“I don’t know. It looks just as dusty as it did a moment ago.”
“Are you casting aspersions on my housekeeping?”
“Maybe I’m casting aspersions on my housekeeping since I live here, too. Shall we see if anything happened?”
Josie nodded and they carefully stepped out of the circle at the same time. David bent to touch the rocks, which were now cool. “They’re stuck to the floor.”
“So, we can’t take them with us?”
“No, and I have a feeling this house is part of the time portal. They might not work anyplace else.”
“I just want to know if they worked this time.”
“There’s only one way to find out,” said David.
Holding hands and carrying their luggage, they made their way out of the attic and down to the next floor. It was dark in the house, making it harder to see if anything was different. They went down another flight to the large staircase which looked out over the foyer, then slowly made their way to the first floor. They went into the sitting room to find the furniture covered in white cloth.
“This definitely looks different,” said Josie. “For one thing, there’s a lot more furniture than we had.”
“Before I left 1929, I made arrangements to keep this house mostly as it was, with occasional visits to ensure it wouldn’t fall into disrepair.”
“Look at that radio!” said Josie as she entered the ballroom to examine the large wooden case about three feet high. “This wasn’t here in your day or mine.”
“We broke the Victrola – or, rather, you did – so I had to replace it. See if it works.”
“I’m sure there’s no electricity.”
“I arranged to keep it turned on.”
“You really were rich if you could afford to pay for almost a hundred years of utilities,” said Josie, as she turned the knob and was rewarded with the sounds of a radio tuning. “It works!”
“Now, we just have to figure out when we are.”
Josie paused on a station which was playing a Bing Crosby rendition of the song “Stardust.”
“The music sounds about right, but I can’t pinpoint the date,” said Josie. “But I don’t think we’re that far off.” She sighed. “I’m excited and a bit nervous.”
“Me, too. Now, let’s catch a train for Los Angeles.”
* * *
A day and a half later, David helped Josie disembark at the interim train station in Los Angeles. It was a hot dusty day, the air quality suffering from the construction of the nearby Union Station with its distinctive Spanish-style architecture, though without the smog which would plague it in later years.
They made their way through the throngs of people wearing suits and dresses on their way to catch a train, with porters pushing carts heaped high with trunks and luggage. They finally reached the entrance of the interim depot to find a wide street with four lanes of traffic.
“It’s a busy place,” said David.
“Not for Los Angeles,” said Josie, getting her first look at the city she’d lived in seventy years later. “This is like midnight on a three-day weekend with everyone out of town.”
About the only recognizable landmarks from Josie’s time were Los Angeles City Hall and the public library. There were a few other tall buildings, but nothing like the steel skyscrapers of the early Twenty-First Century.
Instead of the many courts and municipal buildings, downtown was split into the Bunker Hill area of Victorian homes which had seen better days, and Chinatown, which had long been neglected by the city. It was a lot to take in.
“Is something wrong?” David asked.
“It’s just weird to be back in L.A.”
“After living in your time for a while, I can understand why it would be. But there’s a certain comfort for me. This looks like what I was used to, though there are more people down on their luck,” he said quietly, as he dropped a few coins into the cup of a man asking for help.
“The Great Depression started about a month after you left 1929,” said Josie, as they made their way over the uneven sidewalk to find a cab. “Millions lost their jobs and were displaced from their homes. Poverty and hunger were huge problems.”
“How were the problems solved?”
“President Roosevelt...”
“Teddy ran for President again?”
“Franklin. He helped a lot of people, though what really ended the Depression was World War II, which, of course, came with a whole lot of other problems.”
“Like Nazis in Los Angeles.”
“Like Nazis in Los Angeles,” said Josie, as they turned the corner and saw posters for a meeting of the German American League, complete with swastikas on the four corners of the poster. “Not on my watch!” she said, as she tore down the posters one by one.
“Won’t we get in trouble for this?” asked David, as he joined in.
“They’re Nazis! Screw those guys!” said Josie before stuffing a nearby trash can with the posters.
“I couldn’t say it better myself, though we should probably get out of here,” said David, as he indicated a beat cop about a block away looking at them suspiciously. He hailed a taxi, then held the door for Josie.
“I will never tire of you being a gentleman,” she said as she got in. “Los Feliz, please,” she said before giving the driver the address.
They drove through streets lined with palm trees and intersections where white-gloved cops directed traffic. The Victorian houses of downtown Los Angeles gave way to newer Craftsman and Spanish-style homes. Ten minutes later they passed the well-manicured lawns of lower Los Feliz then headed into the winding hills before stopping in front of a white, two-story, Spanish-style house with an arched front door.
“Do you think we should’ve warned them we were coming?” asked Josie as they walked up the circular drive and passed a fountain on the way to ring the doorbell.
“We’ll soon find out.”
A moment later the door was opened by a handsome man in his mid-forties. After a moment of shock, he grinned, then hugged Josie. “Josie, David! I can’t believe you’re here!” said Lawrence Henry, one of Broadway’s most successful playwrights. “Dora!” he called out, as he escorted his two friends into the house. “You’ll never believe who showed up out of the blue and from the future! That’s an exceptional clue to their identity, and if you don’t guess correctly, I’ll have your wit tested for dullness.”
“It can’t be!” called out Dora Barnes, as she appeared with a drink in hand and a huge grin. The thirty-two-year-old redhead had become one of Hollywood’s most celebrated writers in the seven years since Josie and David had last seen her. “How’d you get here? Don’t tell me Lawrence has a secret time travel device he didn’t tell me about.”
“We took the train,” said David.
“From the future?”
Josie grinned. “From Oregon. We travelled through the house from the future to 1936, then we had to take the train.”
“As impressive as your time-travelling house is, door-to-door service would be much more convenient,” said Dora. “You need drinks.”
“So do I,” said Lawrence. “And I didn’t travel anywhere. Eduardo!” A moment later, a handsome young man in a crisp white uniform appeared. “We’ll have drinks and a nibble on the patio, please. Gracias.” He turned to his guests. “He’s from Argentina.”
David waited until Eduardo had left the room before quietly saying, “We can’t let anyone else know about the time travel.”
“Understood,” said Lawrence, as he led them through the dining room and out the French doors at the rear of the house to a patio near the pool. “My communication with Eduardo isn’t all that verbal, anyway.” Once they’d been served and Eduardo had gone, Lawrence turned to his guests. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit? Do tell me you’ll be staying with us for a while. We have loads of space.”
“I don’t actually live here,” said Dora, “though I’m here more often than not.”
“Though you’ve been spending more time with that handsome man of yours.”
“Who’s this?” asked Josie.
“Just an actor,” said Dora, with a blush which belied her casual words.
“You’re blushing, darling,” said Lawrence.
“I never blush,” said Dora.
“Neither do I, though your Blake even puts a spring into my step and Lord knows it’s springy enough as it is. You are staying with us, aren’t you?” he asked Josie and David again.
“That would be very kind of you,” said David, “Especially since I’m trying to keep a low profile, given that I disappeared seven years ago.”
“You did cause quite a commotion,” said Dora. “It’s not often a millionaire disappears, though there aren’t so many of them left these days.”
“Thanks for the warning to get out of the market,” said Lawrence as he raised his drink in a salute. “It helped bankroll our lives out here. But Dora’s right. Your disappearance is still talked about and I’ve even been asked to write a movie about it. That’s what I do now – script talkies.”
“They don’t really call them talkies anymore,” said Dora. “They’re just movies and not all that different from when you wrote plays.”
“Yes,” said Lawrence as he took a sip of his martini. “They’re like Broadway, but with beautiful half-wits.”
“The pay is much better.”
“You’re right. It’s nothing like Broadway. What names are you using?”
“Matthews,” said David. “It’s Josie’s maiden name, after all.”
“So, you’re switching back,” Lawrence said to her.
“Actually, I never changed it when we got married. Many women keep their names in our day.”
“I think I like your day,” said Dora. “What’s the future like, other than the flying cars and equality for women?”
Josie smiled. “No flying cars and not as much equality for women as you might expect.”
“I don’t expect much,” said Dora.
“You may still be disappointed. We know you two are doing well. We’ve seen your movies.”
“That’s good to hear, though I’m not sure I want to know too much,” said Lawrence. “I find the future is most promising when it’s entirely vague. I must confess to being very curious as to why you’re here. We’re glad you are, of course, but the last time Josie time traveled, murder ensued.”
Josie put down her drink. “I’m afraid to say too much because we just learned that my last trip resulted in some very bad changes. A war is coming.”
“With Germany?” asked Dora.
“And Japan. It’s a World War.”
Lawrence groaned. “Not another one of those. Didn’t people suffer enough the last time?”
“You would think,” said David. “But from the sounds of it, the second one is even worse. Something happened during Josie’s trip which resulted in another forty million people dying.”
Josie let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know what I did, but I believe I’m at fault.”
Dora squeezed Josie’s hand. “You don’t know that it’s related, and you certainly didn’t mean to do any harm.”
“I know,” said Josie with a small smile. “But I have to fix it. We don’t know exactly what went wrong, but we think it has to do with Kurt Franklin and his girlfriend.”
“The Nazi?” asked Lawrence.
“You know her?” asked David.
“Not well. My philosophy to let others live their own lives certainly doesn’t extend to fascists. But it’s hard not to know of her. They’re in all the fan magazines, and I’ve seen her esteemed relatives on the newsreels. She claims she’s not like them and poor, dumb Kurt believes her.”
Dora shook her head. “Poor Kurt. Astoundingly handsome, unbelievably naïve.”
Lawrence continued. “Nazis – both the German imports and the home-grown ones – are showing up all over town. At first, they were just annoyances, but you should hear the things they’re saying about all kinds of people.”
“Especially our people,” said Dora quietly. “I’m Jewish.”
“And I believe we’ve already clearly established me as homosexual,” said Lawrence.
“It would be impossible to establish you any further on that count,” said Dora. “The Nazis are anti-communist, which makes them popular with local law enforcement. But there is some resistance to them in Hollywood, filled as it is with a great many socialists.”
Josie nodded. “It’s not that different in my day.”
“Are Hollywood executives any smarter in the future?” asked Lawrence hopefully.
“Much, much dumber.”
“Can we tell them about the Real Housewives in Beverly Hills?” David asked her.
“We don’t want to scare them any further,” said Josie. “Tell me about this woman Kurt is dating.”
“She’s blonde and beautiful,” said Lawrence. “And if there’s one thing we know about Kurt Franklin, it’s that he can’t resist either of those things. She has a certain charm about her which makes people like her.”
“Even I kind of like her,” said Dora. “And liking people really isn’t my thing.”
Josie sighed. “According to the articles, she’s Joseph Goebbels’s niece. He’s a particularly bad Nazi.”
“Well, I don’t think there are any good ones,” said Lawrence.
Josie reached for Dora’s hand. “This one’s particularly bad, since he’ll play an active role in sending millions of people to concentration camps. No one knows how many people died in the war, though it’s estimated six million Jews were murdered.”
“Maybe we should kill Goebbels,” said David quietly. “Or, better yet, Hitler.”
Josie let out a breath. “Believe me, I’ve thought about it. But history has already changed so much. What if killing one of them just sets off another genocide by someone else? I think the best we can do is try to fix the damage and pray it’s enough.”
“How can we help?” asked Dora.
Josie sighed. “I think we need to meet Joseph Goebbels’s niece.”
CHAPTER THREE
Josie looked out at the crowd in front of the famed Cocoanut Grove nightclub in the Ambassador Hotel as Lawrence’s car pulled up to the entrance. She was wearing a silver silk backless evening gown borrowed from Dora and had pulled her hair back in a loose chignon with tendrils of hair escaping in front. She’d used a primitive curling iron and was thankful she’d neither fried her hair nor burned down the house. Despite the gravity of their mission, she was excited to see the nightclub, which had been the playground of Hollywood stars in the 1930s.
“You look beautiful,” David said to her, as they got out of Lawrence’s car and a uniformed valet ran up to take the keys. David was wearing a borrowed tuxedo which looked like it had been made for him.
“Tuxedoes are your thing,” said Josie, as she gazed at him appreciatively. “Actually, you look pretty great in jeans and a t-shirt, but you do wear a tux well.”
“I have to admit I’ve grown to like the informal clothes of the Twenty-First Century. They’re a lot more comfortable. Though, for the record,” he said quietly to his wife, “I prefer you in nothing at all.”
“We’ll get back to that later,” said Josie, as she looked up at the famous hotel. The architecture wasn’t all that unique – just six stories of stucco and brick, with sprawling wings and no balconies. The appeal of the place was clearly the grounds and the nightclub, where perfectly spaced palm trees along the curved drive welcomed guests, and two klieg lights heralded the spot where Hollywood’s brightest stars gathered to eat, drink, dance and be seen. A large neon sign featured two bright green palm trees, framing the word Ambassador, with Cocoanut Grove beneath it in art deco lettering. But perhaps the most spectacular sight was all the patrons in evening gowns and tuxedos. Many of the women wore furs, despite the warm night. White-gloved valets and hotel staff ushered guests to the entrance.
&
nbsp; “Have you ever been here before?” Josie asked David.
He nodded. “I didn’t come to Los Angeles all that often, but usually stopped here when I did. It was a first-rate gin joint if you didn’t mind Douglas Fairbanks getting sick next to you and sometimes on you.”
“That would certainly dim its allure.”
Lawrence led the four of them in, expertly pressing tips into various hands until they were seated at a table with an excellent view of all the other guests. The interior was a kitschy blend of Moroccan-style architecture with columns and intricately-carved arches. Real palm trees were interspersed throughout the room, providing some privacy between tables.
“The place is both ghastly and gorgeous,” said Lawrence, as waiters brought fresh flowers and candles. “Much like its clientele.”
“There’s Clark Gable!” said Josie with a squeal, trying to play it cool but failing miserably. The actor was seated at a table with his wife, but that didn’t stop most of the women in the room from slowly walking past him, sending out signals which were impossible to miss.
“He’s divine,” said Dora. “He supposedly has terrible breath, but he’s so handsome no one complains.”
“Gable could make a person forgive a great deal,” said Lawrence nodding. “I left a message for Kurt to meet us here alone. I also told him not to call you by name, David, since you disappeared without a trace seven years ago. I should warn you that Kurt doesn’t quite comprehend what happened.”
“That’s because he’s dumb as a post,” said Dora. “And here he is now.”
There was a noticeable increase of whispers in the room as most people turned to stare at Kurt, though they tried not to look like they were doing so. Even Gable turned an appraising gaze on the man who was a competitor, both in acting roles and looks.
For his part, Kurt seemed to notice little of it, as he glided through the room in his tux, good-naturedly shaking hands with those who stepped in his path, then just as nicely cutting the conversation off with a smile. He finally made his way to their table, where he broke out into his hayseed grin which Josie remembered so well.
The Tinseltown Murderer Page 2