“Miss Matthews, David Remington!” he all but broadcast to the room. “It’s so good to see you again.”
As Lawrence and Dora shushed the man, Josie smiled at Kurt’s cultured voice. When she’d met him in 1929, just as sound was about to transform Hollywood films, the silent screen actor’s voice could best be described as goat-like. But now he both looked and sounded like a leading man. It was easy to see how he could influence the public in whatever cause he liked.
Greta had chosen her mark well.
“Kurt,” said Lawrence, quietly, once the actor had taken a seat. “Don’t you remember me telling you to pretend you don’t know these two?”
“But why would I do that? They’re our friends from that terrible house party where my press agent Tanner ended up killing so many people including almost me. I know you’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead…”
“You can in this case,” said Dora.
“Then I’ll just come right out and say it. Tanner didn’t get me in the magazines nearly as often as my new press man.”
“That’s not exactly the worst thing you could say about Tanner,” said Dora. “But I suppose that was one of his failings, as well.”
Kurt turned to Josie and David. “So, what have you two been doing? You look like you haven’t aged a day.”
“That’s because it’s only been a few months since they last saw us,” said Lawrence in a tone which suggested this was far from the first time the subject had been broached.
“But it’s been seven years.”
“It’s been seven years for us, but not for them,” said Dora. “Remember, they time travelled to the future.”
“But they’re here right now,” said Kurt, his head ping-ponging back and forth between Lawrence and Dora.
“Because they came back,” said Lawrence.
“Back from where?”
“From the future.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Kurt,” said Dora. “They live in the Twenty-First Century.”
“I don’t follow.”
“So, we have discerned,” said Lawrence.
Kurt thought about it for a moment, then turned to David. “If you’re from the future, what am I about to say right now?”
“That’s not how it works,” said David
“You’re about to order a drink,” said Lawrence.
Kurt’s eyes widened. “I am! Are you from the future, too?”
“Let’s forget about the future for a moment,” said Josie. “Kurt, we’d like to talk to you about your girlfriend.”
Kurt smiled in such a happy way that Josie knew they were doomed. “She’s the most beautiful gal I’ve ever met. She’s smart, too. She knows things about all 46 states.”
“There are 48 states,” said Dora.
Kurt laughed. “You mean in the ‘future?’”
Josie took a sip of her drink. “Kurt, your girlfriend has some…troubling relatives in Germany. Did you know she’s Joseph Goebbels’s niece?”
“Of course, I do.”
“Do you know who he is?”
“What do you take me for, an idiot?” He looked around the table as everyone else took sips of their drinks.
“He’s Hitler’s propaganda minister,” said Lawrence. When that was met with one of Kurt’s looks which was even blanker than usual, he added, “He’s like a press agent.”
“They’re not so bad,” said Kurt.
“Kurt,” said Dora, “your former press agent killed three people at a house party.”
“But I’d say most press agents don’t kill that many people even in a lifetime,” said Kurt.
Then Josie gave it a try. “Goebbels is a very bad man. He’s not just a press agent, he’s a Nazi – a really bad one, not that there are any good ones.”
“I can’t stand Nazis!” said Kurt. “But Greta isn’t like that! She left Germany because she didn’t want to be associated with them.”
“She may say that,” said David. “But can you really believe her?”
Kurt thought about it for a moment. “But she’s so pretty.”
Lawrence smiled sympathetically. “It is a cruel twist of fate that some of the prettiest people are some of the worst humans.”
“Why do you all care so much about who I date?” asked Kurt.
Josie weighed just how much to tell him. “You’re very influential. People may get the idea that Nazis aren’t as dangerous as they are if they see you with her.”
“She’s not a Nazi.”
“Kurt,” said Dora. “You’re not facing the facts.”
“I’ll prove it,” said Kurt, as he waved to someone across the room. “Because here she comes now.”
Everyone at the table turned to see a tall willowy blonde make her way across the room, smiling prettily at the many people who turned to look at her. Kurt met her halfway across the room and from the way he looked at her, it was clear he was in love. Or at least the temporary version of it. Greta’s feelings were less apparent, though she put on a good show of being happy to see him. A moment later they reached the table.
“Greta,” said Kurt, with his arm around her waist, “you know Lawrence and Dora, already.” The two of them nodded at her politely, but coolly. “And these are my two friends….” He leaned forward. “David and Josie, what names are you using?”
“David and Josie will do,” said David, knowing anything else was hopeless.
“It is a pleasure to meet you,” said Greta in German-accented English before sitting in the chair Kurt held out for her. “I must say you bear a…what do you call it…uncanny resemblance to the millionaire David Remington who was quite famous for a while.”
“That is the millionaire David Remington,” whispered Kurt. “But don’t tell anyone. It’s a secret.”
Greta cocked her head in surprise. “Where have you been?” she asked David with a smile. “You have not been seen much since that nasty business at your party right before the Crash.”
“I’ve been here and there,” said David, as he refilled Josie and Dora’s glasses of champagne. “I guess the big question is what brings you to Los Angeles?”
“What brings anyone to Los Angeles? The cinema business. I have always loved films and, of course, American pictures are known the world over, though Berlin has had some success, as well.”
“Leni Riefenstahl certainly has some interesting movies,” said Josie, referring to the famed German propagandist.
Greta cocked her head to the other side. “You know of her? I did not think Americans knew much about international films.”
Dora raised a brow. “Anyone who’s proclaimed to be Hitler’s favorite filmmaker is famous enough to be noticed even by Americans.”
Greta pulled out a silver cigarette case. “Cigarette?” she offered to the table at large. No one accepted, but she took one, then turned to Kurt for a light. “I do not claim to know about Herr Hitler’s taste in films.”
“But you’re Joseph Goebbels’s niece,” said Josie.
Greta took a drag of her cigarette, before blowing smoke in Josie’s direction. “You are very well informed for a woman. I’m told most ladies in America read nothing but fan magazines. Yes, he is my uncle, but surely you cannot hold that against me any more than I can say that David Remington is a murderer, simply because four people were killed at his party. You were there, too, were you not, Miss Matthews? Along with everyone else at this table other than me. If we judge people by circumstances beyond their control, I daresay I would come off as the most innocent of us all.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Lawrence, taking another sip of his martini. “We only had four deaths at the party. A good many more people than that have been killed in Germany since the Nazis came to power.”
“With many more murders yet to come,” said Josie quietly.
“Greta wouldn’t have anything to do with that,” said Kurt. “Isn’t that right?”
Greta nodded, as she elegantly flicked her c
igarette over an ashtray. “Exactly. I came here to get away from all of that.”
“I thought you came here for the movie business,” said David.
“I believe a girl can have two goals at once. But to answer your question, I am no Nazi. I love Germany and am glad to see the country is recovering from the terrible reparations which were forced onto it after the Great War. Now I’m only interested in the movies and, of course, my Kurt. And, perhaps, another look at Clark Gable. He really is a magnificent looking man, is he not?”
Josie hated agreeing with a Nazi about anything, but she begrudgingly had to nod.
“Is that Joe Kennedy?” asked Greta, as she pointed to a table behind Josie and David.
Josie couldn’t resist taking a peek at the patriarch of one of America’s most famous families and, apparently, David wanted to look at one of his bootlegging acquaintances. Just as they both turned around, a photographer took a picture of Kennedy.
David and Josie quickly turned back around, but it was too late. The two of them were almost certainly in that photo. David reached for his drink. “I think we know where that photo in the trunk came from,” he said quietly to Josie.
“At least it’s not London during the Blitz,” replied Josie, referring to a long-ago sighting of David after he disappeared.
“What is this Blitz you mention?” asked Greta, whose hearing must be extraordinary. “That’s the German word for lightning.”
“Nothing to concern yourself with,” said Josie. “David, would you like to dance?” The orchestra had just started playing The Way You Look Tonight.
“I would love to,” he said, as he took her hand and escorted her to the dance floor.
“What do you think about Greta?” asked Josie, as her husband began dancing like he was the pro in a dance competition, and she was the hapless celebrity.
“She’s certainly beautiful.”
“She’s a Nazi!”
“You didn’t let me finish.”
“Why would you lead with ‘beautiful’ when the woman is obviously a spy?”
“I’m not sure it’s obvious she’s a spy.”
“Spoken just like a man.”
“I am a man, and it never seemed to bother you before. In fact, I kind of thought you enjoyed it,” said David, as he pulled her closer.
“This isn’t the time for romance – though we’ll get back to that later. Greta is using her feminine wiles on Kurt, who’s decidedly short of wiles of his own. She’ll use her visibility as his girlfriend to keep America isolationist and out of the war until it’s too late.”
“Won’t America get in the war if that attack on Hawaii happens?”
“But what if Japan doesn’t attack Pearl Harbor? What if Hitler convinces them not to do it?”
“Are you thinking there may be another time traveler here?”
“I don’t know. Obviously, anything is possible.”
“If so, who do you think it is?”
A man’s voice called out to them. “Remington, is that you?”
They turned to see Joseph Kennedy on the dance floor next to them with a woman who most assuredly wasn’t his wife Rose. The Kennedy family patriarch was, predictably, every bit as good looking as his sons. And from the appreciative way he looked Josie up and down, he apparently had their wandering eye, too.
“Joe,” said David, as he shook the other man’s hand, while keeping a firm hold on Josie.
“Where the hell have you been keeping yourself?” asked Kennedy. “No one has seen you in years.”
“I’ve been here and there since I retired from Wall Street.”
“That retirement was certainly fortuitous. You got out at just the right time. I’d love to know how you did it.”
“How is business, Mr. Kennedy?” asked Josie.
“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” said Kennedy, as he reached for Josie with one hand, while keeping the other wrapped around his dance partner.
“I’m Josie Matthews.”
“Josie Matthews Remington,” said David quickly, as he maneuvered his wife out of Kennedy’s grasp.
“I didn’t know you’d married,” said Kennedy. “Perhaps that’s why no one has seen you. If I’d married someone as lovely as Josie, I’d hide away with her, too.”
“You’re also married to a lovely woman, aren’t you?” asked Josie.
“Rose is an awfully good sport,” said Kennedy, not abashed in the least to be reminded he was married while likely cheating on his wife with his dance partner and flirting with Josie. “Say, Remington, what do you think of the German who Franklin is stepping out with? I believe her name is Greta?”
“We only just met her tonight.”
“I hear she’s very well connected. Her uncle is in German high command, isn’t he?”
“He’s one of Hitler’s henchman,” said Josie.
That seemed to impress Kennedy. “If you think she has his ear, I’d be interested in talking to her about a few business possibilities in Germany.”
“Trying to import German beer, are you, Joe?” asked David.
“I’m done with all of that. Or haven’t you heard that Prohibition is over?”
“I don’t think Hitler is someone you want to do business with,” said Josie.
“Aren’t you adorable, my dear,” said Kennedy, smiling. “A woman offering business advice.”
“I’ll go one better and give you political advice,” said Josie. “I believe we’ll soon be at war with Germany. Being on the wrong side of that would be bad for anyone with political ambitions, either for himself or his sons.”
That made Kennedy pause for a moment. He spent the time leering at Josie’s cleavage. “You may be on to something there, Josie.”
“Mrs. Remington,” corrected David.
Kennedy continued. “I’ll have my secretary, Finn O’Donnell, contact you. I think you’ll be interested in what he has to say.” A nudge from his dancing partner had him looking her way. “Now, if you two will excuse me, I fear I’ve been neglecting my friend.” With that, he disappeared onto the dance floor.
A moment later, Josie and David returned to their table only to find that Greta had departed for the night.
“She had a headache, so Kurt escorted her home,” said Dora. “He said to tell you good night and how happy he is that you time travelled back to see us. I think Kurt may need a refresher course on what being discreet means.”
Lawrence gestured to a waiter for another drink. “I think Kurt may need to have a good many things explained in general, but at heart he’s a decent fellow. We just need to find a way to separate him from his Nazi girlfriend. What did Kennedy want?”
“To pursue business opportunities in Germany,” said David. “He wants to talk to Greta.”
“That could be even more dangerous than Kurt being with Greta,” said Josie. “Kennedy is influential. He could definitely prolong U.S. entry into the war until it’s too late.”
“Perhaps,” said Dora, as she took a sip of champagne, “our goal shouldn’t be to get Kurt to break up with Greta, but to keep Greta away from anyone she might influence.”
“How do we do that?” asked Lawrence.
“Unfortunately, I think it means we have to spend a lot more time with Greta,” said David.
Josie raised a brow. “That shouldn’t be a hardship since you think she’s beautiful.”
“That’s not why I want to spend time with her.”
“You really think she’s beautiful?” asked Dora.
Lawrence shook his head. “More to the point, you actually admitted it out loud to your wife? And people say Kurt’s the dumb one.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Greta knew he was in her house before he even said a word. She’d known it when she was outside, which was why she’d insisted that Kurt go home instead of spending the night. It had taken a while to persuade him, but he’d finally left and now Greta was in her house considering her options as she waited for the agent to show hims
elf.
His code name was Stern, and Berlin had insisted that she work with him, though she’d bristled at the suggestion that she even needed a partner. Americans were gullible and Kurt Franklin was easily fooled. There was nothing about this situation which she couldn’t handle on her own. But orders were orders.
“Good evening,” she said, right before she turned on the light in her living room and estimated the time it would take to reach the stiletto she’d stashed in the built-in bookcase six feet away. Her small house on Bronson Street near the Hollywoodland sign was charming and convenient, since it was close to most of the major studios. But it was useful in another way for all its safety features. There were any number of places where she’d been able to stash weapons, papers and her wireless radio. As added security, it also required a trip up a number of poorly marked, winding roads. It’d be easy to get lost if one didn’t know the way. Greta, however, had planned escape routes in all directions, both by car and on foot. Her mountaineering experience back home had more than prepared her for the hills around her house. And her instincts for self-preservation were second to none, which was good since she knew Stern would be a formidable enemy if he chose to cross her.
She assumed Stern had done his reconnaissance, that he knew how to flee this house and where to lie in wait to ambush her. After all, she knew the same about him, and he’d be an idiot not to have done so.
And he definitely wasn’t an idiot.
The lamp bathed the living room in soft light, but no one was there. For a moment she thought her mind might have been playing tricks on her until he walked out of the kitchen.
The kitchen which held any number of very sharp knives.
“How was the Cocoanut Grove?” he asked, as he cracked a walnut from her kitchen, then ate it.
Was he following her? Or had he assigned it to one of his lackeys? She purposely hadn’t told him where she was going that night, and this was his way of telling her he knew more than she thought. “The music was good, the food was bad.”
“And the company?”
She shrugged as she pulled off first one high heel, then the other. They would make good weapons, not to mention it was easier to run in stockinged feet. “Kurt was as he always is. We joined his Hollywood friends.”
The Tinseltown Murderer Page 3