
An easy matter, once you helped me
to spike her guns.”

I shrugged. “Most people with larceny in their
souls have something to hide. It’s just a matter of
discovery.”

He sighed. “I’ve mellowed with age, son. That
little tramp was lucky I only gave her walking papers.”

Lundeen’s inamorata had hoped to score big. For
a B movie bit player, she was an A-1 actress. She threatened to
play the part of an ill-used plaintiff in a paternity suit. I
learned she had a record of just enough small-time forgery, petty
theft, and bunco activity to lack proficiency. The trouble was I
kind of liked her. It was not my finest hour.

Mr. Lundeen’s hand disappeared inside the front
of his jacket and came out with a checkbook. “Will five hundred
dollars do as a retainer?”

I almost choked on a bite of pie. “That should
cover it,” I said.

“
I thought it might. And you keep it
as a bonus if everything goes well. What do you charge again,
Gunnar?”

“
Thirty dollars a day.”

“
Let’s make it forty-five, and I’m
assuming that your expenses are extra.”

“
Right.”

“
I’ve got some suggestions as to
where you can start your investigation.”

“
I’m open.” Hell, for what he was
paying me I was downright pliable.

“
Head on over to Fasciné
Expressions. Talk to Leonard Pearson. He heads the operation. I’ve
told him to expect you.”

He handed me a check that he’d made out ahead
of time. I was a little irked at being presumed upon. But my
wounded pride healed as soon as the check was in my
wallet.

As I wrote down the address, Mr. Lundeen
explained that Rod’s “costly dog” was a two-year-old boutique with
a parent company in New York. It was a local showcase for new
product lines but with provincial flavorings.

“
Frankly, the place is more than a
bit excessive. I tried to tell Rod that we’re not ready for such
local sources of sophistication. The Eastern and European salons
aren’t likely to be forsaken by Seattle’s toplofty. They’re too
chary and pompous to take up with Rod’s enterprise. And all the
others trying to scale the peaks are too pusillanimous not to
follow their lead. No, the people of this city are still too wedded
to the conventional to become his regular clientele.”

I didn’t disagree. Seattle wasn’t exactly a
trendsetter city. We were known for rain, Boeing, the movie star
Francis Farmer, and more rain—and not necessarily in that
order.

“
Why, just the other day Frederick
and Nelson was pushing some French perfume. They even shipped in a
Parisian model to show it off.”

“
La Voodoo,” I said.

“
What’s that, son?” His face was an
incredulous mask.

“
La Voodoo. It’s the girl’s stage
name.” I’d seen the ads with pictures of the gorgeous model. She
took over where Bambi left off. The papers said it was she who’d
inspired the “doe-eyed look” that season.

“
Hoodoo, schmoo-doo. It makes my
point. Rod’s little venture hasn’t been sanctioned and isn’t
traditional enough to become a big success. Still, I stop in from
time to time to take its pulse. Rod spends a bundle on advertising.
And I have to admit it, son, Len Pearson’s lovely band of
salesgirls have done remarkably well. At the very least, they’ve
managed to charm a percentage of the pretentious. Especially among
the male segment of society.” He winked. “You know the sort. Mainly
local and visiting businessmen. Guilt-motivated gift hunters out to
pacify wives and mistresses, but not minding some beautiful scenery
in the process.”

Mr. Lundeen put a dollar on the table and
anchored it with the napkin dispenser. I popped a clove in my
mouth.

“
Still chewing on those twigs, eh,
son?”

“
Still. Ever since a good friend
convinced me to quit smoking.”