This Dame for Hire (14 page)

“So what’s going on, Faye?”

I took out a cig and lit it. “Let me get a beer first.” Chumley’s didn’t serve hard liquor.

When my beer arrived, I brought Jeanne up to date on the West case.

“The mother’s sister?” she said.

“Yeah. I didn’t even know she had a sister. No reason I should. I met their brother, too. Nice-lookin Marine. Anyway, Leon told me the sister is younger than Myrna West, but still a bit older than Leon, also known as Alec.”

“How much older?”

“About ten years.”

“So Gladys is around thirty?”

“Yeah. He thinks of her as an older woman.”

“Well, she is to him.”

“True. Hey, isn’t that Ernest Hemingway over at that table behind ya? Don’t look now.”

“Not sure I’d know if I
did
look.”

“Sure ya would. Okay, ya can look now.”

Jeanne slowly turned and looked in the direction I’d indicated. Then she turned back to me.

“Sorry, Faye. I’m not sure.”

“Well, I say it’s him.”

“You read him?”

“Sure. Don’t you?”

“Tried one, but it was too violent for me.”

“What a sissy you are.”

She was anything but. Jeanne was a nurse, and I could never have done some of the things she’d told me about.

“So where were we? Oh, yes. Leon’s alibi is that he was with Gladys,” she said.

“Yeah.”

“How did this come about, him with the sister?”

“Gladys was Claudette’s favorite aunt. She confided in her and brought Alec to her apartment long before everybody met the so-called Rockefeller.”

“When did the affair with Gladys start?”

“I don’t know.”

“You going to interview her?”

“After we have dinner. Sorry to do this, Jeanne, but we better order.”

“Don’t worry about it, Faye. Murder comes first.”

“You’re a pal.”

Gladys Wright met me at the door in a silver satin dressing gown that brushed her matching slippers and had a split up the right side showing a nicely turned ankle. Her almond-shaped eyes were azure. She wore her bleached blonde hair in a chignon, and her makeup was dead on, not too much, not too little. Obviously Gladys and Cornell had gotten the looks in the family, though for all I knew there were more brothers and sisters. I wondered why Gladys bothered to bleach her hair, but it wasn’t something I could ask her.

Her apartment was in the Village on Eleventh Street, a four-story walk-up, which took me by surprise. I expected to find anyone related to Myrna West in a swankier building. At least one with an elevator.

“Miss Quick? Come in.”

Her voice was throaty, like she’d been yelling all night. I followed her down a long hall to a large living room. The walls were painted white and three large windows were partially covered by yellow checked curtains. The furniture was mismatched, as if she’d thrown it all together in a hurry.

“Sit down,” she said, motioning to a comfortable-looking tan sofa. At last, a piece a normal furniture.

I sat. She took a blue club chair across from me and lit a cigarette.

“You said you wanted to talk to me about Leon.”

“Have ya always known him by that name?”

“No. When my niece introduced him to me, he was Alec Rockefeller.”

“When did ya find out he was Leon Johnson?”

“The first time we were alone together.”

“And when was that?” I lit a cig of my own.

“About a week after I’d first met him. He phoned to say he wanted to talk to me about something important. Naturally, I thought it had to do with Claudette, so I agreed.”

“Ya didn’t think ya needed to check with Claudette first.”

“I was planning to tell her after I met with him.”

“And did ya?”

She flicked some ash from her cig into a green ashtray. Ugly thing.

“No. I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because Leon and I began an affair that night.”

“Ya didn’t feel you were betrayin your niece?”

“I didn’t think about it.”

“When did ya think about it?”

“Never.”

This was one cold cookie.

“So was it that first night Leon confessed to you who he really was?”

“That’s right.”

“Ya didn’t think he was a con artist?”

“Oh, I knew he was.”

This dame was driving me bananas.

“So how come ya got involved with a con?” I asked.

She laughed, low like a vamp. “I’ve been
married
to worse,” she said and lazily stubbed out her cigarette.

“Married. So that’s why your name is Wright instead of Walker?”

“Give this girl a cigar.”

I wanted to give
her
an uppercut. It was hard to believe that she was the sister of Myrna West.

“In case you’re wondering, I’m the black sheep,” she said, like she was reading my mind.

“How old were ya when ya got married?”

“Which time?”

“How many times were there?”

“Three.”

“Three?”

“Yes. Three dismal failures. Want their names?”

“Not really. So how old were ya the first time ya got hitched?”

“Seventeen. He was sixty. A fur trapper.”

“Your parents must have liked that a lot.”

“We eloped,” she said.

“But they knew about it?”

“Only afterward. Then they had it annulled.”

“How about hubby number two?”

“I was twenty-two, and he was seventy. A mafia don. Didn’t need to elope that time. It lasted eight months.”

“Number three?”

“I was twenty-eight, and he was eighteen. A high school senior.”

“Annulled?”

“Yes.
His
parents this time. But I kept his last name.”

“Why?”

“Why not? Besides, everything was already monogrammed.”

“So why didn’t you go back to Walker?”

“Why would I do that?”

“It was yer maiden name.”

“Hard to believe I was ever a maiden. Anyway, maybe I don’t like being related to Cornell.”

“Your own brother?”

“Half brother.”

“So, what’s wrong with Cornell?”

“Everything.”

“Meanin?”

“Let’s just say I find him incredibly boring.”

“That’s all ya want to say about him?”

“Miss Quick, a person can be stupid, arrogant, cruel, or prejudiced, but if he’s boring that’s it for me. Thinking about him makes me want to have a drink. Would you like one?”

“Sure.”

“What would you like? I have everything.”

Her smile was seductive. I thought she was one of those gals who flirted with everyone. This was the only way she knew how to smile.

“What are you havin?”

“Scotch.”

“Sounds good to me.”

I watched her leg it over to a wooden cabinet that had seen better days and open the door. There was quite a stash in there. She took out a bottle and turned to me.

“Ice?”

“Yeah, if ya don’t mind.”

“No trouble.”

She disappeared with the glass into what I assumed was the kitchen. There weren’t any nearby drawers to open, so I stayed on the sofa. Good thing, cause she was back in seconds.

“Here you are,” she said.

She gave me my drink on the rocks, but her own was neat. Usually I have a little seltzer with my Scotch, but I knew I’d have no trouble getting this down. I’d long since stopped thinking of Scotch as tasting medicinal.

Gladys took a healthy sip from her drink then oozed back into her chair, crossing her legs so that the dressing gown revealed a lot of leg.

“So what else would you like to know?”

“I guess I’m wonderin why ya didn’t let anyone know that Leon was a phony.”

“You mean why I didn’t tell Claudette?”

“Yeah.”

“How would I explain my knowledge?” she said.

“I can think of a few ways.”

“Well, I couldn’t. Besides, if Leon got Claudette to marry him, we’d all be in the money.”

That knocked me for a loop.

“Ya wanna explain that?”

“I think it’s fairly clear.”

“Ya mean ya would’ve let him marry her for her money? Yer favorite niece?”

“When did I say she was my favorite niece?”

“I thought you were her favorite aunt.”

“Two and two don’t always make four. I won’t deny being fond of Claudette, but fondness never trumps money. And, as you can see, I’m in need of some.” She swept her arm from right to left, taking in the living room.

This was colder than a well-digger’s behind, and I was caught flat-footed for a moment.

“So are you sayin yer a con yerself?”

“Aren’t we all, Miss Quick? In one way or another.”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“I
know
so, and you can stop looking at me that way.”

I wasn’t aware I was looking at her in any particular way. “What way?”

“As though you’d just stumbled across the Hope diamond. You know, stunned.”

I took a swig of my drink and lit another cig.

“Look, Miss Wright, this is a shockin development. I think what yer tellin me is that you and Leon were partners in separatin Claudette from her money.”

“Yes, that
is
what I’m telling you. It’s done all the time, Miss Quick. I don’t see what the drama is.”

And I believed her. She didn’t see.

“I don’t think it
is
done all the time. Not by people like you.”

“And just what kind of person is that?”

“Ya got me there. I guess I meant the person I thought ya were. Let’s not get sidetracked here. Claudette refused Leon’s marriage proposal, didn’t she?”

“She did indeed.”

“So what was the plan then?”

“June Landis.”

“What were ya gonna do, go through the whole set until he snagged one of them?”

“Something like that.”

This was too much for me. I’d been on plenty of cases that were down and dirty, but this was a winner.

“So Leon was with you when Claudette was murdered, is that right?”

“He was. Right in there.” She pointed to a door which I took to be the bedroom. “From seven in the evening . . . you want to know what we had for dinner?”

“No, thanks.”

“After dinner we listened to some music, Vivaldi. Do you know who that is?”

She was beginning to irk me, looking down her nose on top of everything else.

“Yeah, I know who Antonio Vivaldi is. Go on.”

The look she shot me was supposed to reflect respect, I guessed. I wanted to tell her to stuff it.

“After listening to the music we played a game of chess.”

“I know what that is, too.”

“Then we repaired to the bedroom. Want to know what we did in there?”

“No. He was with ya all night?”

“All night.” She smiled.

“What time did he leave here?”

“About nine the next morning. Right after I got the call from Myrna about Claudette.”

“Why should I believe ya about him bein here? Yer a con, which means yer a liar.”

She shrugged. “Don’t believe me then.”

But I did. She hadn’t pulled any punches about anything else. Besides, there was no reason for Leon to kill Claudette unless she’d caught on to their scheme. I put that idea forward.

“Even if she had, Leon was here all night.”

“So you say.”

“That’s the best I can do, Miss Quick.”

It was time for me to scram. I stood up.

“Are you leaving so soon?”

“I think I got everything I need.”

“I’ll walk you to the door.”

We made our way down the long hall again, and she opened the door for me. Just before I went through it, I turned and looked at her.

“I got to tell ya, Gladys, I’ve met a lot of cold customers in my line of work, but you take the cake.”

“What kind?”

“What?”

“I like cake. What kind?”

I left.

SIXTEEN

I couldn’t cross Leon off my list cause there was still the possibility that Claudette had wised up and was gonna expose him. It was a long shot, but he was still in my sights. And I now knew where he lived.

It was time for me to get a piece of Claudette’s clothing from the Wests. I was in my pjs and my hair was still in pins and rolled up. I wondered if someday they’d have something like phoneavision? I’d hate that cause I’d never be able to make a call unless I was dolled up.

Myrna answered.

“I’d like to come up and see ya, Mrs. West.”

“Do you have some news?”

“Yes, I do, and I want to ask ya for a favor which I’d rather not go into on the phone.”

“A favor?”

“It’s no big deal.”

“All right. When do you wish to come?”

I looked at my clock. “In about an hour.”

“Porter wasn’t happy about our last meeting. What I mean is, he didn’t like me seeing you without him.”

“So what do you want to do?”

“I’ll call him at the office and see if he can come home.”

“If that’s not convenient for him, we could meet some other place.”

“May I call you back?”

“Sure.”

I put off taking a shower so I wouldn’t miss her call, staying at the telephone table and sipping my cup of joe.

I hoped Porter would arrange to come home cause if he agreed to give me a piece of his daughter’s clothing we’d have to go back to their place anyway. Meeting elsewhere could be a real time waster.

Hashing over my visit with Gladys the night before, I thought: Who says Claudette West’s killer has to be a man? Dames didn’t top my list of murder suspects, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any. What about Ruth Snyder or Lizzie Borden or Belle Gunness or . . . that was all I could come up with off the top of my head, but I knew there were more than those three.

So maybe Gladys knocked off her niece. But why? Cause Claudette wouldn’t marry Leon? That didn’t wash. I was still searching for a solid motive when the phone rang. I picked it up right away.

“Porter said he’d come home. He doesn’t think meeting in a public place is a good idea.”

“Okay.” I was glad, but wondered why West nixed seeing me in the open.

“You can still come in an hour if you’d like to.”

“Right.”

I finished off my java and put the cup in the sink. My bathroom was small, but I told myself that meant less cleaning. I liked bubble baths and listening to the radio and taking my time. Sometimes I even had a drink while lying in the tub. No baths when I was in a hurry.