by George Baxt
“And really Marlene, a lot of your guests are wondering why you’re ignoring them!”
Marlene replied, “I will apologize when I return to the ballroom.”
“And I certainly don’t understand why you and Anna May are privy to these questionings.”
“Because I asked them to,” said Villon. “I admire their minds and they’re being very helpful.”
And very decorative, thought Jim Mallory.
“How did you know a strychnine pill was dropped into Madam Chu’s champagne?”
“I didn’t know; I deduced. The whole party is buzzing that she was poisoned, and I heard one of your detectives mention nux vomica and I happen to know the seed of that plant is poisonous, so I had to figure out, and I gather quite correctly, that the pill was an abstract of strychnine. So I shared my knowledge with the others. I must say it didn’t seem all that surprising a bit of information to any of them except the two Russian peasants, and I think they’re still astonished by indoor plumbing. Is that all?”
“It’ll have to be.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“It means I got the information I wanted.”
She stormed out of the room. Hazel asked, “Aren’t any of you hungry? Marlene, the food is absolutely sensational. Your guests attacked everything as though they’d been victims of a famine. Well, Herb, what did you learn tonight that I might use?”
He said matter-of-factly, “One of them is a murderer.” Marlene was lighting a cigarette and Jim Mallory cursed himself for not having leapt in with his lighter. “I’m sure I’m not the only one who had a bit of trouble with some of Raymond Souvir’s testimony. If he stopped the waiter, he had the best opportunity to doctor the champagne.”
“You’re not the only one,” said Villon, “but there’s no reason why he wanted to murder the woman, unless he, like all the others, is pulling off a pretty good masquerade. I’ve a theory, but if you’re in a hurry to get back to your guests, Marlene, it can wait until tomorrow.”
“I’m a firm believer in the present, Herb, such as there’s no time like, etc.”
“What kind of a threat Madam Chu posed, I do not know. But somehow, somewhere, she stumbled on information that put her life in danger.”
Danger! There is danger!
“I think in the past she had small inklings of a plot that in some way links our suspects, and when she saw them together, she had a pretty good idea what was afoot. And someone knew she knew something, and she posed a threat. I think what she knew had been brewing in her mind for several years. She knew these people before at some point or another, and she served them premonitions, her kind of information. Probably seemingly harmless at first, but then as the scenario began taking shape and lengthening, she realized she was onto something more or less of a powder keg.”
Hazel asked facetiously, “Sort of like an international plot of some kind? Something linked to that madman she predicted would one day try to take over the world?”
“He’s very real, Hazel. He exists. His name is Adolph Hitler. And he is extremely dangerous.” Marlene had Hazel convinced.
“Well, my dears,” continued Hazel, “I didn’t detect any Germans among tonight’s septet of suspects.”
“There’s me,” said Marlene. “I’m a kraut, and I can be pretty damned dangerous. And on the other hand, I’ve also been threatened. When Emil Jannings began to realize I was walking away with The Blue Angel, he tried to kill me. I can still feel those brutal hands around my neck. Fortunately, von Sternberg swatted him with a riding crop.”
“Anna May, Mai Mai didn’t manufacture some of these premonitions, did she?”
“Never. She sometimes misread the charts, but she never tried to marry her astrology to her psychic powers. Very often when she did a chart a premonition flowered, but that was the extent of it. Mai Mai didn’t have a dishonest bone in her body.”
“But Herb, nobody knew Mai Mai was to be here tonight. Only Anna May and I knew.”
“Isn’t it possible she spoke to someone on the phone who said they were coming here tonight, and she said, “‘Oh, I’ll be there too,’” asked Herb.
“Very possible,” agreed Marlene, “and whoever it was came prepared to kill her. Now, who among them did she know so intimately that she’d phone and say, ‘What are you doing tonight’?”
“No one,” said Anna May. “If I hadn’t ask her to join me tonight, she would have spent the evening with herself and her charts. No Marlene. No Herb. Someone phoned her. It had to be someone who was desperate to see her and quiet her.”
“How I adore puzzles!” exclaimed Marlene. “Let’s keep thinking, and now I must return to my party. Young man!” Jim Mallory realized he meant her. His knees were turning to jelly. “Would you be a darling and escort me back to the ballroom? She put her arm in his and thought she heard him say Ideedoonerd. What he had said was, “I’d be honored.” Of course, the first step he took, he tripped.
SIX
BEDLAM REIGNED IN the ballroom. The reporters and photographers had invaded the premises once Villon ordered the security Iaxed, and most of Marlene’s guests were cooperating with the gentlemen of the press. Marlene was immediately surrounded like a wagon train besieged by Commanches and as usual handled the reporters with tact, savoir faire, and good humor. Villon admired the way she fielded their questions while making sure the photographers were favoring her best angles. Hazel Dickson turned the other cheek to the sniping of her envious colleagues, the least nasty comment being called “Teacher’s pet.” Anna May bore the brunt of the inquiries into the personal and private life of Mai Mai Chu while Herb Villon told the press he had some good leads and hoped to have a more concrete story for them within the next few days.
Anna May and Marlene posed for the photographers in a variety of groupings, none of them particularly original. Marlene posed with Raymond Souvir and Joseph von Sternberg, and then Marlene was grouped with Anna May and Dong See. Ben Schulberg, the West Coast head of Paramount Pictures, managed to corner Marlene privately for a few seconds.
“What’s going on? Are you in the clear? There must be no scandal!” Scandal, thought Marlene, what about you and Sylvia Sidney. What she said was, “Murder is always a scandal, Ben, and it’s unfortunate it happened in my house, but since it did, there’s nothing we can do about it. Make the most of it! Shanghai Express will soon be going into release and here are Anna May and I, both in the picture and both the center of a murder mystery. That should prove profitable publicity.”
His eyes lit up. “You’ve got something there. I’ll remind the press you’re both in Shanghai Express. You’re not under suspicion, are you?”
Said Dietrich wearily, “No, Ben, The detective in charge is a friend of a friend and I’m being cooperative. Actually, I’m enjoying the experience tremendously. I’m learning a lot about police work. Maybe we could do a movie with me as a detective.”
“There’s nothing glamorous about you as a detective.”
“Why not? I could wear a low-cut holster.” She saw Villon having a private conversation with Anna May and wondered what was going on.
Anna May was telling Villon about Mai Mai’s loft downtown on the outskirts of Chinatown. “The keys must be in her handbag.” Villon told her the handbag accompanied the body to the morgue. He signaled Jim Mallory to his side and told him to call the morgue and have them deliver the handbag to his office. He was looking forward to several hours in Mai Mai’s loft.
Marlene’s eyes caught Raymond Souvir deep in a discussion with Dong See. Souvir seemed agitated. Marlene longed to have a talk with the actor. She found Hazel Dickson and asked her to separate the two men. “I want a little time alone with Raymond,” she explained.
“Who wouldn’t?” asked Hazel as she set off to accomplish her mission. A moment later, Marlene had her arm through one of Souvir’s and walked him to an isolated spot near the bandstand. A downbeat orchestration of “With a Song in My Heart” served as a background.
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Souvir said, “I saw Mr. Schulberg talking to you. Does he know I’m a suspect?”
“Don’t let it bother you, Raymond. Ben Schulberg has more serious problems at the studio. He may soon be out of a job.”
“Oh my God, supposing his replacement doesn’t like me? Ben Schulberg likes me. He told someone he did.”
“Stop fretting, Raymond. The studio spent a great deal of money importing you for this test, and they will make the test. Von Sternberg wants the test and I want the test, and whatever Marlene wants, Marlene gets. Now tell me, before we’re interrupted, have you ever had an astrological chart done for you?”
He said quickly, “No.”
“Now, Raymond,” she bore down heavily on his name, “Mai Mai Chu didn’t forecast your stars in Paris?”
“I … I …”
“Raymond, this is Marlene. Never lie to Marlene. Marlene is a great believer in and respecter of the truth. The truth will out. Am I right in saying that in Paris, thanks to Dong See’s friendship with Mai Mai Chu, she did your chart?”
He was deflated. “Yes. It was a birthday present from Dong. But that was two or three years ago. I haven’t seen Mai Mai since, that is until tonight.”
“Why did you try to hedge?”
“Because I’m afraid. I want nothing to do with this case. I didn’t kill her. I swear on my mother’s life.”
“What was going on just now between you and Dong.”
“Nothing was going on.”
“I saw you, and my eyes are very good. You were upset about something. Did it have something to do with Dong’s friendship with Mai Mai?”
“No! I told him how upset I was at being questioned by the detective. It could be bad publicity, and Marlene, I need to succeed in Hollywood.”
“And if you don’t?” His shoulders slumped. Marlene was sympathetic. “You’ll always have a career on the Continent. And you’re still young. If you fail this time, there’s the chance of another try for the brass ring. Now tell me the truth, did you know there was a plot to kill Mai Mai?”
“No! I knew nothing about Mai Mai. I just happened to be here, that’s all.”
Dietrich decided on another tack. “When Mai Mai read your chart, did she reveal anything startling or unusual that the future held for you?”
“I don’t believe in the stars, Marlene, I believe in myself.”
“You don’t believe in the stars and yet you want to be one.”
“Please don’t put me on.”
“Raymond, I have had myself charted many times. I’m a Capricorn. What’s your sign?”
“Taurus.”
“Of course. The bull. Very stubborn. You must have had some prognostication from Mai Mai that you’ve never forgotten.”
“Yes. She predicted that my success in France would continue. But that …”—he hesitated. She waited. “… that it would be interrupted. There would be a scandal.”
“Wouldn’t it be ironic that it might be Mai Mai’s murder?”
“Yes, that’s what I was telling Dong.”
“Really? But you seemed so upset. If you don’t believe in the stars, why be upset? Shrug it off and get on with your life.”
“I had forgotten it until Dong reminded me. He thought he was being funny.”
“I have learned from experience that humor wears many faces. Some cheerful, some nasty. You mustn’t let it upset you. You mustn’t let the fear of failure hang around your neck like a dead albatross. You live extravagantly, I assume you have a great deal of money.”
“That won’t last.”
Marlene arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“What I mean is, I have to continue earning to live on the scale that I do.”
“Don’t we all, darling? They pay me one hundred and fifty thousand dollars per picture and I haven’t a nickel saved. But my charts tell me my star will shine for many many years to come, so I don’t worry.’’ She smiled and said, “Dong See has found us. Don’t look so upset. Laugh. Go ahead. Laugh.” He laughed, a laugh that had the strength of an infant’s burp. Dong See joined them. “Well Dong, I was hoping to ask you to play for us tonight, but I suppose now it’s too late unless you chose to do ‘Danse Macabre.’ ”
“Anything at this point would be an anticlimax,” said Dong. “I’m tired, Raymond. Much though I’m not looking forward to it, please drive me home.”
Marlene took each man by an arm and said forcefully, “Not until we’ve had a drink to the New Year. I think it’s going to be a fascinating and exciting year. In fact, I don’t have to think, the charts assure me that’s how it will be.” She was steering them to the nearest bar. “By the way, Raymond, by any chance was your father a farmer?”
“My father? My father owned a draper’s shop in Rouen. That’s where I was born.” And he refrained from adding, And I wish I was there now.
No farmer, thought Marlene. Wrong again. At the bar, a young actor was wiping liquid from his shirt front with a bar towel.
“What happened?” asked Marlene.
“I tried to drink champagne from Carole Lombard’s slipper. It was open-toed.”
Jim Mallory watched the bartender pouring three glasses of champagne for Marlene, Souvir, and Dong See. How fickle she is, he thought sadly. She asks me to escort her into the ballroom, I trip and fall flat on my face, everybody laughs, and I look and feel like a damned fool. He felt an arm around his shoulders and looked into Herb Villon’s sympathetic face. Villon said, “Don’t ask for a star, Jim. You have the moon.” And indeed, looking out a window, Mallory could see a full moon in the sky.
“That explains it,” said Jim.
“Explains what?”
“Tonight. The edginess. The uneasiness. The murder. Full moon. Nothing goes right when there’s a full moon. Madam Chu’s handbag is on its way to your office.”
“Good boy. How’s for some champagne?” He led Mallory to the bar, where Marlene greeted them, raising her glass high and offering a toast. “To Mai Mai’s murderer! May you catch him before he strikes again!”
Dong See asked, “You think there’ll be another murder?”
“There has to be. One is never enough, isn’t that so …”—she imitated Souvir—“… M’sieu Vee-yone?”
“Not necessarily.”
“If you catch the killer within the next ten minutes, then you’re right. But you won’t because he or she isn’t about to confess or give themselves away, and you don’t have enough evidence to pin it on anyone, so by the law of averages, the killer will strike again.”
Villon laughed. “You’ve seen too many movies.”
“I rarely go to the movies, Herbert Villon. The killer will strike again because he has to.” She held center stage and showed she intended to make the most of the spotlight. “He’s afraid that either he’s been seen spiking Mai Mai’s drink or there’s someone who’s a party to his crime and can’t be trusted and must therefore be silenced. Right, Herb Villon?”
“I hope you’re wrong.” The bartender had poured drinks for him and Mallory, and Herb lifted his. “I can’t stand a case cluttered with too many corpses.”
“Can’t you handle the traffic?” She was enjoying baiting him. She’d bet her bottom dollar that she and Villon were on the same wavelength. She hadn’t told anyone yet, and she soon intended to tell Villon, but she was convinced that Mai Mai’s murder was a conspiracy and she was convinced Villon had come to the same conclusion. “It stands to reason there has to be another victim, what with so many suspects involved. Oh Raymond, you’re perspiring. You mustn’t take me so seriously. It’s the New Year and I haven’t eaten and I’m feeling a bit light-headed, and look at Dong See, a masterpiece of composure. Where are the others? Let me see, the Ivanovs I’m sure have gone home. Too bad there’s no snow; she could have whipped the horses mercilessly as their sleigh headed back to the embassy, fearful of being pursued by a pack of wolves with red-rimmed eyes. But no fear, Natalia Ivanov would wring their necks and skin them and stitch togeth
er their hides into a very handsome lap robe.”
“Ah! Monte Trevor! He has trapped the luscious Miriam Hopkins and is probably offering her Salome. Look how eager she looks. Miriam is a true daughter of the south, all corn pone and hominy grits and thick slices of ham drowning in a sea of pineapple juice laced with brown sugar. Our Miriam sure does know how to play the coquette. Gott im Himmel! She slapped his face and there she goes flouncing off in a rage. He didn’t offer her Salome, he offered her his very own extraordinarily revolting self for a romp in her boudoir. Good for you, Miriam, I see you in a refreshing new light, no longer the loud-mouthed, demanding, and insulting boor that we all know you to be.”
“Who’s missing? Let me think. Of course. Ivar Tensha and Dorothy di Frasso. And here’s Hazel to claim her detective. Hazel? Have you seen the munitions maker and the gossip maker? Wait! There’s the Countess worrying Gary Cooper! Oh, poor Gary, his vocabulary is as limited as his self-restraint. Unless my instincts betray me, he’ll be her late snack and her breakfast. But wait, wait, who is the patrician beauty coming to claim him?” She sipped her drink. She was enjoying herself enormously. “I remember, the Sandra something to whom we are told he has offered matrimony. Don’t hesitate, young woman, grab him. He is very very eloquent when horizontal. Aha! The Countess retreats! She’s studying the stag line. The one at the end, darling, the handsome creature with the cleft in his chin. Cary Grant. Tallulah’s already made a bid, but I don’t think he’s listening to offers. The Countess sees him. She is sashaying towards him. But wait. There’s Groucho! He’s loping towards her with his gorgeous leer.’’
Groucho pounced on Dorothy di Frasso, took her in his arms, and asked, “May I have this dance? You can lead, but let me guess where. Please dance with me. I’m a terminal case. I’m not sure which terminal. Union Station or Grand Central.” The Countess tore away from him and with a shrug Groucho went in search of a fresh victim.
Marlene laughed and continued. “But where is Tensha? Could he have left without saying goodnight to his hostess, who admits that for a while she was a bit derelict in her duties. But it isn’t every hostess who has the good luck to have a murder committed under her very roof and under her very nose. Surely Tensha would have sought me out to thank me for a perfectly wonderful evening despite a fatal flaw. Ah! As they say in very bad operettas, Here he comes now.”