Too Darn Hot (20 page)

Through her tears Mrs. Turner said, “Well, she didn’t listen to ya, Burt. That girl had a mind of her own. They saw each other all the time.”

“Are ya sure of that, Mrs. Turner?”

“Sometimes I met with em. We’d go to real nice restaurants. The girls would take me.”

“You went against me, Marj?”

“Yes. I did and I’d . . .”

There was a knock at the door. We all stopped short as if we were guilty of something. I was pretty sure I knew who it was.

“Police,” a man called.

“I’ll get it,” I said. “And I’ll leave then, too. I’m sorry about everything.”

I went to the door and unlocked it. Detective Powell and two cops stood there.

“Just leavin,” I said.

Powell’s eyes got smaller than they already were.

I hurried past them and hightailed it down the hall.

“You’re a menace,” Powell yelled after me.

“Thanks,” I said.

THIRTY

I
walked back toward my office. It was hotter than ever. I was bathed in sweat right away. I smiled. My mother, when she was somewhat sane, used to say to me,
Girls don’t sweat,
Faye. Men sweat. Girls glow.

Sure as the devil, I didn’t feel like I was glowing. I felt wet and sweaty. And confused. Why would both Claire and Lucille lie to me about their friendship? If they were still friends, what was the point of telling me they never saw each other? They had to have gained something from the lie, but what? Why would that make any difference to the investigation? In fact, it made it harder.

Now I could never ask Claire, and who knew if Lucille was ever gonna turn up. Why would she disappear? Had
she
been kidnapped? I didn’t believe that one for a second. So where was she and why?

The Newark police woulda been to Lucille’s place by now. Maybe they’d found something. I picked up my pace, hot as it was.

Before I went upstairs I stopped at Stork’s. I needed a Royal Crown like I’d been marooned in the desert for weeks.

Stork was behind the counter reading a magazine, and the Ink Spots, singing “Don’t Get Around Much Anymore,” were coming from the radio.

“Whatcha readin?”

“A real good story, Faye.” He lifted up the magazine so I could see the cover. It was the July issue of
Doc Savage.
A blond guy with a can of gasoline was pouring it on something I couldn’t make out.

“This one’s called ‘Murder Up the Line.’ ”

“I didn’t know ya read stuff like that, Stork. I mean mysteries and such.”

“Sure, I read em. What can I do for ya?”

“I’m dyin of thirst.”

“One RC comin up.”

“Thanks. Where are the boys?”

“Don’t know. Out doin somethin stupid probably.”

Stork pulled on his earlobe when he said this so I knew he was fibbing. The earlobe pull was his tell. Everybody has one. Sometimes it tips off lying, sometimes it’s a giveaway in poker games. And speaking of poker games, I knew they were in the back room playing. I never understood why Stork and the boys felt they had to lie to me about this. It wasn’t really a lie, I guessed. More an omission. I figured even though I was private and not gonna rat on them, I was still a stand-in for law in their eyes, so I didn’t push it.

He set down the glass with ice and the open bottle of RC on the marble counter. I thanked him and gave him my five cents, then took a deep swallow and though it was cold and tasted great, when I put it back down I was still thirsty.

“I gotta question for ya, Stork.”

“Shoot.”

“Why would two sisters say they weren’t friends when they really were?”

“Is this a riddle?”

“A question.”

Stork tapped a cig from his Luckies pack, lit it, and blew out a puff of smoke. Now he could think.

He mumbled my question to himself and ran a hand through his black hair. Then he took off his glasses with the thick black frames and put them back on. “They say this to you?”

“Yeah.”

“They knew ya were investigatin?”

“Yeah.”

“I guess they didn’t wantcha to know they
were
friends.”

I gave him a look.

“Yeah, well. That’s the obvious part. You want me to get to the bottom of the reason they’d wantcha to think that, right?”

“Right.” I took a swallow of my drink. Then I lit a butt. I wondered why I was doing this, putting Stork through the wringer.

“They said it together or separately?”

I almost told him to forget it but I could see he was taking this challenge seriously. “Separately. On different days. In different abodes. In different states, even.”

He whistled and shook his head. “This is a toughie, Faye.”

“You don’t have to go on with it, Stork.”

“No, no. I’ll get it. Gimme a minute.”

“Sure.” I wandered over to the magazine rack and picked up a copy of
Modern Screen
that had an article in it about Judy Garland. She was one of my favorites. I flipped to the page and read:

Every spare second of Judy’s life for the last two years has been tied up with a red, white and blue ribbon and handed to the lads in uniform!

That was as far as I got. Stork gave a little yelp and I turned around.

“I got one more question so I can be sure.”

I put the magazine back and walked over to the counter. “What?”

“Was one of em your client?”

“Yeah.”

He snapped his fingers. “I knew it.”

“What did ya know?”

“If one was yer client, then they said they weren’t friends cause they wanted to give ya a bum steer.”

“But why?”

“They were pullin a one–two play.”

“Ya mean they were in on somethin together?”

“That’s just what I mean.”

I stared at him. Of course. He was right. It was so simple I couldn’t see it.

“Stork, yer a genius.” I leaned across the counter and planted one on his cheek. “I owe ya,” I said, picked up my stuff, and practically flew out the door.

I’d never run up the stairs to my office so fast. I pulled open the door and rushed in.

“Marty call me?”

“Yeah, he did,” Birdie said.

“He say where he was?”

“Smitty’s. Yer all in a dither, ain’tcha?”

“I’ll tell ya about it in a minute.”

“Okay. I don’t mind bein last to know.”

I didn’t have time to play the game. In my office I dialed Smitty’s. Lupino answered and called for Marty, who came on almost right away.

“Faye?”

“Yeah. What’s up?”

“I heard back from Newark. Lucille Turner’s place was empty. No clothes, no nothin. Looks like she did a ghost.”

“That fits. Sorta.” I told him Stork’s theory.

“Why’d ya say sorta?”

“If they were doin somethin together, why’d Claire turn up dead?”

“Why does anybody turn up dead?”

“Love or money.”

“Right.”

“Well, I don’t think Lucille killed her sister for love. So it musta been money.”

“Maybe. But who says Lucille killed Claire?”

“Ya got a point.”

“The only one left is Charlie Ladd,” he said.

“Who says he’s alive? And I can’t see Lucille doin
anything
with that guy after what he did to her.”

“Faye, ya only got her word what he did.”

Everything in this case was based on just one person’s word. A bunch of storytellers. David Cooper’s body was the one piece of concrete evidence.

“And if she was in on some scam, she’d want me to think she hated Charlie. Or maybe Claire and Lucille kidnapped him cause of what he did, bumped him off, and sat back to collect the dough.”

“Yeah, that sounds right.”

“Then Lucille musta killed her own sister. That’s hard to swallow.”

“Strange things happen when big bucks is involved.”

“So the money’s gone. Claire’s dead. Lucille is missin, and we don’t know about Charlie Ladd. And let’s not forget the murder of David Cooper. Who did that and why?”

“It’s gotta be connected since they found the kid in Ladd’s room.”

“Oh, it’s connected all right. I just can’t figure out
how.
”

“Anything else I can do, Faye?”

“You can find Lucille and maybe Charlie.”

“Swell.”

“Powell must be on to all this by now.”

“If he’s not, he’s got a demotion comin.”

“Maybe ya can get a bead on what Powell and his boys know.”

“I’ll give it a hundred percent.”

“Thanks.”

After I hung up I sat there, trying to make the pieces fall into place. I’d add it up one way and then add it up another and it still didn’t come out right.

There was a knock on my door.

“Yeah?”

Birdie opened it and said, “Do I have to beg to be let in the secret club? You want me to prick my finger to get blood?”

“What are ya talkin about?”

“You been off the horn for ten minutes. I wanna know what’s goin on?”

“Pull up a chair.”

When I finished telling her the whole story, the new theories, the ins and outs, she looked at me with crazy eyes.

“That beats all,” she said. “To think Stork solved the case. This is one for the books.”

“Wait a sec. He didn’t solve it. It’s not solved. Stork gave me an idea, is all.”

“Whatever ya say. Hand me a cig, will ya?”

I did even though she was getting my goat. Stork solved it. Phooey. We both lit up.

“So what’s next, Faye?”

“Lunch.”

“You want I should call the deli or are ya goin out?”

“Deli. Pastrami on rye, lotsa mustard, lotsa pickles on the side.”

“You think I don’t know what ya want?”

“I don’t know what I think.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothin. Call the deli.”

“Don’t gimme
nothin.
I know better. Somethin’s got your dander up.”

“Stork did
not
solve the case, Birdie.”

“Okay, okay. I misspoke.”

I knew I was being childish, but now I didn’t know how to get outta it. “Just so ya know.”

“I know.”

“What? Whaddaya know?”

“This is nuts.” She stood up.

“Where ya goin?”

“I’m callin the deli.”

I grunted.

“Real attenuate.”

I knew she meant
articulate.
“Thanks.” I wanted this to stop now. She started for the door. “Bird?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.”

She eyeballed me good, trying to see if I was on the up-and-up. “I’m sorry, too. Stork couldn’t solve a hangnail.”

I smiled.

“He couldn’t solve what statue’s in the Lincoln Memorial.”

I laughed and then Birdie laughed and before we knew it we were howling and holding our stomachs cause the laughing hurt and I knew we were both trying not to go over that edge when the laughs turns into sobs. She was cackling as she went out to make the call to the deli. I was still chuckling some when I heard her give a big whoop of laughter, then suddenly stop. It didn’t sound right so I got up and ran to the outer office.

At first I didn’t recognize the man pointing a gun at Birdie and then I did. It was Raymond Cooper, David’s father.

“Mr. Cooper, what’s goin on?”

His mustache twitched. “The police won’t do anything. So now you have to.”

I remembered then he’d never called me about the letter David had written with the room arrangements he and Charlie’d made for New York.

“Mr. Cooper, can ya put down the gun?”

“No. Not until you promise to find out who killed David.”

“Can my secretary put down her hands?”

Birdie was holding her arms straight up high above her head. I thought they must be tired.

“Put them in front of you on the desk.” To me he said, “I never asked her to put them up. She just did it.”

Sounded right. “Put your arms down, Birdie.”

She did.

“Whew,” she said.

“Now how about the gun, Mr. Cooper? You don’t need it. We can talk about this. I mean, I could promise ya anything to get ya to put it down and then what?”

“You mean you’d lie?”

You bet. “Let’s just talk this over like two grown-ups, okay?”

Slowly he lowered the gun and stood there with it at his side looking like a drooping scarecrow.

“I was just gonna call for some lunch. Ya want somethin, Mr. Cooper?” Birdie asked.

“Something to drink. A Dr. Pepper. It’s so hot out there.”

“Go ahead, Bird. Put in the order. Mr. Cooper, you come in my office, okay?”

He nodded and followed me in, still carrying the gun. I had him sit down and asked him if he’d put the peashooter on the edge of my desk. He did.

“I’m sorry about that,” he said. “But I feel desperate. They won’t release David’s body and I don’t think they’re doing anything to find his killer.”

The family and friends of victims often felt that way. “I’m sure they’re doin somethin.”

“They won’t tell me anything. That’s why I want you to deal with this case. I’m willing to pay you twice what you usually get.”

“Mr. Cooper, I don’t know if ya know this or not, but Charlie Ladd was kidnapped. And I’m workin on that case. I think they’re connected, the kidnappin and your son’s murder. So I’m already workin on it.”

“But it’s not your focus, is it?”

He had me there. “No. But I believe that when we find Ladd we’ll know what happened to David.”

“And what if you never find him?”

“I can’t go into detail, but I’m close to findin him.”

“I never heard anything about a kidnapping. Was it in the papers?”

“No. We kept that part out. Just said he was missin.”

“Was there a note? A phone call? How do you know he was kidnapped?”

“There was a call.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“Why’d ya come here?”

“Desperation.”

“Then ya have to trust me. I’m all ya got.”

“It’s true. You’re all I’ve got.”

THIRTY-ONE

D
o you think Private Ladd killed my son, Miss Quick?”

“I think it’s possible. But I don’t know why.”

“Will you let me hire you?”

“Mr. Cooper, someone else is already payin my bills.”

“Can’t you have two clients at once?”

“Not for the same case.”

“But it’s not for the same case, is it?”

“They’re connected,” I said.

“You’re sure?”

“Nobody can ever be sure about anything.”

“Hogwash. My son is dead and I’m sure about that.”

“You’re right. As for the case, well, I’m sure as I can be that they’re connected somehow.”

“But you don’t know, you aren’t positive, are you?”

“No.”

“Well, then, I want to hire you to find my son’s killer.”

“But Mr. Cooper . . .”

“You said you were all I have and that’s true. Where can I turn, Miss Quick?”

“I can send ya to a good PI I know.”

“I don’t want anyone else. I want you.”

“Mr. Cooper, ya don’t even know me. Ya don’t know if I’m any good.”

“I know you’re honest. When we met the first time, you said nothing would ever be the same for Thelma and me. No one else has said anything like that. They say time will help. Turn to God. Things like that. But no one ever says the truth. And you did. You’re the person I want to help me.”

“Okay. But ya don’t have to pay me.”

“I do. Please. I won’t feel that I’m hiring you unless I do.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” I told him my rates and he wrote out a check.

“Thank you, Miss Quick.”

“Please call me Faye.”

“All right. Call me Raymond.”

We exchanged sappy smiles. I said, “Did ya ever get one of yer daughters to read that letter about David’s plans?”

“I did. There was nothing to indicate that there was any rift between David or Private Ladd or that they were planning on separate rooms in New York.”

Birdie knocked on the door and came in with the delivery of my lunch and Cooper’s Dr. Pepper. Birdie’d already opened his soda bottle and he poured it into the glass she’d brought. I unwrapped my sandwich. We drank and ate in silence.

When he’d gone, I took out the picture of Charlie Ladd that Claire had given me. It wasn’t the same one that had been in the papers. I tucked it into my pocketbook and left my office.

Birdie said, “Poor guy.”

“Mr. Cooper?”

“Yeah. Course I wasn’t crazy about him when he was ready to kill me.”

“You know he wouldna.”

“
Now
I know.”

“I’ll ring ya later for messages.”

“Where ya goin?”

“Downtown.”

“So don’t tell me.”

“I’m goin to see Dolores.”

“Oh. I hope she’s better.”

“Knowing Dolores, she will be.”

This time I had no trouble getting in to see Mrs. Sidney. She was propped up in bed, wearing her red wig, not quite in place, but if it had been I wouldna known who she was. There were flowers everywhere and Dolores was playing solitaire on her bed table. And she had a roommate I couldn’t really see cause the curtain was pulled.

“Ah, bubele, just the person I wanted to see.”

I gave her a peck on the cheek. “How come?”

“Cause I’m goin meshuga with . . .” She tilted her head toward the other patient.

I nodded that I got her drift.

“Groaning. Yelling. In the night. I want out. And I want you to take me.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not? I’ll get better faster in my own bed.”

That was probably on the money. Still. “Who’ll take care of ya?”

“Everybody.”

Another bull’s-eye. “I’m on a case.”

“So? You think yer the only pal I got?”

“I know ya got lotsa friends, but who says they’ll be able to help out?”

“I do. Look at all these flowers.”

“I have. I know. But sendin flowers and takin care are two different animals.”

“Ach. You got no spirit. No sense of adventure.”

“You don’t believe that for a minute, Dolores. Me of all people?”

“Don’t make me use my ace in the hole.” She pressed her lips together as if nothing, nobody could pry this info from her. I knew better.

“After all,” she said. “I’m in here cause a you.”

Ace in the hole. “So I should take ya away from proper treatment cause of that?
Au contraire.
”

“What’s this now? Yer speakin foreign languages at me?”

“Since I’m the reason yer in here, I think it’s my responsibility to make sure ya get well. Get the best treatment.”

“Faye. Bubee. Don’tcha know that hospitals make ya sick? It’s a well-known fact. I’m surprised ya don’t know this.”

“I can’t just take ya outta here.”

“Why not?”

“Nurrrrrrse.” From the other bed. “Hurtin.”

“Ya see what I mean? All day and all night. How can I get better here?”

She had a point. “I suppose ya got it all figured out how to do it.”

Dolores smiled. “It’s not hard. You get my clothes from the closet and I go in the bathroom and put them on. Could it be any easier?”

“But then what?”

“We walk out together.”

“We’ll have to go by the nurses’ station.”

She pointed to her wig.

“You’ll take it off?”

She nodded.

“They might recognize ya anyway.”

“Never. Get my shmatas now.”

“If we get caught, I’m sure I won’t be able to visit ya.”

“I’ll survive.”

“Nice.” I went over to the metal locker and took out her shoes, skirt, girdle, brassiere—and nothing else. “There’s no blouse.”

“I guess it was too bloody.”

“Ya can’t walk outta here in a brassiere and nothin else.”

“Nurrrrrrse. Hurtin.”

“I have an idea,” she said. “Go in her locker. Maybe there’s somethin I can wear.”

“Now ya want me to steal?”

“Borrow.” She pointed to the locker on the other side of the curtain.

“She’ll see me.”

“So what?”

“I think Morris should do this for ya.”

“Ecch. Morris is a shmendrik. He’d get it all wrong. You’re the only one I trust. Go. Her locker. Now.”

I don’t know why I did what I was told, but I did. I tried to make myself invisible by hunching up and tiptoeing over to the other patient’s locker. I didn’t look at her and hoped she had her eyes closed. I opened the door and peered in. There was a dress and it looked huge. I grabbed it.

“Nurrrrrrse. Hurtin.”

I jumped about a foot. I ran back to Dolores. “What if a nurse comes for that woman.”

“They never come. What’s that thing ya got there?”

“A dress.” I held it up.

“Is she an elephant?”

“This is it. Ya wanna put it on or not?”

“I don’t but I do.” She threw her legs over the side of the bed. “Gimme it, bubee.”

I turned my back while she got dressed. I was terrified someone would walk in and I also didn’t know how we could get away with this.

“Okay, now ya can feast yer eyes.”

Dolores was barely visible in the dress. She’d taken off her wig, and once again I saw the gray sprouts of hair. And her face. But that was all. The dress completely covered the rest of her except the tips of her shoes.

“Ya can’t go out in that.”

“I’m goin.”

“Ya think ya won’t attract attention?”

“I’m gonna bunch it up and you’ll walk on my right side so they don’t see.”

“And in the lobby? On the street?”

“We’ll take a taxi.”

“If any’ll stop for us.”

“Do I have a handbag here?”

“No. How d’ya feel?”

“Like a diamond as big as the Ritz.”

“Your wound. How does
it
feel?”

“Perfect.”

“If ya start to feel weak, lemme know.”

“I will. So let’s go.”

This was worse than going into an apartment you didn’t know, wondering if there was a bullet waiting for you. They were the good old days.

“Lemme check the hall first.”

“Good idea.”

Oddly enough it was empty. I gestured to Dolores. I took her arm and we walked out of the room. She was holding up the dress with her other hand, and when we got to the nurses’ station we walked on by without a hitch. The elevators were gonna be another story.

“Maybe we should walk down the stairs,” I said.

“I don’t think I can manage that, Faye.”

“Are ya okay?”

“Hunky-dory, but walkin down steps ain’t on my dance card.”

“Okay.”

When we got to the elevators, I pushed the button and we waited. I couldn’t imagine how we were gonna get away with this. The door opened and we got on. Nobody, including the operator, noticed or said a word. Had I forgotten that this was New York City—and the Village to boot?

The rest of our escape went the same. Through the lobby and out the door to Seventh Avenue, where I hailed a hack. No one batted an eye. My kinda town.

The trip was rough on Dolores. I got her into bed as soon as I could after we got home. Then I went around to all the neighbors, some in the building, some on the block. Everyone agreed to help out with her care.

Ethel Kilbride elected herself captain of the care team. She was a good organizer so I felt okay about that. I had six keys cut for Dolores’s apartment. No leaving the door unlocked. If the shooter got wind of her being at home, he might try to finish the job he’d started.

Bruce Jory offered to sit in the hallway and guard the apartment all night, but I didn’t think that was necessary. Besides, it was time Morris did something.

After I looked in on Dolores, who was asleep, I went into my own crib and found the number Morris had given me.

Zachary twirled nonstop around my legs as I sat at the phone table. I leaned down and scratched behind his ears. I felt bad cause I’d been neglecting him. He got his food and water, but we hadn’t chewed the fat lately.

I dialed Morris. And when he answered, I said immediately that he shouldn’t be frightened, Dolores was okay.

“Thanks for saying that.”

I heard him light a cigarette, which made me get one of my own.

“She’s home now. She . . .”

“Home?”

I explained what had happened and how all the neighbors were gonna take care of her.

“It must be something to be loved like that,” he said.

I felt a twinge of sorrow for him. “Look, the reason I’m callin is cause she’ll need somebody there nights.”

There was a silence on the other end.

“Morris?”

“I’m here. So you want me to spend my nights there, is that it?”

“She might be in danger.”

“Okay. When do I start?”

“How’s tonight sound.”

“Lousy, but I’ll be there. Will you?”

“I’m not sure where I’ll be. But somebody will be there until ya get here.”

“I guess I’ll sleep on the sofa, right?”

“Can’t think a where else.” The sofa was dilapidated to say the least. And sitting on it was like having some kinda brutal massage.

“Yeah. That’s okay. Maybe I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Whatever ya wanna do.”

“Okay. I’ll be there in about an hour.”

After I hung up I went across the hall. Jerome Byington was on duty.
Natty
was the word you’d use to describe Jerome.

“How’s she doin?”

“She’s asleep.”

“No, I ain’t,” Dolores yelled.

“Bat ears,” he said.

“I’d like to go in.”

“Suit yourself.” He picked up his copy of
Esquire.

I walked back through the hall into her bedroom.

“So what’s cookin?” she said.

“Yer not gonna like this but here’s what’s gonna happen.” I told her the schedule.

“Morris is gonna sleep here?”

“Now, don’t get nasty, we need . . .”

“I wasn’t gettin nasty, Faye. I’m just surprised he’d bother.”

“He loves ya, Dolores.”

She didn’t say anything, which was unusual, and I thought I mighta seen a glistening of her eyes. I didn’t mention it. And then I remembered why I’d gone to see her at the hospital in the first place.

I opened my bag and took out the picture of Charlie Ladd. “Dolores, have you ever seen this guy?” I handed her the picture.

“Don’t kid a kidder, Faye.”

“Whaddaya mean?”

“This is the guy that shot me.”