The phone rang again and I walked to the kitchenette to answer it.
The melodious tones of Molly Bennett came over the line as clear as if she were in the next room, which would have been an interesting development. I nearly choked at the sound of her voice, and just when I’d composed myself enough to direct my thick tongue to make words, Julia came out of the bathroom, hair bright gold in the morning light, wearing only the black panties, slinging the bra between two fingers, shaking her head no and giggling softly.
Guilt is an odd thing — a man never knows when it will strike. It can be crippling. I tried to picture Molly on the other end of the line, but my eyes on Julia clamped off my imagination for anything else.
I pressed my index finger against my lips and listened to the good news. Molly was at O’Hare, having come back a day earlier than she’d planned and would I love to come pick her up since she missed me so much?
“Did I hear a woman laugh there?” came the small distant voice.
“A client.”
“Oh,” she said, deflated surprise poking through her good mood. “An early one. I tried to call before but I got no answer.”
“Tough night,” I said, winking at Julia. “A badly needed shower. I’ll explain when I get there.”
I told Molly I’d be there in an hour and hung up. Julia slid on her mink and sat at the table sipping her coffee. “I’m leaving Henry,” she said.
I nodded and poured myself a second cup. “People do call you the odd couple.”
“Stupid couple’s better. But my being married didn’t seem to slow you down.”
“Ordinarily it would. I suspect it was my detective instinct of the nature of your union. Or, maybe I just didn’t care this once.”
“I know. I don’t feel married. More of a business political partnership. I’m not sure why I married him, delusions of grandeur, I guess. He was charming of course and I thought he was successful. This is the first sex I’ve had since I caught him and my sister in the guest house over a year ago.”
My mouth must have hung open, because she said:
“Does that surprise you? That they would betray me that way? Beauty doesn’t allow some men to see you clearly. For Henry I was a way for him to gain higher office. Not everyone has your insight about people. Since Gail’s murder and the canceled debate, Henry’s slipped badly in the polls. Lost his lead. We had a tremendous fight two nights ago about keeping you on the case for Gail’s murder.”
“Yes, it does surprise me, although not from Gail’s perspective. The bad sister often wants what the good sister has fairly won. I hate to say this, but from what I’ve found out about Gail, she thought character was something in the funny papers. But why Henry would look at her, or anyone, with you in the bedroom’s beyond me. A man’s little head trumps his big one too often, to his everlasting loss.”
Julia stood and peered out the blinds. “Sounds like you’ve experienced what you’re talking about. But, yes. I’ve always known Gail was no good. Still, she was my sister.” She turned and stared at me over her coffee cup. “I liked this, us. I’d want more but I know you have someone. Someone whose bras don’t fit me.” She laughed a silky little laugh. “Are you engaged?”
“Let’s say we’re thinking about it. Letting it happen slowly. She leaves her clothes and things around the place. I confess I don’t want to rush it.”
Julia walked to me, opened her mink wide and wrapped me inside it. Her body smelled fresh. “It hasn’t been slow with us. I’ll be thinking about you, too,” she said. “But I won’t be back until everything’s worked out. As soon as the election’s over, I’m going back to Nebraska and clear my head of all these big city power games. If you want to keep digging into Gail’s murder, I can’t stop you. I hope you get to the bottom of it. I doubt the police know what they’re doing. I brought you this check, which should cover things for a couple more weeks. After that, you’re free to move on.”
As impossible as it seemed, I wanted her again. It was a slow ache in my chest, like electric rubbing of the nerves, but in reality I was missing her before she’d left. I was a mess. Did this mean that Molly wasn’t right for me, or was I just another horn-dog cheating with every opportunity? No, not every opportunity, just choice ones, like Miss Midwest.
I’d told Molly one hour, otherwise — well, there’s often an otherwise, but this time I didn’t want there to be. “I have a few leads, but would rather not guess until I’m sure. My guesses aren’t anything I’d bank on.”
Julia nodded. “There’s one more thing. Henry has a secret, something dark he never told me, about his parents. He won’t talk about his boyhood or his parents, but I found some records once from St. Louis that showed an adoption. His biological parents were listed as a John and Jane Doe. I don’t know if it’s important, but enough so for him to hide it, for the records to be changed, if they’re official. He’s so open about everything else. I thought you might want to know. It might be nothing.”
I kissed her at the door and took one last look into her eyes. “Everything will work out. You’re not the only woman in the world who chose the wrong man, and I’m not the only man who can’t decide on one woman. Watch the papers today. If I’m right there’ll be some news that would greatly affect the election. And you. I can’t say more now.”
Her last kiss was cold and lifeless compared to what we’d shared before and I watched her walk up the driveway, wondering just how many women on earth could walk away and leave such a mysterious hole in my chest.
A man often has a hard time separating out all the kinds of attraction, lust, love, that special angel thing, and plain old fashioned sweetness. With me it seemed I could handle all kinds without always knowing until much later just what had hit me, but not caring either. Rick called it compartmentalizing, a fancy name for liking variety. Or, for having a chopped conscience.
Julia deserved better than being a mannequin show-piece for some self-righteous politician. I hoped she’d figure it all out back in Nebraska and hoped too that I’d helped her find a piece of her own value. If there were any way I could catch her sister’s killer, I was now more than motivated. I’d tasted from the tree of good and evil, and the fruit was good. Very good.
Molly was waiting next to the terminal where she said she’d be. She’d cut her hair in a cute flip style and one look at her face made me forget the stress of the Gorovoy case. Maybe it was a consolation smaller than a midget’s shoe, but falling off the wagon with another female wasn’t something I’d sought. Julia had come to me. It was one of those times that becomes a secret shrine in a man’s memory, partly because it’s a one time coronation of all his fantasies, a coming together of the stars, a magic he knows will never happen again.
When a woman like Julia Gateswood offers herself the way she did, few men can even think about saying no. But here was Molly. She had a quality that lifted me out of all the muck and confusion, even the guilt of giving in to my libido with Julia.
Molly’s favorite line to me, a line aimed at calming my nerves about commitment, was “fib when you have to, otherwise be true.” I didn’t like fibbing to her, but then she knew that when she said it. She sensed the struggle that went on inside me, the fight about tying myself down to one woman, but for Molly, it was “no matter what,” which had made me mostly faithful until now, melted my defensive walls. She was willing to give me time, not press matters, just let our love take its course. Molly wouldn’t snoop or pry, or ask about my occasional slip. She wasn’t jealous unless it was right in her face. And I wouldn’t let that happen.
I had no desire to hurt Molly. I realized I’d need to clean the dark blonde hairs off the davenport before Molly came for one of her frequent sleepovers.
At the terminal I got out of the Buick and lifted Molly up, squeezed her with the warmest hello I could. It was a joyful moment. Holding her I realized how much I’d missed her. Her green eyes sparkled. She said it was great to be back home and that she didn’t ever want to have twins. One baby would be enough for her. It hadn’t been one of my worries.
She carried the morning
Times
with a giant headline: WHIPPLE BOWS OUT.
He’d dropped out of the race citing “personal family reasons.” Henry Gateswood would be the next senator from Illinois. I wondered how Julia reacted to the news.
Driving to Molly’s Maywood apartment, I talked about the case.
“How gruesome,” she said. “Her sister found her?”
“Yeah. She dropped by early this morning. That’s who was there when you called.” A flash of Julia on top of me with ecstasy glued to her face shot through my mind like a reflexive bullet. I took Julia’s check from my inside pocket and handed it to Molly. “She brought me this check to cover two more weeks after a big brouhaha with the evident new senator.” Part of the truth, anyway.
Molly sat close, her hand across my thigh as I drove. “This is the ex beauty queen, right? Is she nice? Hmmm? Was the fight over you?”
I laughed but it felt awkward. “Nice? Aren’t all blondes? Don’t they usually have more fun? And yes, in a way they fought about keeping me, but it was about my hire. He thought it impolitic. She’s very devoted to his campaign.”
“Blondes don’t have more fun when I’m around, you dog. Anyway, she’s married to a senator, so not to worry. She’ll soon be living in Washington. Any leads on her sister’s killer?”
“Couple possibles. Rick’s been great — digging into things, as always. Gail had an affair with Henry, and maybe Whipple too. Talk about sampling the body politic. Somehow she stole smutty photos of Whip with naked Boy Scouts, including one sad lad who hung himself and left a note naming Whipple. That’s motive plenty. We got to the blackmail material just before a PI hired by Whipple’s shyster, Kermit Brockway.”
“I know about Brockway. A real snake. If this case is tied up around him, be careful. He’s got all sorts of dirty connections with the Outfit. His father once represented Capone.”
“Figures. Gorovoy was the one the papers referred to as ‘the mystery lady’ who turned state’s evidence on that little police corruption racket with the burglars and cops eighteen months back. Summerdale scandal. She fingered Christy French, another of her many paramours. Had his initials tattooed on her, so maybe her main man at one time.”
“She sounds like a daredevil. So this French would have big motive?”
“The biggest. Except he supposedly died in a house fire up in Brighton Park a few months later.”
“Why supposedly — no ID of the remains?”
“Dental records missing in the police files. M.E. on the case checked out with a massive coronary. Convenient. Rick’s trying to locate his missus. My instinct says setup.”
“So, why would French go to all that trouble — or his labor buddies — God, I’ve missed you Mike.” Molly slid her hand into my lap and patted me where I lived. “I want to attack you right here on the expressway!”
“No car quickies for us, dollface. Missed you too. Tonight you can stay at my crackerbox, if you want. Now, don’t cause an accident here. You’re over my speed limit. ”
“No, I want you in my bed, and just as soon as we get there. But, okay, on French it’s been a year, two since Gail’s testimony. French wouldn’t stage his own death just to be seen around town. Wouldn’t he be out of the country by now?”
“Good question. Why would someone hack a dame’s head off with a dull machete? Why write ‘Antigone’ on her forehead with her own lipstick and cart her to the Gateswood estate, float her head in the sink and pose her body across the bed? Maybe it fits a deranged mind’s idea of revenge, or it was calculated to upset the senate race. Or, some other enemy of Gail’s might’ve been involved. Only the Gateswoods look in the clear.
“Nights have been cold this week. I laid in a cord of wood so we can have hot toddies in front of the fireplace. Of course, if you’d rather rediscover your own warm bed….”
Molly’s eyes answered what she’d do to me first at her place. She pulled her pretty head back and gave me an impish smile. She kissed my neck and nuzzled into me. “It was great, Mike. I wish you’d come with me, someday we can go to Oregon together. I loved it — so green, so fresh, and those babies — I loved them to pieces. But too many diapers, too much crying, total chaos. My poor sister-in-law.”
We spent the rest of the afternoon in bed. Molly indeed missed me. I’d been pushing myself pretty hard and hadn’t realized just how fatigued I was until I drifted off with her in my arms. We both revived around eight. After a shower and two Gibson’s we took in a show off Randolph Street that featured a lineup of brassy-haired can-can hoofers. Blondes were popping up everywhere in my life.
Chicago’s sidewalks never roll up. You can keep dancing and jiving until dawn. Molly squeezed my hand, was bright and glittery and energetic as we walked along Rush Street to Mister Kelly’s, where Molly knew the staff. We were let in ahead of a long line. We had two more drinks and caught some silly act by Shecky Greene that made us laugh so hard I thought my face would split.
By the time Greene’s act was over the night was worn, and so was I. We got back in my Buick and I started the engine. Molly slid over and gave me a long sweet kiss. “I don’t want you to get a big head Mister Investigator,” she said, “but I love you.”
I hadn’t said those words to her but I’d felt them. I looked into her eyes and saw what forever will stay in my mind — it was unconditional, this thing that had grown between us. For whatever reason, right at that moment, perched on returning those words, Julia buzzed through my head.
“I know you do. I’d say it but I don’t feel good enough to deserve it.”
“You’re good enough. God, I missed you. I’m not pushing. You know how I feel, without me saying the words, and I know it’s going to get even better for us.”
“After I drop you at your place, I’m headed home. I need to get up with the chickens and head to the office. Rick should have his assignments on the Scouts done and I need to make a few calls.”
“You need me to straighten up down there? I’ll bet the place is a dump, me being gone this long. After I have my hair and nails done, I’ll be as good as a PI’s secretary can be — bub.”
“Suit yourself. After the day’s work we can go to Sam’s for a drink. And Molly?”
“Yes?”
“I missed you just as much. Thanks for helping me get my head out of this case for at least one night. Blondes are fun, but brunettes are forever.”
I said goodbye to Molly at the door and drove home. I dreamed crazy dreams of Julia and Molly wearing nothing but grass skirts and chasing me around the office. The next morning I was wide-awake at seven, and got to the office at eight. I felt like a new man. Rick was leaving as I stepped off the elevator.
“Henry Gateswood rang three times in the hour I was here,” Rick said. “He’s distraught. Seems Julia hasn’t come home for two nights and he can’t find her anywhere. He drove to your place last night and found her car around the corner. What gives? She been with you?”
“I’ve been with Molly since yesterday afternoon. She flew back a couple of days early. She’ll be in sometime this morning. Julia did come by, night before last. She parked around the corner not wanting to be seen. I didn’t see her car when she arrived or left. You sure it was still there yesterday?”
“That’s what the man said. Also that they had a fight and she took off. He thinks with you, because the fight was about you. I hope you haven’t gummed up our relations with the client for relations with the wife of the client.” Rick smirked.
“She left the next morning at daylight. And they’re not our clients, technically.”
The light in Rick’s eyes danced. He slugged me on the shoulder. “Was she good? As good as she looks? I knew I was right about the way she eyed you!”
“I’ll tell you about it later. But she said she was headed home and when she walked down the street there was no one around. I’ll call Henry right away.”
“Do that. We don’t need pissed off husbands crawling all over us, especially US Senator types. I guess you’ve seen the papers.”
“Yesterday’s. At the airport. Anything new today?”
“There’s a hint of some major scandal. Evidently, Jones, the
Tribune
reporter is speculating that Whipple was involved in some sex ring, dredging up some old gossip about him and implying it’s behind his dropping from the senate race. You did tell Kup to hold off?”
”For now, Rick, for now. I want to see who comes out of the woodwork about the smut first. The squeeze on Whipple worked, but I don’t think Brockway even told Whipple about my visit to his office. I can’t figure his angle in all this, keeping Whipple in the dark. Where’re you headed?”
“I’m driving up to Depaul to talk to one of the head fathers about Henry’s teaching record there. Father Calhoun, used to be my New York parish priest. I’m sure he’ll be forthcoming. After that I thought I’d drive up to Milwaukee, talk to Daniel Peterman, son of Milo Peterman, that M.E. who right died after the French autopsy. He agreed to talk to me but didn’t want to say anything on the phone. Seemed paranoid. Want to come along?”
“I would but I want to reach Henry and help him find out about Julia. I want to be around when Molly comes in.”
Rick stepped into the elevator. His famous analytical mind was churning. “Let’s hope that Julia’s out shopping or something. It would make things mucky if whoever beheaded Gail got to Julia right after she spent the wee hours with Mike Angel. The cops will want to know why so many women lose their head around you.”
I watched the elevator doors slide together and felt a sharp needle zing down the length of my scar. For once I hoped Rick’s conjectures were off base.