They exchanged glances. Then Leonora said, “Yes. People knew. But even so, if the blackmailer is someone who knows us, then he’ll know that we’re going to talk about these ridiculous letters.”
I nodded. “You said ‘he.’ Do you think it’s a man? Maybe this Jackson?”
Leonora shot Jeanie a cold stare at that and then fired another one at me. “I said ‘he’ out of habit to mean people in general. Not anyone specific. And certainly not Jackson.”
“Fine,” I said. Looking at the letter again, I said, “The blackmailer wants to pick up your $10,000 at 11:30, Miss Rigsby. And then the rest at 11:45. Do you expect someone could travel between your two properties in fifteen minutes?”
They glanced at each other again, and then Leonora answered, “I expect so. Especially late at night like that.”
“All right,” I said. “How do you want to proceed? I’m still going to be following some leads—”
“Not with Jackson,” Leonora said adamantly.
I raised a hand. “Miss Rigsby, I’m going to pursue the leads I think I need to pursue. But I promise to do so discreetly. If there’s nothing there with this Jackson, then I’ll back off. Don’t worry.”
She said nothing in response, but I saw her squeeze Jeanie’s hand a little harder.
“So, as I was saying, I’m going to pursue my leads, but in the meantime, have you reconsidered bringing in the police?”
“No,” Leonora said. “Absolutely not.”
Still trying to keep your relationship out of the papers? I wondered. Or worried you’ll get pegged for writing the letters yourself?
“Okay. Then, were you planning on putting out the money on Wednesday night if I haven’t brought this to an end before then?”
“I don’t see that I have much choice.”
I let out an exhale and turned to Jeanie. “And you feel the same?”
“Yes,” she said, speaking for the first time in several minutes.
“Forgive me for asking, but the money isn’t an issue for you?”
“I’ll cover that,” Leonora said quickly. The protective hand splayed out a little, covering even more of Jeanie’s mitt. This one’s mine, that hand said.
In turbulence, we seek comfort. It was no different than the instincts that had driven me and most GIs I knew into the arms of desperate French women during the war even though most of us had had someone waiting back home. And, I suppose, it was the same thing that had driven those women to accept us.
Maybe this reconciliation really was an unexpected boon for the actress. Maybe she hadn’t been using Jeanie and me to play two sides of the same chip.
“All right.” I put my hands together. “I was thinking that if I can’t get a serious lead on who the blackmailer is before Wednesday night, it would make sense to set up on the money drop and follow whoever picks up the cash. But now that there are going to be two money drops—”
“I don’t like that idea,” Leonora said, cutting me off yet again. “You might spook him—or her or whoever it is.”
“The blackmailer won’t see me. You can be sure of that.”
She shook her head. “I still don’t like it. If you can’t get this person before Wednesday, then we should just do what they say and get the movie back. After that, maybe you’ll have some luck.”
“After that, it’ll take a miracle. You can kiss the money goodbye and you’ll never know who it was—or how they got the film. It was in your house, correct?”
“Yes. But I have no idea when it went missing. I mean, it’s not like I checked daily to see that it was still in the drawer where I kept it. The whole thing was just a silly novelty, really.” Both women looked embarrassed as Leonora said this. She went on, though, casting apologetic glances Jeanie’s way as she spoke. “At first, when I thought it was Jeanie who’d taken it, I didn’t even think about when the last time was that I’d seen it. Now, though…I just don’t know. It could have been missing for months, I suppose.”
“Which would mean the blackmail would have nothing to do with your split-up,” I said. “Just a coincidence.”
“Yes,” Leonora said. She patted Jeanie’s hand and then added, “And…I should tell you that we’re not split up anymore.”
I raised an eyebrow at this, figuring I should at least feign surprise to be polite, and said, “Ah. I see. Well…that’s good then. For you, I mean.”
“Yes. Thank you,” Leonora said. She looked more than just pleased. Happy, contented. At peace. When I’d met her, she’d seemed distraught, and I recalled the tears she’d shed in this same office. That had been someone whom I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn had offed herself with pills and booze. This version of Leonora, though…I got the impression that she was whole again now. And the possibility that she’d engineered the whole blackmail plot with the intention of achieving this very goal struck me as less and less probable.
Leaning forward in my chair, I smiled and said, “I don’t think you got my meaning, Miss Rigsby. It’s good for you that you’re together again, and I’m glad for you. But it’s not so good for me now that Miss Palmer is no longer the prime suspect.” Looking to Jeanie, I added, “I hope you’ll forgive my bluntness.”
She squirmed in the chair a little but managed to say, “Of course.”
“What you’re saying is that you no longer have a strong lead,” Leonora said.
“That’s correct. Do you have any idea who else might have taken the film? Anyone else with access to the room where you kept it?”
She remained silent for a moment and then said, “I kept it in a drawer in my office. No one goes in there without me—except the housekeeper, of course. But…” Shaking her head, she said, “No. That wouldn’t make sense. Even if she opened the drawer for some reason, she’d have no idea what the film was. Anyone at all would assume it was something related to my work, not anything salacious, not anything they could make money off of.”
“This housekeeper loyal?” I asked. “Been with you a while?”
“Five years. And absolutely loyal. Well paid, I should add. Not the desperate type at all.”
I nodded. “I hope you’ll forgive me for saying so, but you can’t know what makes someone desperate or not. At least not from outward appearances.” Again, I thought of the version of Leonora I’d first seen. For all her success and glamour, something had tipped her over to desperate in that other world, and she’d made a choice that her fans would likely never understand since glitz and beauty were all they saw in her, not heartbreak or loneliness.
“I do forgive you,” she said, “but let’s leave Irene out of this for now.”
“Irene?” I asked. “That’s the housekeeper?”
“Yes, but…please.”
“Understood. Anyone else?”
Leonora and Jeanie exchanged glances again, silent communication passing between them. Finally, Leonora sighed and said, “I guess Jackson makes sense despite how loyal I know him to be. It doesn’t seem possible, but…” She shrugged. “What you said about desperation, Mr. Strait. I guess I don’t know everything about Jackson.”
I could see that it pained her to say this, and I understood that she and this Jackson fellow must have known each other for some time. That wasn’t all I understood, though. I still didn’t know who the blackmailer was, but I was no longer considering Leonora Rigsby as the source of the letters. Yes, there was still a slim possibility that this whole thing had been an elaborate plot to get Jeanie back, but if that was the case, I didn’t think Leonora would take the deception so far as to throw Jackson to the wolves, not when doing so seemed so clearly to be the equivalent of driving a stake into her heart. If she’d been playing chess master all along, she’d have had another move ready instead, one that would have sent me down dark alleys in a colossal—but billable—waste of time, anything to keep me on the wrong scent while Wednesday got closer and closer. Instead, she’d given me something concrete—and painful.
“This Jackson have a last
name?” I asked, grabbing a pencil.
“Kinkaid,” Leonora said, her voice deflated. “I don’t have an address for him, though.”
“I can work on that,” I said. “Could he have had access to the film?”
Leonora shrugged. “Not that I know of. I haven’t had him to the house for social calls if that’s what you mean. Nothing against the man, it’s just…We move in different circles. But…the house is often empty. When I’m on location, you see? And…”
Her voice trailed off, leaving me to finish for her. “Someone could have gotten in when you were away.”
“Yes.” Then her eyes lit up as a possibility occurred to her. “But that could be anybody, couldn’t it? Not necessarily Jackson?”
“That’s true, but would any random housebreaker target an unmarked film canister tucked away in a drawer in your office? They wouldn’t go after more obvious valuables instead?”
The light extinguished as quickly as it had lit up. “Oh. I see.”
“Would Jackson have known where you kept the film?”
She shrugged again. “I don’t know. There’s always a chance I mentioned something to him off-hand. You know, something along the lines of laughing the whole thing off as a silly pursuit…going to all that trouble and then having it end up in a drawer in my office.” She shook her head and then focused her eyes on me. “I’m not saying I did say those things, Mr. Strait. You understand that, don’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“It’s just that I suppose I could have said something like that. I want to make it clear I’m not accusing him. It’s just…no one else makes sense. No one else knew what was in that film canister.” She sighed. “I thought I could trust him. Foolish, really. Just because a man doesn’t chase skirts, it doesn’t mean he isn’t corrupt in a thousand other ways.” A longer sigh followed, and I thought she might be about to cry again.
“I’m sorry, Miss Rigsby. Just because he might have done it doesn’t mean he did. I just want to ask him a few questions, all right?”
She pulled it together as she nodded and then said, “Yes. I understand.”
We left it there. They both thanked me, and then we all stood up. I shook hands with both women and then told Jeanie Palmer I was sorry to hear she’d been dragged into the situation.
“It’s all right, Mr. Strait.” Reaching for Leonora’s hand, she added, “Actually, if Leonora has to go through this, I’m glad I’m going to go through it with her.”
They smiled at each other, and for a moment I thought they were going to kiss. But then they let loose of each other’s hands, and Leonora opened the door. I walked them out through Peggy’s domain and to the outer door where they left without another word.
“How’d that go?” Peggy asked.
“A little rocky at first, but we got it smoothed out.”
“Anything you need me to do?”
I considered my earlier resolve to have Carson Mulvaney called in to get barked at. It was more than I wanted to deal with now. The Meteor hadn’t shown up again since Sherise and I had seen it on the coast. Maybe Mulvaney’s ridiculous efforts at playing detective had run their course, I thought, so I decided to let it go until the Meteor should appear in my rearview once more. Then, I’d do more than bark.
Chapter Eight
The next afternoon, I left the office at 4:30 and headed south on Central. It had been a slow day with a bit of phone work and not much more. I’d made a very tentative inquiry into Irene, the housekeeper, but it hadn’t gotten me anywhere. The slowness of the day had been all right with me since the night before—Monday—had been one of my late-night Darkness gigs after finishing at the office. It had been a slow night, giving Sherise and me a bit of time to talk, which was nice since I knew I’d be missing her on Wednesday and so wouldn’t see her again until Friday. The night had ended with a long, slow kiss in the club’s back hallway and a promise to stay together after Friday’s performances were through.
The afternoon before, Carmelita had returned to the office about ten minutes after Leonora and Jeanie had left. They may even have passed each other on the stairs. Carmelita had come back from a meet-up with one of her sources, and she’d breezed into the office looking like a kid who’d just caught her first fish.
“I got him,” she announced, setting a folded slip of paper on my desk. “Jackson Kinkaid.”
It was a good turn of fortune. I’d set Carmelita on Jackson’s scent when all I had were the man’s first name and a hunch that he might help me piece together the puzzle I was getting paid to solve. She’d come back with the information I needed, not knowing that in her absence the man had gone from being a vague hunch to a vital part of the investigation.
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“He’s a camera operator?”
“No. He’s more of a mechanic.”
“At Paragon?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice full of certainty.
“Why would a mechanic be the person who shoots private movies for people like Leonora Rigsby?” I asked.
“Because he’s not that kind of a mechanic. He fixes the cameras when they break or aren’t working right.”
I tried to recall my conversation with Jeanie Palmer from Friday. She’d said Jackson worked with cameras. Given the fact that he’d shot Leonora’s illicit film, I had assumed that meant he was a camera operator, not a repairman.
“All right, then,” I said, unfolding the paper and considering the address. “Nice work.”
Now it was quitting time on Tuesday, and the streets were clogged with motorists trying to work their way out of the downtown area. I wasn’t happy to be among them, but there wasn’t anything for it.
A little after five, I turned off Central and entered a quiet neighborhood of modest homes. Following the map I had open on the passenger’s seat, I made a few more turns and then pulled up to the curb next to a pleasant enough little house, painted pale yellow with white trim. In the driveway was a Winslow about five years older than mine, and as I got out of my car, I saw that a man’s legs were sticking out from underneath the car. As I approached, I heard the sound of a wrench hitting the driveway and the man cursing under the car.
“I’d offer you some help, but I’m afraid I’m all thumbs when it comes to fixing cars,” I said, hoping not to startle the man.
“Who is that?” came the voice from under the car.
“You don’t know me, sir, but my name is Jed Strait. I’m looking for Jackson Kinkaid.”
Silence met me. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, the man started scooting out from under the car. The man who emerged was lean and long, a Negro with a serious expression and grease under his nails. He sat up, pulled a rag from his back pocket to wipe his hands, and got to his feet. I had to look up at him.
Replacing the rag, he half turned and raised a hand to wave at a man across the street who had been digging in the dirt of his front lawn but was now watching the two of us. The other man was also a Negro. He hesitated a moment, returned the wave, and then went back to his shovel.
“I’m Jackson Kinkaid,” the man before me said.
I nodded and said, “Sorry to bother you at home, Mr. Kinkaid. I’m a private investigator and I’m working a case related to some people I think you might know at Paragon.” As I spoke, I pulled my business card and license from my coat pocket, handing him the card and showing him the license before returning it to its place.
Jackson regarded the card and nodded slowly. “These people I supposedly know at Paragon…they say I did something wrong?”
“No, sir. Not at all,” I said, recalling the degree to which Leonora had been distraught at the possibility of there being anything to my suspicions about Mr. Kinkaid. “I was just hoping I could get some information from you.”
“I see,” he said, slipping the business card into his pants pocket. “Well, I’ll tell you, Mr. Strait. Whatever you’re looking for and whoever these people are you
’re working for, none of that really matters now because every one of my neighbors is probably watching us at this moment, and when you flashed that license of yours, every one of them jumped to the conclusion that you are with the police, not just a private investigator. This may not mean much to you, but let me tell you that my neighbors already have plenty of reason to gossip about me, and now they have one more, which I don’t appreciate at all.”
He was referring, I was certain, to the fact that he preferred the company of men rather than women. This was not something that was obvious to me, no more than Leonora’s preference for women had been before she’d opened up about her relationship with Jeanie Palmer. Still, I could only imagine how his preference played out with the neighbors once they got wind of it.
“I’m sorry about that,” I said. “Would it help if we stepped inside to talk?”
“That would just make things worse,” he said. Then, nodding toward me, he added, “Why don’t you just ask what you’re here to ask and put an end to this as quickly as possible? The less ammunition the local gossips have, the better.”
“Fine,” I said. “And thank you for agreeing to talk. I want to stress that no one has said you’ve done anything wrong.”
“You already said that. And, forgive me for sounding suspicious, but putting someone at ease so they’ll spill their secrets is an old tactic I’m wise to, so if that’s what you’re hoping for, you can forget it.”
“It’s not my intention to manipulate you, Mr. Kinkaid. I just need a little information.”
“Go ahead then.”
“All right. You know Leonora Rigsby, correct?”
His eyes narrowed a bit. “Yes,” he said.
“And she hired you to produce a private film for her?”
He stared silently for several seconds before saying, “I don’t feel I should answer yes or no to that.”
“That’s fine,” I said. “But, honestly Mr. Kinkaid, whether you did or didn’t isn’t the issue. No one’s trying to get you in trouble because of that.”
The Shakedown Shuffle: A Dieselpunk Adventure (The Crossover Case Files Book 3) Page 10